#the way i started screaming no at my screen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sxmmerberries · 2 days ago

Text

ME OR THE PS5 - choi soobin x reader

✦ genre: fluff

✦ pairing: choi soobin as your boyfriend

✦ word count: 1,700

✦ summary: soobin apologises to you after ignoring the plans you guys had for a game

You sighed even louder, trying to get your boyfriend's attention off of his computer for the nth time. You were looking forward to having a cozy night in with your boyfriend, watching a movie together and then baking something together to have as a late night snack. But then, Beomgyu called and asked him to join a game immediately, saying that he needed backup.

Soobin kissed your forehead, promising he would be back in 30 minutes to watch the movie with you. However, as the minutes passed by, two hours had passed, and he was still glued to his computer, paying no attention to you as you sulked on the couch. You knew he loved gaming, but sometimes you wished he could at least spare some time for you.

You huffed in frustration and walked over to him, grabbing his soft cheeks in your hands, squishing them.

“Just 15 more minutes,” He said, removing your hands, his eyes glued to the screen.

"That's what you said two hours ago,” You frowned, grabbing his face again and placing small kisses on his cheeks.

Soobin looked a bit flustered by the sudden attack of kisses, but he still tried to resist. "Come on, babe, just a few more minutes. I'm in the middle of a really intense part of the game.” You continued pressing small kisses all over his face, determined to get his attention, making him look at you with a mixture of annoyance and affection.

"Babe, I really can't focus like this. Can you give me a few more minutes?,” Soobin tried to stay focused on the game, but he couldn't help but smile and blush at your affectionate display.

“That is the point,” You continued attacking his face with kisses, making him sigh, trying to look annoyed.

"You're being so clingy right now. We can watch the movie later too. Beomgyu is dying,” He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the game as Beomgyu screamed in his ears through the headphones.

"I'm being clingy?, " You responded with a hurt look on your face and immediately stopped kissing his face, moving away a bit from him.

"Maybe I just want to spend some time with my boyfriend. You know, the one who promised he would watch a movie with me, but has been ignoring me for hours while he plays his stupid game?,” Soobin's expression softened as you stepped away from him, obviously hurt by his words.

“Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that……You know what? You can start the movie. I'll be there in a bit,” He paused, looking at you with a guilty look.

"I'll finish this game and then I'll come watch the movie with you, okay?,” He reached out and gently grabbed your hand, trying to soothe you with his touch only for you to smack his hand away.

"I don't want to watch it anymore," You snapped, storming out of the room, making sure to slam the door shut on your way out before he could say anything.

Soobin's eyes widened in surprise, watching as you left the room. He suddenly felt guilty and regretful for choosing the game over you.

"Damn it,” Soobin let out a frustrated sigh and muttered under his breath, turning his focus but on to the game in front of him, but his focus was somewhere else. He knew he had messed up prioritising the game over the plans you guys had.

He finally loses the game. He didn't expect his win streak to end like this. He is upset that he didn't win the game, but what bothered him more was that you were upset with him.

He gets up from his chair and walks out of his room, walking around the house in search of you before walking towards your room.

Soobin walked over to your room and quietly opened the door, peeking inside. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of you sulking in the corner of the bed, wearing one of his shirts and cuddling the Yeongmong plushie he got you. You looked so adorable, despite the grumpy expression on your face.

He quietly walked over to the bed and sat down next to you, trying to reach for your hand to hold it only for you to pull your hand out of his grasp.

Soobin frowned and tried to reach out to hold your hand again, but you pulled it away once more. He looked at you with a pleading expression, not wanting this silent treatment.

He shuffled a bit closer to you on the bed, trying to get your attention. He reached out and gently placed his hand on your knee only for you to smack his hand away again.

"Can we talk, please?,” He asked softly, his voice gentle. He wanted to see your face and talk to you, but you were avoiding his gaze, still focused on the Yeongmong plushie in your arms.

"Hey Yeongmong-ie, do you hear something? Is it a ghost?,” You said in a fake-scared voice, completely ignoring Soobin, who was sitting right next to you.

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle at your antics. It was obvious that you were still upset with him, but he found your behaviour more cute than annoying.

"Please talk to me. I'm sorry for being a jerk and ignoring you for that stupid game. I won't do that ever again,” He scooted even closer to you, making you scoot further away from him.

"Yeongmong-ie, this house is haunted. There is an annoying ghost," You said, your voice laced with sarcasm as you side eyed Soobin. "Let's move out and leave your father behind. The ghost can play games with him, or maybe he'll ignore them too.”

Soobin couldn't help but chuckle again, finding it both adorable and annoying to watch you badmouth him to the plushie instead of acknowledging his presence.

He gently pried the plushie from your grip and tossed it onto the bed, making you glare at him before looking away from him again. He could see the mix of annoyance and hurt in your expression, but he was determined to talk to you.

Soobin let out an exasperated sigh and gently pulled you onto his lap, disregarding your weak protests. "I know I messed up, but please, don't keep ignoring me. Let me talk to you. I want to fix this, babe.”

"I can't stand it when you're mad at me. I'm sorry for being an idiot and prioritising that stupid game over you,” He refused to let you keep avoiding him, keeping a firm hold on you and making sure you couldn't look away.

He nuzzled his face into your neck and began to press soft kisses onto your neck, hoping that it'll lessen your anger a bit.

"Please... let me make it up to you," He murmured between kisses.

“I even gave you kisses,” You mumbled, trying to get his lips away from your neck. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, finding your statement a little cute

"Oh honey..I know..I am so sorry,” He says as he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. He continued to caress your face gently, but you still refused to look at him.

He pulled back slightly, looking at your frowning face. "Please, won't you at least look at me? I don't like it when you're mad. I said that I was sorry.”

“You called me clingy too,” You grumbled, sulking at his hurtful words.

He winced as you mentioned his earlier words, “Hey, I know, and I am sorry I said that. But you gotta understand, I was in the middle of the game, and you suddenly came in and started kissing me. I just got annoyed and said the first thing that came to mind without thinking.”

“But that is not an excuse. I shouldn't have called you clingy. I was being really mean," He said as he stared at you with a guilty look before deciding to press small kisses on your face like you did earlier with him.

"I promise I won't do it again, I'll pay attention to you first. I'll forget about the games for a while, and give you all the attention you want, please forgive me, honey,” He can see that you're no longer sulking that much but he still wants you to forgive him.

"Just tell me what you want me to do, just anything, and I'll do it. Just don't be mad at me, please. We can do whatever you want. I'll even let you bite my cheeks like you always wanted to. I'll let you poke my dimples as many times as you want, too. Please don't be mad at me anymore,” He moves back slightly so he can look at your face again.

He noticed the change in your expression, and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He could see that his offers were starting to soften your anger, and he couldn't help but feel relieved.

"You're smiling," He noted, his voice gentle. "Are you already starting to forgive me? Or do I have to let you poke my dimples twenty times?.”

“One hundred times and I'll consider it,” You crossed your arms across your chest as you tried not to smile at him, trying to keep the sulky facade.

He let out a soft chuckle and leaned in closer, presenting one of his dimples to you. "Alright, one hundred times it is, and then will you forgive me?.”

“And bites on each cheek,” You bargained, reaching out to poke his dimples, your touch gentle despite your earlier anger towards him. He chuckled as you counted each poke.

He let out a soft laugh, fully aware that you were just teasing him at this point. "Okay, okay, one hundred pokes and bites on each cheek. Deal.”

“If you ignore me again for your games, you won't have cheeks anymore,” You threatened as you pinched his cheeks.

“Don't worry, babe. I promise I won't ignore you for games again,” He rubbed the spot you pinched as you leaned in closer to bite his cheeks as promised.

©sxmmerberries

more txt fics

networks: @moadiarynet @k-films @kstrucknet @starlit-network

101 notes · View notes

starlightrosa · 22 hours ago

Text

Outlet

With thanks to @mari2akary for this ADORABLE idea!

Summary: Valentino is pissed off, like usual. Vox is sent to pacify him. It ends, for once, in a rather unexpected fashion.

Warnings: Canon-friendly language, severe swear warning, Valentino in general. (If not comfy seeing him written, please skip past and take care of yourself.) All SFW.

Word Count: 1.6k

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a relatively quiet morning. In the tower belonging to Hell’s fearsome overlords, the Vees, Vox was in his hideout playing around with cameras and feeds so as to get the best angle for spying on Alastor yet again. At least, that’s how he assumed the morning would go. Hell comes with its problems, and one was bubbling up faster than the flat-screen could have assumed.

“VOX!” came the voice of Velvette, crackling over the monitor of the TV overlord. Honestly, you’d think the Brit would have learned to solve her own problems by now, surely she could just-

“VOX! I need you up here, NOW!”

“Whatever could be the problem, my dear?” Vox asked, turning his back to the British woman, sipping from a mug of coffee as he scrolled through his phone.

“Your little boy toy. Get up here now and cool him off before he rips apart the models that I need for MY SHOW! Damn it, Valentino!” Velvette yelled, before the digital screen went blank.

Vox lifted himself out of his chair, his charismatic smile gone from his face now.

“Oh boy, here I go. Off to go see Valentino. Hey, hey, hey! Fuck my life.” Vox said, ranting to himself as he stepped aboard the lifting pad to take him up to where Valentino was, in the efforts of cooling his anger.

When Vox got up to the suite that the Vees all shared, he saw something that should have surprised him, but it really didn’t. Red smoke blanketed the area, and there was a very angry Valentino, ranting and raving to the air with saliva flying from his mouth in his outrage.

“THAT UNGRATEFUL WHORE!” the moth demon screamed aloud, throwing a glass of… whatever he was drinking. And it would have hit Vox in the face, had the TV demon not quickly stepped out of the path of oncoming liqueur.

Vox had gotten used to a lot of Valentino’s mannerisms by now. The moth Overlord was a very unstable sort, with a temper more fierce and fiery than the eternal flames that ravaged the wasteland of the Pride Ring. So this once again came as no surprise.

“Um, which whore are we talking about exactly?” Vox asked, his hands behind his back. He looked mildly bored of this tantrum already, and if Valentino was anything to go by, this was only getting started.

“Fucking Angel Dust!” Valentino snarled. “Who the hell else would I be talking about?! That fucking SLUT walked out on me! ME!!!!” he continued, pacing around the room. “I fucking made him! I’m gonna remind him of just who he belongs to!” he said, rifling through the storage cupboards and pulling out two shotguns, one yellow and the other pink.

“Now, which of these compliments my coat?” Valentino asked to himself. Vox just chuckled.

“Val…” he crooned, though his charismatic drawl switched to something sharper, offering one warning and one only. “You’re not going over there.” he says.

“And why the fuck not? Angel is mine. I own him, so I can do what I goddamn want with-!”

“VAL!” Vox shouted, startling the moth into an angry yet disbelieving silence. “I said you’re not going over there, so you’re NOT FUCKING GOING.”

Valentino fell back on the sofa, kicking his legs in anger and pouting like a goddamn child. Sometimes Vox wondered why in the hell he was dating such a petulant, whining man. He shouldn’t care about any of this, realistically.

But leaving Valentino to stew in anger without any way to cool off was not a very good idea. Vox swore he was still finding bullets in the walls the last time Valentino got angry, and the carpenter’s prices were way too damn high for Vox’s liking anyway.

“You need to control yourself.” Vox said. Val scoffed.

“And how in the fuck do you expect me to do THAT?!”

“I don’t know, read a damn book? Play darts?” Vox guessed, rattling off some casual activities as an idea, before he saw the look on Val’s face. Like he was hatching some kind of plan, as the moth overlord quickly sat up and kept his eyes on Vox the entire time.

“Uh, Val? Why are you looking at me like that?” Vox enquired. Suddenly, the TV demon felt a little worried.

“You know, Voxy… I might have a way to take out my anger. If I can’t use Angel as my outlet… then you’re gonna have to do.” the moth demon said, before tugging Vox to him. Vox stumbled forwards and landed across Val’s lap. And usually Vox didn’t quite mind being in this position, if you get my drift. But the way Val was looking at him, not with lust, but with sheer mischief did more to unsettle Vox’s nerves.

Vox felt the moth demon working him out of his jacket, leaving him in his red and black striped vest. Of all the fucking times to wear the short-sleeved one. And Vox quickly began regretting it even more when he felt one of Valentino’s hands gripping his wrists and pulling them above his head.

“Val.” Vox warned, though the sharp warning was lost in the way his voice wavered. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, I’m thinkin’ about it, guapo.” Valentino responded. “I really am.” he continued, his voice a cat-like purr.

Vox opened his mouth to say something else, but an uncharacteristic squeal left him as Valentino gave the other overlord no warning and began digging his claws into the hollows of his underarms with his free upper hand.

“VAHAHAHAHAHAL!!!!” Vox cried out, squirming in the moth demon’s arms. Val just tightened his hold around the other, refusing to let him go.

Valentino just laughed. “Where are you trying to go? No escaping me, Voxie~” he crooned, enjoying the sight of his boyfriend squirming in his arms far more than he would admit. Vox was enjoyable to get his hands on, in many more ways than one.

“D-Don’t! Val, don’t! Don’t!” Vox begged, wriggling like a worm in his boyfriend’s arms. Val only grinned, every sharp fang in his mouth fully on show, even the gold one.

“Don’t what, Voxie~?” he questioned.

“Tickle me!” Vox giggled out, too caught up in the tickles to properly register what Valentino implied in the moment. Oh, he fell for it. And Vox soon realised and attempted to backtrack, though Val was undeterred. “Wahahahait wahahait WAIT- ACK!”

“Begging is always rewarded with me, guapo.” Valentino crooned. “This goes on until I’m not angry with Angel Dust anymore. And because you made me mention that slut again, that’s an extra minute of me wrecking your shit.” he finished, hearing Vox gasp at the suggestion.

“V-Val!” Vox cackled, his eyes screwed shut. “Thahahat’s nohohot FAIR!”

“I don’t think I asked for your opinion, Voxie. Now quiet down before I double your time.” Valentino threatened with a rare glint of playfulness in his reddish eyes.

“Gohohoho somewhere else!” Vox pleaded. If he kept getting tickled here in the underarms, he was going to overheat, quite literally. Having a literal TV for a head seemed like a fun concept, but it meant that the fun of blushing was thrown out the damn window and instead there came a very real possibility of Vox overheating from exertion, or blowing a fuse due to overuse of his energy. And a reboot wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend his afternoon, and he was fairly certain Val wanted that even less.

“Alright, fine. Whiny-ass.” Val said with a loud sigh as he pondered where to go next. Then he got a good idea. He released his hold on Vox’s wrists to gather hands under his back, and flipped Vox over.

Vox landed with a muffled ‘oof’, now lying on his stomach. Valentino looked down at Vox. “You know, Vox… I could go for a snack.”

“Then gehehet Kihihitty!” Vox babbled between chuckles that bubbled up out of his throat. Kitty was their robot who did whatever any of the Vees wanted without any fuss.

“No, she’s not needed.” Val purred. He gnashed his teeth playfully at Vox. “I was thinkin’ something else.”

“Lihihihike what?” Vox asked, not liking the evil smile on Valentino’s face.

“Ribs.” Is all he says, before he got Vox’s little striped vest up, revealing the electric blue skin, as he dipped his head, enjoying Vox’s pleads. Valentino had stumbled upon this spot a few times ago, and it was a favourite spot to get the TV demon crumbling.

“No, no, no. Val, please! Don’t, DON’T-!”

Val’s teeth met Vox’s ribs, nibbling along the ticklish bones. Vox shrieked as soon as he felt it, cackling and clawing into Valentino’s shirt with the freedom of his hands.

“VAHAHAHAHAL!!!” Vox screeched. He couldn’t think straight, and his face was getting dangerously hot. If this didn’t stop, he might just burn out. “STOHOHOHOP!”

“Awww, but I’m having so much fuuuun tickling your back. I kind of want to keep going.” Valentino shrugs, now going at his ribs with one set of hands, and the lower set scratching at his underarms. “Not like you can stop me anyway, since you’re laughing your ass off at the moment.”

Vox babbled. “I AHAHAHAM GOHONNA OVERHEHEHEHEAT!!! VAHAL, PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

Valentino debated, but then he sighed, letting go of Vox. “Fiiiiine.” he says, before grinning. “But this continues later tonight. Don’t think I’m done with you yet, Voxie.” he says, the Overlord getting up to go to the kitchen.

Vox sighed, leaning back into the comfort of the armchair. He really needed a nap to cool his circuits off. His eyes fluttered shut faster than he wanted, the last thing he saw before falling asleep was Valentino rooting around the fridge.

And if Valentino left the dozing Vox a sandwich and a glass of water while he slept, that would be just between them, and with only slight mockery from Velvette at some point. Such is life in Hell.

The End!

(Guapo - handsome. Spanish hehe)

#hazbin tickles #rosa writes fics #hazbin hotel tickle #lee!vox #ler!valentino #hazbin tickling #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino

31 notes · View notes

idiashroudshusband · 6 hours ago

Text

Loading… // Idia Shroud x Reader - Fluff

The dormitory of Ignihyde was silent, save for the soft hum of computer fans and the flickering glow of blue flames that danced in the darkness. It was past midnight—Idia’s favorite time of day. A time when he didn’t have to worry about forced social interactions or the suffocating expectations of the outside world.

And yet… tonight felt different.

You were sitting in his room, curled up on his bed, bathed in the soft neon glow of his monitors. One of Idia’s favorite animes was playing on a monitor, both of you watching it. Idia still couldn’t quite process how this happened. How you happened.

You, who somehow weren’t put off by his reclusive nature.

You, who laughed and payed attention at his ramblings about obscure game lore instead of getting bored.

You, who leaned close enough that he could smell the faint scent of your shampoo, making his heart rate skyrocket like he was facing a final boss with no HP left.

“Idia?” Your voice right next to him pulled him out of his spiral, and he jolted, nearly knocking over his energy drink.

“W-W-What?” He tugged his hoodie down over his face, soft pink flames sparking erratically at the tips. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like that! Critical damage to my heart gauge…”

You chuckled, resting your chin on your palm. “I’ve been here the whole time, you know.”

“Th-that’s even worse,” he muttered, burying his face deeper into his hood.

It had started with small things. You bringing him food when he forgot to eat (that wasnt just energy drinks and candy, though you did buy some for him on occasion), waiting for him outside the mandatory classes he had to attend, even when he insisted he was completley fine going alone, coaxing him out of his shell little by little. And now? Now you were in his personal space, sitting in his room, watching his favorite anime with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

If this were an otome game, you’d definitely be on the true romance route, and that terrified him.

“…You okay?”

Idia stiffened when he felt your fingers brush against his wrist, hesitant but warm. He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. His mind screamed at him to pull away, to hide behind his screen where it was safe. But he didn’t.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath and mumbled, “I just… I don’t get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you’re here.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Because I want to be?”

“That’s—” His brain short-circuited. “That doesn’t make sense. I mean, I’m not exactly protagonist material. I’m not cool and confident like the other housewardens, I don’t do well in crowds, and I—” He hesitated. “I’m… kind of a pain to be around.”

You frowned. “That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” He forced a laugh. “I mean, I literally have a stat debuff in social situations. If this were a dating sim, my affection points would be so low that I wouldn’t even unlock the friendship ending-”

“Idia.”

You said his name so softly, so gently, that it stopped him cold. Before he could spiral further, you scooted closer and took his hand in yours. His entire system crashed.

“I like you,” you said simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “Not in a ‘background NPC’ way, or in a ‘pity route’ way. Just… you.”

His throat clenched. His fingers twitched in your grasp, as if debating whether to hold on or pull away. The warmth of your touch, so foreign yet addicting, made his head spin.

“B-But…”

“No buts,” you interrupted, squeezing his hand. “You don’t have to be some overpowered anime protagonist. You’re you, and that’s more than enough. I like you for being you.”

Idia’s heart thudded against his ribs, his flames flickering a soft, pastel pink—his face dusted with a soft rosy blush. His mind still screamed that this had to be some elaborate dream, a rare gacha pull that he’d wake up from any second.

But then you smiled at him, patient and unwavering, and suddenly, for the first time in a long time… he didn’t mind the idea of stepping outside his comfort zone.

Just a little.

Maybe.

If it was with you.

I love writing silly cute fanfics about my favorite little guy <3333

#fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #idia shroud fanfic #twst idia #idiashroud #idia shroud #twisted wonderland idia #disney twst #twst #twst fanfic #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #idia x reader

28 notes · View notes

coco-loco-nut · 22 hours ago

Text

Eternal Sunshine

pairing: pato o’ward x reader

summary: ok, maybe you have a type. at least this time he might treat you right

masterlist requests open

——————————————

They say that in the darkest skies you see the brightest stars, that suffering is essential to growth, that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. You never believed it to be true until you met your boyfriend. He kind and funny and ridiculously handsome, and he arrived at one of your lowest points.

——

You shouldn’t be here, your mind screams at you to turn around and leave, but it’s the same one that wanted you to be here in the first place.

The track used to feel like home, for five years you got to watch your boyfriend drive and enjoy the secrecy of your relationship. You both put in a lot of effort into keeping the spark alive, even if it meant shuffling some things around. That was until he decided he to cheat on you. It was easy for him, you weren’t public so it was easy to lie that he wasn’t in a relationship. Turns out he’s been cheating for over a year.

But this isn’t Formula One, this is IndyCar. You chose this to get your fix and move on. It would be satisfying to see someone crash into Oscar, maybe he can feel the pain you felt.

“Are you lost?” a deep voice comes from beside you and you look at the man speaking to you.

“A little,” you smile nervously, you haven’t been recognized yet. Maybe you should’ve chosen a race that wasn’t right outside of L.A.

“Luckily for you, I’m an expert,” you don’t know why he seems familiar. You notice his McLaren shirt, similar to your own - except yours was a fuck you to Oscar. You stole some of his official gear when you packed your bag and left.

“Are you a McLaren fan?” you ask, trying to place why he seems familiar.

“I guess you could say that? Are you?” the man asks, and you can’t help to notice some resemblance to Oscar, but he is far more handsome.

“I, um, same. I’m new to Indy, but I’ve loosely followed the F1 team for around five years,” you choose your words carefully. Pato looks at you closer, knowing he’s seen you somewhere before. Your pass says that you have VIP access, so he doesn’t question it as you walk with him.

“I’m Pato,” your brows furrow slightly as you give him your middle name as a cover. Where have you heard that name before. Your eyes catch sight of a video screen and they widen in horror.

“This is embarrassing, you’re a driver,” you are at a bit of a loss for words, mortified at your carelessness. He has got to be so mad, you straight up lied to his face.

“And your name is actually Y/n. I’m surprised to see someone of your talents here. Especially without security,” Pato’s unoffended smile disarms you, making you mentally sigh a breath of relief.

“Sorry for all the secrecy, it used to be the only way I can attend races,. I guess my disguise didn’t work then,” your smile is bittersweet, it’s almost freeing to be at a race without worrying if your relationship is going to be put on blast.

“I understand. I’m actually a big fan myself, so I recognized your voice. I introduced Lando to your music last year,” Pato says but you know the last part isn’t actually true. He may think he introduced your music to Lando, but Lando couldn’t reveal he knew you and your music well. He was one of the very few people who knew about you and Oscar.

“That’s so cool,” even if it’s wrong, maybe even vain, you love hearing things like that. “Did you get to go to the tour last year r hen?” you follow, curious how much he truly listens to your music.

“No, I wasn’t able to make it between races and other duties. I wanted to though,” he replies, scratching his neck while contemplating if he should ask a question or not. He has you as a captive audience though, so it doesn’t hurt to.

“That’s a shame,” you realize that you’ve started walking with Pato, but no one’s stopped you yet.

“Will you be releasing new music soon?” he sees a flash of hurt in your eyes and immediately regrets asking.

“I’ve both lost and gained inspiration, so there may be something in the works sooner than expected,” Pato immediately understands your words. It was widely known that you were in a long-term relationship, but no one knew who you were dating. It seems like you are no longer in one now. You really will have to hide when that bit of news breaks.

“I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay, it’s actually good, in a way. I’m starting to get over what happened,” the last part feels like a lie, but you don’t feel as heavy as before.

“I’m sorry, you are probably busy and I’m yapping on and on. I should probably get ready for practice anyway,” Pato realizes, flushing slightly with embarrassment.

“It’s okay,” you smile and something inside you tugs at your heart at the thought of him walking away and never talking to him again. “Would you like to get drinks or something after the race on Sunday?” you ask quickly, voice slightly shaking with nerves. You watch his eyes light up before he reels himself in to act cool.

“Yeah. I’d give you my number, but I know that you will run into me soon,. Enjoy all the racing” he grins, disappearing into the crowds. You continue to walk around, finding a spot to watch the end of the IMSA practice.

You slip back into your brooding as the sounds of engines put you on edge. It used to be a sound that was a comfort.

You want to kick yourself, how could you let a man - no, a boy - play you like that. And now here you are, wide-eyed and talking to another driver. Stupid. Not only does he drive for Arrow McLaren, but he’s the reserve driver for the F1 team.

All you can think about is how Oscar and Lando would react, how Pato would react if you started something and he found out about Oscar. The words they could use to hurt you. Whore. You would be moving on quickly, but then again, so did Oscar. He moved on while you were still together. Manipulator. Even if you don’t intend on it, it would be very easy to assume that you are using Pato for revenge, as a low blow. So many more.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You have a lot to think about before the end of the weekend.

Pato was right, you run into him (literally run into him) on Sunday. You just finished and early lunch and got on a call with your agent to discuss an opportunity.

“Sorry, I gotta go,” you apologize, hanging up the call.

“When I said you will run into me, I didn’t mean literally,” the smile on his face tells you he isn’t actually mad. In fact, he seems delighted. Yet the uneasy feeling of nerves bubbles in your stomach, you can’t hurt him. You know what you have to do, you have to tell him the truth. Lay it all out and let him make an informed decision, even if it hurts you to talk about.

“Sorry, I was distracted, and I guess I still am. My agent was trying to convince to, um, you know that doesn’t really matter,” you shift your focus to the present moment.

“I’m glad I ran into you, I was going to offer a garage tour,” Pato brushes you odd behavior off and your eyes light up. The look sends a thrill down his spine and butterflies in his chest. He feels like a teenage boy talking to his crush.

“Really? I’ve never been, not even when I-,” you catch your words, quickly clearing your throat, “not even when I attended an F1 race a few years ago,” the excitement from your voice is gone. Pato can tell there is a story there, but he takes your initial reaction and runs with it. Oscar never brought you to the garage. Even Lando offered, but you both said it was too risky. Oscar never even introduced you to the team, other than Lando.

“Follow me!” he leads you through the Arrow McLaren area, and you end up back at his motorhome. Pato did make sure to take pictures during it, especially with you and his car. You don’t think twice when you follow him in and sit down.

“I kinda like this a lot more than F1, it seems more humble in a way. It’s a spectacle like all racing is, but F1 is so flashy and honestly some people wouldn’t realize if there wasn’t a race. As long as all the other entertainment is there,” you unintentionally start on a tangent. Pato realizes he can learn a lot about you by reading between the lines.

“You sound like you have a bit of experience,”

“They, uh, COTA wants me to perform at F1 grand prix. They claim I will be the biggest attraction,” you huff, you really weren’t supposed to say anything, but if anyone would understand it would be Pato. Plus, he’s in the industry and you deep down you know you can trust him.

“They aren’t wrong. I know at least Lando would rather watch you than drive,” Pato smiles cheekily, dissolving your frustration.

“He’s had a private concert before, I’m sure he’ll live if I turn it down,” you abruptly stop laughing when you realize what you revealed. Pato’s brows furrow as he processes your words, maybe you misspoke. Here goes nothing, you have to come clean now.

“Lando and I were kinda friends, we met through my ex,” you reveal some of your truth. Careful to keep some of the cards in your hand hidden. The ones too painful to share.

“Oh, that’s cool! How did your ex know Lando?” Pato asks, almost wondering how you didn’t know who he was when you met. You quickly weigh the pros and cons. If you are going to get drinks with him after the race, he deserves to at least know and make his decision from there.

“My ex is Oscar Piastri,” your voice is quiet at you look at your hands, picking at a nail. Pato observes you as his stomach drops.

“Oh, how, uh, how did you meet?” he tentatively asks, trying to get an answer but not shut you down.

“I grew up as a huge racing fan and I thought he was cute, so I messaged him and that was that. You know my music,” you watch him smile to himself and then meet your eyes.

“Well, I’m glad I’m your type then, unless it’s just Australian racers,” Pato teases and your lips quirk up, relieved that he isn’t mad.

“No, apparently just men who drive for McLaren,” you chuckle. “He um, he cheated on me, and that isn’t part of my type. Hopefully that’s a part of the Australian thing,” your voice is quieter, but not dejected. That’s as much as you are willing to give for now, somethings are still too painful.

“I think he’s stupid to do that. And to not show you off. Plenty of guys would kill to meet you, to be on your arm and the one you come home to. I know I would,” Pato reassures you as he reaches out and squeezes your hand.

“It isn’t weird?” you ask. He just shrugs, looking at you in a way that makes you like a million butterflies are in your stomach.

“It’s not like you came here searching for me. Based off of your story, I doubt you came here looking for a relationship either. Besides, I initiated our first conversation, and you just came here for… why did you come here?”

“I missed racing, and this is really close to LA,” you say honestly. “I really didn’t know who you were, by the way. I wasn’t allowed to be around the F1 team, and everything I new about the team was from Oscar, so I never really thought to ask who the reserve driver was,” you add on.

“I believe you. For the record, I think you should perform at the race. It might be therapeutic not having to hide your presence there,” Pato offers his opinion. Silently adding that it might be nice to show Oscar you don’t have to hide.

“You have a great point,” your smile sends a thrill down his spine.

“Pato!” a girl barges into the motorhome, drawing both of your attentions. “Oh my god, you’re,” she stares at you with wide eyes.

“Hi,” you stand up to greet her.

“Y/n, this is my sister, Elba,” Pato says as she tells him something in Spanish that sounds borderline angry.

“In that case, maybe we should watch the race together?” you want to get off on the right foot, especially if you want to pursue something with him.

“Really?” her eyes light up as she shoots Pato a look again. “Pato, why are you trapping her?” she asks her brother and you fight a laugh.

“I’m not-“

“I ran into him today, literally ran into him, and he offered to show me around,” you offer an explanation.

“I promise I’m much cooler than him,” she tells you. You admire their sibling dynamic, there’s clearly a deep bond for them to interact as they do.

“Why are you even here?” Pato puts an end to things before his sister steals you away.

“Making sure you are ready, you have ten minutes,” she says, walking over to you and linking your arms. Too late, Pato, you are being stolen.

“Oh shit,”

“That’s what I thought,” she hums, walking the two of you out so he can change.

“Drinks on me,” you tell her, knowing you will get along well. And you do, three drinks later you are telling her all about Oscar and even playing a sample of a new song. She happily takes in all the industry insights and background of your music. You answer most of her questions, even one’s like who your least favorite artist to work with is.

You both don’t even notice when the Arrow Mclaren team takes a picture of you laughing in their hospitality area. You only noticed after the race when your phone started to blow up.

“Everything okay?” Elba asks as you stare at your phone with a frown. You are in the safety of Pato’s motorhome, away from prying eyes.

“My publicist is freaking out. I wasn’t supposed to officially be here and being spotted with you as made the public assume things,” the pinched line between your eyebrows tells Elba just how frustrated you are.

“So you aren’t allowed to have friends,” she scoffs. Even if she can tell there is a spark between you and her brother, there’s no need to push that at the moment. A devilish smile creeps onto her face as she looks at you. “I bet those rumors are killing Oscar,” she says while watching the frustration melt into satisfaction.

“I would never use you or your brother like that, but I have to admit I like the idea,” you smile.

“Hello sister and supposed girlfriend,” Pato walks in, causing you to sit up a little. He clearly isn’t bothered by it. Secretly, he loves it, he wasn’t lying earlier about being romantically interested.

“Do your ears burn?” Elba asks, eyebrow raised like this isn’t Pato’s motorhome.

“No?”

“Hm, okay,”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that a photo of Elba and I would cause so much trouble,” you apologize, a little embarrassed at the public’s reaction. You went from never having a public photo of you and Oscar to having articles being written about you and Pato when you aren’t even together yet.

“So I shouldn’t post the photo of you with my car?” Pato asks lightheartedly.

“Post whatever you’d like,” your words are truthful, it’s a good photo and people already know you are hanging out.

“Good, you look very cute in it,” Pato’s words cause your cheeks to flush.

“I should go, my car is here. Congrats on your podium,” you stand, sneakily leaving a slip of paper on the chair behind you.

Pato and Elba watch you disappear. Guess you aren’t getting drinks tonight.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Elba asks, watching as Pato stares at the door you left from.

“She’s different. I should be thrown off about Oscar, but she didn’t know me. She loves racing too. I want her, but I’m willing to wait,” Pato says wistfully. Elba subtly picks up the paper that you dropped.

“Well, she lefts this. Maybe it’s a good start,” Elba leaves Pato to himself.

Pato, sorry I had to leave quickly. Text me when you get to this address, 10pm…

Your handwriting is neat with the details listed at the end. A quick google search of the name tells him it’s a members-only upscale bar. It’s so exclusive it has a dress code and no address listed online.

His stomach churns with nerves as he sends a text to you letting you know he’s there. A moment later a man in a suit opens the door for him. He’s never been so nervous for a date.

“Mr. O’Ward, follow me,” Pato runs his hands nervously down his button-down, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. The tie feels tight as he steps further into the bar. Pato spots you wearing a sleek black dress with hair perfectly styled. You look absolutely breathtaking as you stand to greet him, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

“Sorry for the formality, it’s just the best place for privacy,” you apologize.

“It’s okay. This is a really cool place,” Pato looks around, shocked at the big names sitting near him.

“I ordered some food, if that’s okay, but the waiter will be back soon for drink orders,” you tell him. relaxing into the seat.

“That’s perfect,” Pato takes a look at the menu, noticing there’s no prices.

“Don’t worry about the cost, I’ve paid for everything already,” you answer his thoughts, practically reading his mind.

“But-“

“I asked you out and invited you, you weren’t going to pay regardless,” your smile tells him to enjoy being treated so he does.

“How was your first Indycar weekend?” he asks after you order drinks.

“I enjoyed it, I think I might have a new favorite driver,”

“You mean I wasn’t your favorite in the first place?” Pato teases.

“No, it was Nico Rosberg, jury is still out if he’s moving from number one,” your eyes crinkle.

“Will that change if I show you pictures of my dog?”

“Absolutely,” you lean in to look at his phone. You may be a cat person, but you love dogs almost as much as you love cats.

Your first date turns into two, then three, then four, then nights spent together. Pato even occasionally joins you at the studio while you record your new album. The summer flies and you make some appearances at races as Elba’s friend - which isn’t untrue. Your fans connected the dots when you posted a dump that included Pato’s dog and Pato posted the photo of you with his car from your garage tour.

She joins you and Pato at COTA. You’ve spent the whole week both stressed and nervous as you practiced your set and announced your new album, eternal sunshine.

“Are you okay?” she asks as you nervously walk through the paddock.

“No, but it’s okay,” you frown, glancing at your pass. Your cream linen outfit is neutral, you didn’t even touch the Arrow Mclaren gear that Pato gifted you when packing for the weekend. He insisted that you didn’t have to accept Mclaren’s offer to be a guest on the day of your performance, but you told him that you would stick with Elba. Your PR team thought it would be a good idea too, especially since you are known to support the Indycar team.

“We can take a shot before going over,” she suggests.

“It’s not even noon,”

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugs. You follow her as she leads you to a bar, ordering two shots. You’ll just drink extra water before performing tonight. It doesn’t stop the nerves pooling in your stomach as you approach the papaya area, but it does make your brain not care as much.

“Y/n!” Lando practically falls over himself running over to greet you.

“Hey Lando,” your smile is tight, glad it’s him and not Oscar, but not happy to see him this early in the day. You thought you had another hour at least.

“I’m sorry, I was going to reach out but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me,” his words fall on your deaf ears.

“Save it. If you want to apologize, keep him away from me,” your words are resolute.

“Too late,” Elba says under her breath and suddenly you wish you took more than one shot. You don’t know Pato approaching from behind you, you are honed in on the person now in front of you.

“I see you have a type,” the first words every girl wants to hear from her ex. Certainly not ‘i’m sorry’ or ‘i am the worst, you deserve better than me’. You squeeze Elba’s wrist, silently telling her to stand down before she yells.

“Right, well, he doesn’t cheat on me in my house and bed multiple times, shamelessly apologize when I walk in on it and then send photos to me together with the same girl in that bed a week later. So, I’d say he isn’t like you at all. And if you think you are my type, then you are sorely mistaken,” your eyes narrow. Lando gives Oscar a WTF look, clearly unimpressed with his teammate. He didn’t know the whole story, all Oscar told him was you broke up.

“It’s a shame no one will know who she’s talking about on her album. Except for the ones that are clearly about Pato. Trust me, you’ll know which ones those are,” Elba can’t resist herself, and you are proud of it. You probably shouldn’t have let her listen to two of the demos though.

“What?” Oscar’s eyes widen, not expecting you to tell the world about your break up. Lando is silently thrilled, he can’t wait for your new album. It’s too bad he will have to wear headphones while listening to it.

“You seriously didn’t expect me to not write about it, did you?” you raise your eyebrow. “I wrote about the good and will sure as hell write about the ugly. Be glad I respect you just enough to not name drop you,”

“Hermosa, let’s go,” Pato wraps an arm around your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, gently removing you from the situation. You startle slightly, not having realized his presence.

“Just wait until she sings tonight,” Elba shoots another comment at Oscar, channeling the spite that you won’t show. Just because you are taking the high road doesn’t mean she has to.

“Elba,” Pato’s sharp voice calling back to her tells her enough and she walks away. Sending one final nasty look over her shoulder before catching up with you and Pato.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Lando turns to his teammate.

“I, she broke up with me,”

“You cheated on her. Multiple times apparently. You know what? We are not having this discussion here. Lucky enough no one was around to see this whole fiasco. Just, stay away from her,” Lando shakes his head, leaving Oscar to wallow in his thoughts.

“Hey, none of that was your fault,” Pato keeps you close, your breathes deep and shaky as you hold yourself together. He brings you into a small empty room, Elba closes the door behind you as tears streak down your cheeks. You sit on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying,” Pato crouches in front of you, thumb wiping away a tear.

“You weren’t ready to encounter him again. I’m so proud of how you handled it, and it’s okay to cry,” he reassure you, which makes you cry harder. Elba bites back a comment about the aforementioned boy, but he should be careful to not run into her again. She’s only nice when not talking to someone who hurt her friend. Pato moves to sit beside you, pulling you into his lap. He lets you cry it out, something you refused to do when you found out about Oscar’s infidelity. You’ve been so strong for so long, you’ve never given yourself the chance to feel your feelings.

“How much of it did you hear?” you tearily ask, a little ashamed that you revealed a part of the story you never told Pato. So much pain put out for the world to hear in a fit of anger.

“Most of it,” Pato answers and you know he knows.

“This is not how this weekend was supposed to start,” you rest your head against Pato’s now damp shirt. Elba stepped out to grab water for you and give you some privacy.

“No,” he agrees, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. Pato won’t vocalize it, but he’s worried about you being in the Paddock for his free practice drive in Mexico.

“Am I doing the right thing by being here? Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to perform,” your voice is thick with that post-cry sound.

“Absolutely, this was hard but I think it will help with your healing. He can’t touch you anymore, he’ll risk your fans knowing he is the one who hurt you,” Pato is reassuring himself too, it was terrifying to find you face to face with Oscar.

“Right,” your tears have stopped.

“Hey, we need to get lunch before sound check,” Elba pops in, carefully tossing the bottle of water to Pato.

“Right,” you sniff, carefully removing yourself from Pato’s hold and standing up.

“Drink this, you need to rehydrate. Fuck, and I need to go to a meeting,” Pato kisses you, letting it last a second too long before leaving you and Elba.

“I can hurt him, make it look like an accident. Then Pato can race this weekend,” Elba suggests. You know she won’t and can’t, but you crack a smile anyway.

“I don’t deserve you or Pato,” you hug her.

“Let’s fix your mascara and get out there. We’ve avoided your team this long, I don’t know how much longer we can manage,” you and Elba find Mclaren hospitality and take advantage of the drivers being in a meeting. You two are gone by the time they get there.

You make your way to the concert stage for a sound check with your band. The hot Texas heat beating down on you.

“I’m making changes to the set list,” you hand them the revised one. “We are doing three songs from the new album. Opening with True Story, then we will do The Boy is Mine and Eternal Sunshine later in the show. Maybe ending with Boy is Mine,” you tell them.

“But those aren’t your singles,”

“It’s a gift to the fans, it’ll help get hype around the album,” you lie, you just feel that they will send the message to Oscar. It’s your little piece of revenge.

“Sounds good, we will practice those later,” your guitarist says. You run through a couple of your hits so the sound levels can be adjusted, before going into a meeting with your team.

“We have an interview set up with F1 TV in half an hour. It’s some type of quiz with Hinchcliffe while doing a hot lap,” your publicist tells you as you hydrate and stretch.

“Right, well, let’s get ready,” you head to the dressing room that is air conditioned, thankfully.

“So, the rumor is that you are a big motorsport fan,” Hinch starts off the interview.

“Ever since I was a kid. I’ve been to a few grand prix before, and now I get to perform at one,” you reply, happy to talk about racing.

“Is Mclaren your favorite team then?”

“No, but I’ll never tell who is,” your playful expression is opposite to the one you wore earlier. No one can tell that you had been crying.

“Well, you’ve been a frequent guest at Indycar races. Who is your favorite driver, me or Pato?”

“I don’t think I can answer that either,” you smile, playing along with the bit.

“So it’s me. Great taste,” he accelerates off the starting line.

“I’ve always wanted to do one of these,”

“Triva while on a hot lap? We all have our own aspirations,” he takes a turn quickly and you cheer in excitement. You confidently answer his questions.

“Can we go again? Can I drive?” you ask, not wanting to unbuckle.

“Unfortunately that’s all the track time we have today,” you sadly unbuckle, giving the in-car camera a thumbs down.

“Thank you for the ride,” you tell him after getting out.

“Thank you, I don’t think I’ve had anyone tell me to go faster. Good luck on your performance tonight,” he is a little shocked at how well you handled it.

“Thank you, I’ll give you a backstage pass if you let me drive,” you say once the cameras stop filming and the mic is removed.

“Unfortunately I cannot this time. Get Pato to rent a track for you. Has he taken you on a lap yet?”

“No, he will in Mexico. Don’t tell anyone, but you are my favorite commentator,” you take your bag from an assistant and hand him a pass.

“I will be holding this over Buxton’s head,” Hinch waves the pass before you part ways. You find Elba and Pato to watch qualifying before you have to get ready for the concert. Elba leaves to get food, claiming that now is the right time while everyone else is busy on track.

“Are you nervous,” Pato asks, his fingers entwined with yours as you stare at the screen.

“A little, but I changed the set to add some of the new album,” you keep your eyes trained on the Ferrari on the screen.

“I have a request from the social media team,” your head turns to look at your boyfriend at the uneasiness in his voice. “They want Oscar and Lando to watch the concert with me, they think,”

“They think it will show team togetherness since you will already be there to watch me,” you sigh, mulling it over. “Fuck. If I say no then it makes me look like an asshole,” your frown deepens at the thought.

“Lando said he will make sure Oscar is gone by the time you get offstage,”

“No, they will want a video or picture of me interacting with them,” you run a hand through your hair and Pato regrets asking on behalf of the team.

“It’s not a big deal if you say no. I can watch from the front row with them and come backstage once you are done. Then the social team still gets what they want,” Pato reassures you with another option.

“Yeah, I think I like that more. Plus, I can sing to you easier that way,” your frown goes away as you lean into him. He removes his hand from yours and wraps his arm around you. “The pass I gave you should let you immediately come backstage, and I’ll have my team inform security to let you through,”

“You are going to kill it, I’m excited to see you onstage,”

“I’m excited too, I can shake off the rust. Oh, and Lando can come backstage with you. Since you introduced him to my music,” Pato lightly groans with embarrassment as you giggle.

“I had no idea you knew him when I told you that! It’s his fault that he didn’t tell me he knew your music,” Pato defends himself.

“Am I too late?” Nolan appears in the doorway, a little out of breath.

“Nolan?” you ask, a little like an excited puppy. You would lay down your life for him, he’s like your baby brother now.

“I couldn’t miss the concert. I tried to be here an hour ago, but the traffic is insane,” he shakes his head as he greets Pato with that weird male handshake.

“Sometimes I think you love Nolan more than me,” Pato says as you hug his teammate.

“I doooo,” you dramatically sway back in forth in the hug.

“I knew it,” Pato shakes his head lovingly. “Oh and surprise. I figured you’d like the extra support,” Pato got your team to give him an extra pass after Nolan dropped some not so subtle hints about wanting to be here.

“Hey Nolan,” Elba returns with a plate of food for you.

“Where’s mine?”

“Um, you can eat later. You aren’t going on stage in a few hours,” Elba waves her brother off.

As every minute in qualifying ticks by you increasingly get both nervous and excited. As Q3 reaches its halfway point, your phone buzzes to summon you away before the crowds start.

“You are going to be amazing, I’ll be front and center,” Pato hugs you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“I will be there too,” Nolan interjects.

“I’ll be backstage before the show,” Elba promises. You thank them and head out. You are immediately thrown into warm ups and hair and makeup.

“15 minutes,” the stage manager warns. You check your phone one last time before grabbing your water and heading to the stage.

“Good luck, you got this, you are an icon,” Elba starts to hype you up, and your laugh makes her join your laughter.

“I’m more worried for my fans, they aren’t expecting new music to be performed,” you shake your head as you are directed to a platform.

“You will smash it,” she says as she’s led to the wings. You focus on your breathing and hydration.

The lights go dark and the crowd silences. A cue tells you to start your first surprise. Your voice is alone in the dark as you start singing. You start rising in the darkness during the first gimmie love section of the intro and as soon as the platform locks into place and your beat picks up a golden light flushes the stage. The show’s begun.

Pato soaks in the vision of you up on the stage and how Oscar has to mask his shock. It didn’t take long for Oscar to realize that bad light you paint of him, the opposite of how you’d written him in the past. You send a subtle smile Pato’s way, one he returns as an eager grin.

“Dude, your girlfriend is killing it,” Lando yells over the music. You are currently singing one of your first hits, and the energy is high.

“I want her to adopt me,” Nolan agrees. Even the songs you wrote about Oscar feel directed at Pato now, and that’s a new level of hurt. The final blow comes as you end the show with your newest steamy song, and everyone know who you are singing about and to.

“Holy shit,” Pato says as he listens to your words, he hasn’t heard this one yet and it’s capital H-O-T. You strut upstage, back to the audience as you end the song. During the final word, ‘mine’, you turn your head back to look at the crowd, quickly finding Pato’s eyes and sing the word. The lights go dark, and it’s somehow more electric than your start.

“I’m actually speechless,” Lando says as Nolan grabs Pato’s shoulders, shaking him.

“Dude,” he is practically jumping. “You are her’s and she let everyone know,” Nolan says.

“Imagine having a song like that written for you, that must be so cool. Right, Osc?” Lando turns to his teammate, still mad about the recent facts he learned about. Oscar swallows, nodding.

“Yeah, that certainly seems very cool,” Oscar begrudgingly agrees.

“Mr. O’Ward and guests, your presence is required backstage,” security arrives just as expected. Oscar follows but before they reach you, the group is stopped. They couldn’t just leave him to a crowd of fans.

“Alright guys, smile,” the Mclaren admin takes a quick picture while they wait for you to finish taking off your mic pack and monitors.

Still high off of the performance, you practically jumping into Pato’s arms, not looking at who else was around. Elba trails you, a jacket in hand for when you get cold from your sweat evaporating away.

“You were incredible, mi amor,” he holds you, letting you kiss him, arms around his neck.

“Hey, we get it, the boy is yours. You literally just sang about it,” Lando jokes as you pull away from Pato. The way you two look at each is different than when you and Oscar were together. Fondness? Sure. But the look you and Pato give one another is deeper.

“I would like to bleach my eyes,” Elba agrees.

“Mind if we get a couple photos?” the Mclaren admin asks and your social team also approaches to get some. You stand between Pato and Nolan. Elba is on the other side of Pato, Lando beside Nolan, and Oscar on the other side of Lando.

“I take it you guys liked the show?” you ask, proceeding as if Oscar wasn’t there. The more you act like nothing happened and you don’t know him, the worse he will feel.

“It was incredible,” Nolan answers for the group.

“I’m glad,” you smile tiredly. The physical exhaustion of the performance hitting you. “Thank you guys for coming, I hope you do well tomorrow,” you give Nolan and Lando hugs, offering just a nod to Oscar. Fans know he doesn’t like physical touch like that, so it doesn’t seem abnormal.

Your fingers intertwine with Pato’s as you practically drag him back to your dressing room, locking the door behind you. You plop down into the comfy chair and Pato helps remove your heels.

“I have to admit, a part of me wanted to climb onto that stage and carry you off of it when you were singing to me,” Pato gently massages your calves.

“I wouldn’t have been opposed. Just wait until the album comes out,” your sly grin widens as he stands up and steps closer to you.

“Be careful with what you say, hermosa,” his voice deepens as you tilt your chin up at him.

“I can be quiet. These clothes need to come off anyway,” your breath hitches as he lifts you up, lips crashing together. His hands slide to your back, working your outfit off.

You spend the next few months laying low as you plan a short tour after your album released on Thanksgiving. You even train with Pato. It’s surprising how similar your training is to his and it keeps both of you accountable.

Everything really hits you again the first time you walk the red carpet with Pato. He’s so proud to be at your side, showing you off and supporting you. It’s nothing you’ve ever had before. He’s here when your album isn’t eligible for awards until next year, when you just have to be here for the appearance.

“Thank you for being here,” you whisper in his ear as you sit at a table, tearing up a little as your hands are joined underneath the table.

“Of course I’m here, you support me. I like being your WAG,” Pato turns towards you, feeling as if he is doing the bare minimum. “Amor, I would go anywhere for you, just like you would for me,” he brings your hand up from under the table and kisses your knuckles.

To him, this is just a scratch of the support he wants to provide you. It feels like nothing in comparison to what you’ve done for him. You scheduled a whole tour around the month of May so you could spend it living out of a motorhome with him.

“I love you so much,”

“I love you more.”

#f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #indycar #indycar imagine #pato o’ward x reader #pato o’ward imagine #pato o’ward

49 notes · View notes

macaroki · 24 hours ago

Text

look of love, zayne (433 wc)

thinking about Zayne.. i dunno where im going w this. just a CASUAL drabble. mc is not hunter cause i said so. actually ykw take it however u want i dont mind. actually halfway writing this maybe this is not so casual. actually yes its like a unwinding w zayne after a long day. ok bye enjoy. n e way i double space it out cause it hurts my eyes reading lots of paragraph idk ( guys idk if small letter is good or like the caps in front is good.. hmmmm...... let me know plz... ) OK PLS DONT COME AFTER ME IF ITS A BIT OOC 🙏🙏 #selfindulgent not proofread bye love u

he's too busy with work, and the movies aren't so fun anymore. zayne and his soft spot for you, definitely didnt put down his work just bcs he noticed how u start losing interest w the movies.

he is too preoccupied about things he's working on, mainly about the upcoming treatment plan for his patients or the surgery, one that you can't wrap your head about. you can't be bothered to worry about the constant typing sound from his laptop with the movie displayed right in front of your eyes.

the moon casts a gentle glow through the window, dimly lighting the living room area the two of you currently lounging in. with your knees tucked to your chest, and the busy Zayne next to you, suddenly the movies aren't so good to watch now. glancing towards him, he looks so.. well, focused. always thinking, always lost in his own worlds, but right now there's just something quieter about him.

“am I really that interesting than the movies? actually.. screw that, shouldn't you be sleeping?” he asks, not looking up as his eyes glued right to the screen. his tone is a bit.. well, teasing but somehow it just feels more softer. maybe you're imagining things?

eventually, you shoots him a shrug. “shouldn’t you?”

a gentle smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and finally, he meets your gaze. his eyes reflect your figure, and maybe just maybe the teensy little gaze of love, so so gently looking at you like you're his whole world. if the look of love is a person, Zayne is the perfect definition about it. others might see him as cold, distant, but is that really all he is?

Zayne eventually leans back against the armrest, stretching out his sore arm after carefully placing his laptop to the coffee table. you find his hand idly resting on your side, pulling you closer before a gentle voice breaks the silence. “mhm, no. I don’t sleep much.”

neither do you, actually. not lately, thus resulting in you staying with him for a while until you fixed your sleep schedule. a win-win. with the celebration and stuff, it's hard not to miss out on sleep.

the comfortable silence creeping in, again. save it for the dialogue from the movies occasionally chirping down to your ears with his gentle hand squeezing your side. something about nights like this makes everything feel.. like the world outside doesn’t matter, just for this moment.

sure, this is no different than an ordinary night, but with everything that happened, maybe this is just the kind of night the two of you needed. just the two of you basking in the comfort of love, with nothing else in between. except for the sudden screaming from the movies that startled the both of you.

#zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne lads #lads #zayne comfort #zayne fluff #fluff #comfort #love and deepspace #zayne fic #zayne x y/n #zayne #lads fic #lads comfort #lnds zayne #l&ds #l&ds zayne #Spotify

23 notes · View notes

passengerprincessblog · 13 hours ago

Text

“Off Track” ~ pt 9 Franco x reader

Warnings: Alcohol, angst ?

Summary: Determined to forget Lewis, Y/N throws herself into the electric chaos of Vegas nightlife with Franco, letting the alcohol and music drown out her guilt.

The grandstands erupted with cheers, the flashing lights blinding as I stood frozen in place, watching the celebrations unfold on the giant screens around the circuit.

Lewis—second place.

I could hardly believe it. The crowd around me was ecstatic, a sea of fans screaming, jumping, celebrating. Max had just secured his championship, but all I could focus on was the man standing on the podium, champagne dripping from his race suit, a look of quiet satisfaction on his face.

Lewis had done it. Without me.

The weight of that realization settled into my bones. He had just achieved one of his best results of the year, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t in his garage, cheering him on. I wasn’t at the paddock, waiting to embrace him. I wasn’t part of his moment. And worst of all, it didn’t seem like he needed me to be.

I felt like a ghost, as if I had erased myself from his life before he had the chance to.

The shame crept in deeper. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just move on, like Franco told me to?

I clenched my fists, blinking back the rising emotion in my throat. I needed to get out of here. The noise, the flashing images of Lewis smiling, the reminder of what I’d lost—it was too much.

I turned on my heel, pushing through the crowd, heading down the stairs as fast as I could. I couldn’t watch anymore. I didn’t want to see his face on the screen, to witness the moment that solidified my irrelevance in his life.

---

I found myself hovering near the entrance to the Williams garage, unsure of what I was even doing there. Maybe it was muscle memory—after all, for weeks now, Franco had been the place I ran to when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Maybe I just needed familiarity.

I spotted him instantly, standing near his strategist, talking with one of his mechanics. His expression was serious, his body language stiff with frustration. He looked annoyed, no doubt disappointed with his own race. I wondered if he had even noticed where Lewis had finished, or if he even cared.

A photographer passed by, nearly brushing my shoulder. I suddenly felt suffocated by the crowd, the flashing cameras, the F1 staff buzzing around. It felt like everyone was looking at me. Like everyone knew.

I ducked my head down, folding my arms tightly over my chest as I lingered near the back.

After a few minutes, Franco’s eyes found mine across the garage. His frustration seemed to soften slightly as he excused himself from the conversation and made his way over to me, his strides easy but purposeful.

Without hesitation, he gently guided me down the hall, toward his driver’s room.

“What?” he asked, scanning my face the moment the door clicked shut behind us.

“Nothing… I’m just… I don’t know? Anxious,” I admitted, rubbing my forehead.

He smirked slightly, leaning back against the doorframe. “You? No way.”

His teasing tone made me roll my eyes, but it didn’t shake the nerves buzzing under my skin.

Franco turned and started peeling off his race suit, unzipping it and stepping out of the fireproofs underneath. I swallowed as my eyes trailed over his toned body, his abs flexing as he pulled the damp shirt over his head. He caught my gaze and smirked.

“You’re staring, hermosa,” he said, his voice low.

I scoffed, turning my attention away. “You wish I was staring.”

He laughed before walking over to the small bathroom, flipping on the shower and leaving the door cracked as steam started filling the air.

“That was shit,” he called through the open door. “Pretty bad race for me.”

I sat down on the couch, still feeling the residual anxiety from earlier. “You’ll get over it.”

“Oh, I will,” he said confidently. “And I think we should go out. Celebrate. Or at least let Vegas entertain us.”

I raised a brow, surprised. “Go out? Clubbing?”

“Yes!” he responded enthusiastically. “Come on, hermosa, we don’t have to stay out late. I’m exhausted anyway. But we should at least have fun, no?”

I hesitated, chewing my lip. I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for a club, but… maybe this was exactly what I needed. Maybe drowning in loud music and expensive cocktails would make me forget about Lewis standing on that podium.

Maybe it would help me forget him altogether.

“…Fine,” I finally agreed.

“Good girl,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes. But as I sat there listening to the sound of water running and feeling the weight of the night pressing down on me, I decided—tonight, I was going to let loose. No guilt. No Lewis. Just me and Franco.

---

The Uber ride was a blur of neon lights and F1 advertisements. Everywhere I looked, Lewis’s face was plastered on massive posters, flashing across casino billboards. It was inescapable.

I forced myself to focus on Franco, who was beside me, warm and solid. He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and leaned in to press soft kisses to my cheek, moving closer to my lips each time.

“Let’s have fun, no?” he murmured between kisses. “Enjoy yourself, maybe?”

I exhaled, smiling as I finally kissed him back. His hands moved to my waist, slowly sliding up to my chest, squeezing me. I hummed against his lips, already feeling lighter, letting myself enjoy the way he made me feel—present, wanted, free.

I don’t need Lewis. I don’t need him. I don’t need…

The thought drifted away as the car pulled up to an exclusive club, where the line was long, and the cover charge was an insane $500. But just as we approached, I heard an unmistakable Dutch accent.

“Lovely! Lovely place!” Max Verstappen called out, already tipsy as he stumbled toward the entrance. Before we could react, he threw his arms around Franco and me, leading us inside like VIPs.

Thank god he loves his gin and tonics.

---

The music was deafening, the lights flashing wildly over the packed dance floor. Bottles of expensive champagne lined our table, courtesy of Max, who was laughing drunkenly with some of his Red Bull crew.

The drinks kept coming, and before I knew it, I was… drunk. Really drunk. More than I would usually allow myself to be.

Lewis wouldn’t like this, a small voice in the back of my head reminded me. Lewis would never let me get this drunk.

I downed another drink. Well, screw that.

The music pulsed through my body as Franco pulled me onto the dance floor, his hands gripping my hips as we moved together. Intentionally, grinding into him, making his eyes darken on me.

“You’re so cute,” he murmured in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “Having fun?”

I giggled, nodding. The alcohol flooded my system, making everything feel lighter, bigger, better. I pressed closer to him, our bodies moving in sync, my lips trailing along his jaw. I felt his grip tighten on me, his hands never leaving my body.

I liked this side of him. Attentive. Possessive.

I could get used to this.

After what felt like hours, I started to feel overwhelmed, the heat of the club and the alcohol making my head spin.

“Water,” I slurred, leaning against Franco.

He nodded, guiding me back to the table.

———

The music throbbed through the club, a deep bass vibrating in my chest as the flashing lights painted streaks of red and blue across Franco’s face. The night had been electric—intoxicating, reckless, necessary. Everything about it had been a perfect escape from the chaos I’d left behind. The moment I walked into the club with Franco, I had sworn to myself that I wouldn’t think about Lewis tonight. That I couldn’t.

But now, standing in front of the VIP section, his eyes locking onto mine across the crowded room, I knew I had failed. Miserably.

My heart lurched violently, a sickening drop that made my stomach churn. I should’ve expected it. This was Vegas. Lewis was Lewis. Of course, he’d be here, somehow looking as effortlessly magnetic as ever.

He was mid-conversation with Max, a drink in his hand, laughter on his lips—but when Max pointed toward us, and Lewis followed his gaze, his smile faltered. The room didn’t feel so fun anymore. The music didn’t feel so loud. The warmth of alcohol in my system suddenly wasn’t enough to dull the overwhelming feeling of oh shit.

I shifted on my heels, swaying slightly, my head still dizzy from the drinks and dancing. Franco, who had just handed me my water, caught sight of Lewis too. His entire posture stiffened. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers instinctively curling around my waist, as if that would somehow shield me from whatever was about to happen.

The moment Max pointed in our direction, I knew I was screwed.

Lewis’s gaze locked onto mine, his easy, charming laughter freezing mid-sentence as his expression shifted. His dark eyes flickered, scanning the scene in front of him—me, tangled up in Franco’s arms, both of us flushed, drunk, looking every bit like we were exactly what he suspected.

His lips parted slightly, almost like he was trying to process the sight of me, here, with him.

I didn’t know what to do. My body felt like it had turned to lead, my stomach twisting into something awful.

Franco stiffened next to me, his hand on my lower back instinctively pressing me closer. But I knew it wasn’t just out of possessiveness—it was defense.

Because we both knew exactly what we were dealing with.

Lewis wasn’t a man who needed to yell. He wasn’t a man who needed to cause a scene to get his message across. His power was quiet, unshakable. He didn’t need to remind people of who he was. They already knew.

And right now, Franco and I were both looking at a man who had the ability to take everything away.

Lewis took a slow sip of his drink, his fingers tapping against the glass, as he turned slightly, fully facing us now.

“Max,” he said smoothly, without looking away from me, “you’ve had a few too many. Might want to sit down before you start making things worse.”

Max, blissfully unaware of the situation he had just made infinitely worse, laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Ah, come on, mate. Just having a good time.”

Lewis’s eyes finally flicked to Franco, assessing him for a moment, before settling back on me. He looked… amused. But not in a way that made me feel any relief.

His tongue ran across his teeth before he spoke, his voice low and calm.

“Well,” he said, tilting his glass toward Franco slightly, “I hope you’ve been enjoying yourself, kid.”

Franco’s jaw tensed. I felt it in the way his muscles flexed beside me, the way his grip on my waist subtly shifted. But he didn’t take the bait. He didn’t say anything.

Lewis let the silence hang for a moment, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Then, in that same smooth, level tone, he said, “Shame, though. It’d be unfortunate if you didn’t have a seat next year.”

My stomach dropped.

I felt my body go rigid, my breath catching in my throat. My already-drunk mind struggled to process what I’d just heard.

The words were casual, offhanded, said with the ease of someone discussing the weather. But the weight behind them? The power behind them? It was devastating.

Because Lewis could do that. He could make sure Franco never touched an F1 car again. He had the influence. The connections. If he wanted Franco gone, it wouldn’t take more than a few calls to ensure every door in the paddock shut in his face.

And Franco knew it.

I felt his whole body go tense beside me, his shoulders rising with barely concealed anger. His fingers twitched against my back, but still—he didn’t react.

That was the thing about threats from someone like Lewis. They didn’t need to be loud. They didn’t need to be said twice.

Franco forced a smirk, exhaling through his nose. “That’s funny,” he said, keeping his voice light, but I could hear the steel underneath it. “Didn’t realize you were in charge of Williams’ contracts now.”

Lewis gave him a small, knowing smile. “I don’t need to be.”

It was so subtle. So quiet. But it made my stomach churn.

Franco’s arm around me felt heavier now, like he was holding onto me for balance. My pulse was racing, and for the first time in a while, I felt a real, gnawing fear.

Because Lewis wasn’t bluffing.

I knew him. I knew his influence. And I knew that if he wanted to, he could make this happen.

The tension between the three of us was suffocating, the noise of the club fading into a dull hum in the background.

“Y/N,” Lewis finally said, his voice shifting slightly, “You should probably drink some water.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. I nod, like an idiot.

I knew what he was doing. He was playing this like a game of chess, always three moves ahead, always controlling the room without even raising his voice.

I felt Franco shift beside me, and before he could speak, I reached for his arm, gripping it lightly.

I needed to de-escalate this.

I needed to get out of here.

But before I could say anything, Lewis’s expression shifted just slightly. His eyes dropped down, just for a second, to where Franco’s hand rested on my waist.

When he looked back up at me, something darker flickered behind his gaze.

“Enjoy your night,” he said smoothly, before downing back the rest of his drink and walking away, back towards his friends, like he had never had this conversation at all.

I exhaled, not realizing I had been holding my breath.

Franco’s hand on my waist tightened. “That,” he said, voice low, “was not good.”

I shook my head, my head spinning for multiple reasons. “No,” I muttered. “It wasn’t.”

I glanced toward where Lewis had disappeared, my chest tightening painfully. The way he spoke, the way he owned the room without lifting a finger, the way he could take someone’s career and crush it without even trying…

I felt sick.

I had broken his heart. And now?

Now he was reminding me that no one crosses Lewis Hamilton without consequences.

————————————-

LOL idk 😭😭 guys I’m trying!!!

Please give me feedback on what you’d like more off/ less of!

ALSO IM SO HAPPY TO BE BACK YAYYY💟

Q: Are you reading this fic for more Lewis? Franco? Or both?

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton #franco colapinto #lewis hamilton x you #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto x you

20 notes · View notes