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pucksandpower · 2 months

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The Princess and the Piastri

Oscar Piastri x Princess of Denmark!Reader

Summary: in which you follow the time-honored tradition of Danish royalty falling in love with Australians

Note: dedicated to my favorite Dane, @struggling-with-drivers, who had to put up with me taking months to finally get the proper inspiration to write this

“And if you’ll just follow me, Your Majesty and Your Royal Highnesses, I’ll take you to meet Kevin now,” the overly peppy Haas PR representative says as she gestures down the garage.

You force a smile, trying not to physically recoil as you take in the assault of garish Haas branding surrounding you. The white, red, and black color scheme is far too harsh on the eyes this early on a Saturday morning.

“Oh goody,” your younger sister Josephine says flatly, eliciting a snort from your younger brother Vincent.

Your mother, Queen Mary, shoots the two a reproachful look before turning back to the PR rep with a polished smile. “We’re very excited to meet Kevin and support Denmark’s driver.”

The PR rep beams and starts leading you further into the Haas garage, rattling on about Haas’ ambitious goals for the season as you pass mechanics in matching black Haas polos barely paying you any mind.

You internally groan, already dreading the interaction ahead. As the Crown Princess, you’ve long perfected the art of feigning interest, but this weekend has tested even your limits.

“And I know meeting the future queen will just make Kevin’s day!” The rep continues enthusiastically. “He was so honored when King Frederik reached out about you all coming this weekend to support him.”

You resist the urge to snort. More like the royal communications secretary reached out when they realized the Australian Grand Prix overlapped with your visit to your mother’s family in Australia. Nothing like conveniently timing a royal appearance to drum up positive press.

Your younger sister, Isabella, sidles up next to you, linking her arm through yours commiseratingly. At 16, she’s already mastered your family’s signature skill — conveying boredom through a pleasant facial expression.

“I have some fresh sets of Haas merch we would love for you to wear when you meet Kevin,” the rep says, holding out stacks of Haas emblazoned caps and shirts insistently. “It would mean so much to the team for you to showcase your support.”

You force a smile, already shaking your head. “Oh, I’m afraid we can’t wear anything with advertisements or sponsors per royal protocol.”

The PR rep’s face falls slightly before she plasters the smile back on. “Of course, Your Royal Highness, I understand. Shall we?”

She gestures further down the garage to where the Haas drivers are standing with team personnel. Kevin Magnussen spots your approach, nudging his teammate before they turn towards you.

As you reach them, Kevin steps forward first, offering a short bow. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses, it’s an honor to meet you.”

You offer your hand, which he takes, bowing again as he brushes his lips over your knuckles. “The honor is ours, Mr. Magnussen. Denmark is proud to have you representing us in Formula 1.”

Kevin smiles bashfully as you drop his hand. “Please, call me Kevin.”

You return his smile politely. “Very well, Kevin it is.”

The rest of your family exchanges pleasantries with Kevin before the PR rep guides you towards the pit wall to observe the action on track. Practice is getting underway, and you’re grateful for any chance to extract yourself from the oppressive Haas environment.

As you exit the garage into the sunlight, you breathe a sigh of relief. Two bodyguards fall smoothly in step behind you as you start down the paddock, taking in the buzz of activity.

You smile softly, the excitement infectious despite your general disinterest in motorsports. There’s something about the frenetic energy at a race that gets your blood pumping.

Your eyes light up as you spot the unmistakable papaya motorhome of McLaren up ahead. Now that’s a team you can get behind. Cool retro appeal and a driver line-up you’ve heard is full of young talent — what’s not to love?

You pick up your pace, eager to get a closer look at the iconic livery, when suddenly you collide headlong into a firm, muscular body.

You gasp as strong arms wrap around you, stopping your momentum abruptly. Your hands brace against a solid chest as you glance up, prepared to stammer out an apology.

But the words die on your lips as you find yourself staring into warm brown eyes set in an unfairly handsome face. The eyes widen in surprise, clearly not having expected the Crown Princess of Denmark to go careening into his arms.

His mouth opens, no doubt to ask if you’re okay, but you stand frozen as the hustle of the paddock fades into background noise.

In this moment, it’s just you and this beautiful stranger. A stranger who hasn’t let go of you yet, one hand still pressed gently against your back.

You know you should pull away, apologize for your clumsiness and be on your way. But something about his eyes makes you want to stay right here, wrapped safely in his arms.

You stand frozen, lost in the stranger’s mesmerizing brown eyes. You vaguely register your bodyguards stepping forward on either side of you.

“Your Royal Highness, are you alright?” Henrik, your lead bodyguard, asks urgently.

You blink, the spell broken as Henrik’s hand lands on your shoulder, gently tugging you back.

The stranger’s eyes widen further as understanding seems to dawn. His eyes flick over the royal crest on Henrik’s suit jacket before moving back to your face, a hint of panic in his gaze.

Before you can offer any reassurance, a voice calls out sharply from behind the man.

“Oscar! What are you doing, mate? We’ve got the strategy briefing in five!”

You watch as the man — Oscar, apparently — glances reluctantly over his shoulder to where a thin harried man bearing a McLaren team pass stands tapping his foot impatiently.

Oscar’s hands slip from your waist as he takes a small step back. “Sorry, I—”

But whatever he was going to say gets lost as the man strides forward, clapping a firm hand on Oscar’s shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go. No time for chatting up fans when we’ve got quali coming up.”

Oscar allows himself to be steered away, casting one last, almost wistful look back at you before the brisk man hustles him around the corner.

You stare after them for a long moment before Henrik’s voice breaks through your daze once more.

“Your Highness, are you injured at all? Shall I call for a medic?”

You blink, shaking your head quickly as heat floods your cheeks. Honestly, they must think you a simpleton, standing here gaping after a man you collided with.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you assure him quickly. “Just a bit clumsy this morning it seems.”

You force out a breathy laugh, hoping your flaming cheeks can be explained away as embarrassment from your blunder.

Henrik eyes you skeptically for a moment before nodding. “Very well. But please be more careful, Your Highness. Next time we may not be so lucky.”

You nod contritely before allowing Henrik to usher you back towards the Haas garage, your other bodyguard falling smoothly back in step behind you.

As you near the garage, you spot your family gathered by the pit wall, watching as a group of track marshals examines a particularly suspicious drain cover. Your younger siblings all turn as one to look at you, eerily in sync.

The knowing looks on their faces make you shudder. Of the many curses of growing up in a big family, the inability to keep secrets ranks near the top. You’re sure they’ll have the truth out of you before long.

“Nice of you to join us, Y/N,” your younger brother Christian remarks wryly as you reach them. “Have a nice stroll?”

You resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him. Barely.

“Lovely, thank you,” you reply breezily instead, moving to stand between your mother and Isabella.

You determinedly avoid meeting any of your siblings’ gazes, focusing on the timing sheets instead. But you can feel their curious stares boring into you.

“You look a bit flushed, darling. Are you feeling quite alright?” Your mother murmurs, pressing a hand to your forehead in concern.

“Just peachy!” You chirp in response, internally cringing at the unnatural brightness in your tone.

From your other side, Isabella leans in, voice sly. “You do seem rather … distracted. Anything you want to share with the class?”

You glance at her sharply, taking in her knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes in warning, but Isabella just smiles innocently.

“Oh leave your sister be,” your mother chides. “I’m sure Y/N is just overwhelmed by the excitement of experiencing her first Grand Prix.”

You make a noncommittal noise of agreement, turning your focus back to the timing sheets. Isabella elbows you subtly and you pointedly ignore her, keeping your gaze fixed ahead.

You’re immensely thankful when the Haas PR rep appears again, ushering you towards the back to “give the team space to prepare for qualifying,” and drawing your family’s attention away from you.

You trail after your family to the cordoned off hospitality area, gratefully accepting a bottle of water from the proffered cooler.

As the mechanics spring into action around you, Isabella sidles up next to you again, playful smile still in place.

“Soooo,” she drawls, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Who’s got you all flustered then?”

You nearly choke on your water, whipping your head to face her. “What? No one! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even to your own ears, the denial sounds feeble. Isabella merely arches one perfect brow, clearly not buying it.

You huff out a breath, scanning the room quickly to ensure none of your other family members are in earshot before hissing under your breath. “I may have accidentally careened into a McLaren crew member during my walk.”

Isabella’s grin turns positively feline. “Oh, do tell ...”

“There’s nothing to tell!” you insist, face flaming once more. “We collided and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before I fell. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm, I’m sure that blush is just because you’re so very embarrassed by your clumsiness and nothing else.”

You scowl and take a long swig of your water.

Isabella chuckles. “So was this mystery McLaren man at least handsome?”

You nearly choke again. “Isabella!” You admonish under your breath.

She holds up both hands innocently, still grinning. “What? It’s a perfectly reasonable question. No judgment here, promise.”

You narrow your eyes, considering her carefully. Before you can think better of it, you mutter reluctantly, “He … wasn’t entirely unfortunate looking.”

“Aha!” Isabella crows triumphantly. “I knew it!”

You shush her frantically, glancing around to make sure her outburst didn’t draw any unwanted attention.

“Do you know his name at least?” Isabella asks, slightly more quietly this time.

You hesitate before admitting, "... Oscar, I think. His colleague called him that.”

Isabella hums thoughtfully. “Very mysterious ...”

You roll your eyes, shoving her shoulder. “Oh stop it. Can we please just drop this?”

“Of course, of course,” Isabella relents, though the impish twinkle remains in her eye.

You’re prevented from further interrogation by the start of qualifying. You rejoin your family, studiously keeping your gaze away from your siblings’ knowing looks.

You determinedly put the morning’s events from your mind, focusing on Kevin’s qualifying efforts. Though you can’t help the occasional wish that the handsome stranger from McLaren — Oscar — was the one flying around the track instead.

The session proceeds fairly predictably, with the top teams claiming the top spots and the backmarkers bringing up the rear.

As Kevin pulls into the garage after qualifying 17th, you paste on an encouraging smile.

“Excellent job out there, Kevin! You and the team should be very proud.”

Kevin smiles wryly back at you. “You’re too kind, Your Highness. But I think we all know 17th is nothing to celebrate for a team with our aspirations.”

You nod sympathetically. “Of course, there’s always room for improvement. But you showed admirable pace given the circumstances.”

Kevin inclines his head gratefully at your measured response. “You have a bright future ahead as queen with such judicious words.”

You thank him sincerely for the compliment before your family takes their leave, the day’s obligations finally complete.

As you all pile into the waiting cars, Isabella leans over and whispers, “Do you think Kevin would’ve qualified higher if Haas wasn’t so slow?”

You have to smother your snort of laughter into your hand.

“Without question,” you whisper back. “I think a snail could qualify ahead of Haas at this point.”

Isabella dissolves into muffled giggles next to you as the cars pull away from the circuit, leaving the chaotic world of Formula 1 behind. At least until tomorrow.

***

You stare contemplatively out the car window as the city lights of Melbourne streak by in the darkness. Despite your family’s teasing, you can’t seem to remove a certain McLaren crew member from your thoughts.

Oscar. Even his name sends a flutter through your stomach.

You know it’s foolish to get caught up over a brief collision with a stranger. And yet … those eyes. You can’t shake the connection you felt in that moment, however fleeting.

The car slows to a stop outside your hotel and you make a split-second decision. Turning to your mother, you adopt your most winsome tone.

“Mor, I was hoping you might allow me to go out for the evening. To experience the Melbourne nightlife before we depart.”

Your mother’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Go out? Alone?”

You rush to reassure her. “Oh no, I’ll take Henrik and Simone with me of course. I would just love the chance to explore the city a bit, like a normal young woman.”

You see a flash of understanding on your mother’s face and press your advantage. “In fact, didn’t you and Far meet during a pub crawl?”

Pink stains your mother’s cheeks but her lips quirk up. “I suppose we did. But those were different times ...”

“Please Mor?” You plead. “When will I have a chance like this again?”

Your mother regards you shrewdly for a long moment before sighing. “Oh very well. But Henrik and Simone must accompany you at all times. And I want you back by midnight at the latest.”

You beam, leaning over to smack a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, thank you! I promise I’ll stay safe.”

As you exit the car, your younger brother Christian pipes up from behind you. “Hey, can I come too?”

“Absolutely not,” your mother shuts him down swiftly, leveling a quelling look at his crestfallen face.

You hide a smile as you sweep into the hotel to change, giddiness rising in your chest. A night out is just what you need to clear your head from a certain handsome distraction.

An hour later you slide into the backseat of one of the discreet royal security vehicles, now wearing jeans, heels, and a silky camisole, your long hair spilling over your shoulders.

Henrik raises his eyebrows at your outfit but doesn’t comment as he pulls away from the hotel, heading for the club district.

When you arrive, the bouncer’s eyes widen at the royal crests adorning your bodyguards’ suits. But a few quick words from Henrik and you’re granted access without a fuss.

The heavy beat of the music washes over you as you enter the fashionable club. Bright lights flash hypnotically over the crowded dance floor. You glance back at Henrik and Simone stationed near the entrance, allowing the music to carry you further inside.

You weave your way to the bar, excitement simmering in your veins. Tonight you’re just Y/N, anonymous clubgoer. No titles, no expectations, no watching eyes judging your every move.

Well, except for your bodyguards of course. But they’re discreet enough to give you space.

You’re so lost in the heady freedom of anonymity that you don’t notice the nearby figure doing a double take. But as you step up to the bar, waiting to order, a now familiar voice sounds behind you.

“Y-Your Highness!” He stammers, nearly dropping the drinks he just received. “I mean, Princess, uh Crown Princess? Sorry, I’m not actually sure—”

You whirl around to see Oscar standing there, looking devastatingly handsome in a button-down and jeans.

“Oscar!” You gasp, a smile breaking across your face unbidden. “What are you doing here?”

Pink stains Oscar’s tanned cheeks. “Ah, well my mates from the team wanted to go out and blow off some steam before the race tomorrow.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “But what brings Denmark’s future queen out to the clubs?”

You shrug lightly, grin turning impish. “Can’t a girl just want to dance and have some fun?”

Oscar’s eyes gleam with understanding. “Suppose she can. Well then, may I get you a drink … er ...”

He trails off, clearly unsure how to address you in this unusual context.

You take pity on him and lean in conspiratorially. “Tonight, I’m just Y/N. No need for fancy titles.”

Relief flashes across Oscar’s face and he smiles. “Y/N it is.”

Soon you’ve got drinks in hand and are chatting easily at a tall table beside the dance floor. Oscar is witty and charming, and laughs freely at your sarcastic commentary about Formula 1.

You’re amazed by how at ease you feel in his presence, the crown’s ever-present weight lifted from your shoulders. With Oscar, you’re not an heiress apparent, but just a girl talking to a boy she really really likes.

When he asks what you think of McLaren, you perk up eagerly. “Oh yes, what is it exactly that you do there? Are you an engineer or mechanic of some sort?”

Oscar’s eyes shutter briefly and he clears his throat. “Ah, something like that. Mostly just tinkering to try and make the car faster.”

He steers the conversation to safer waters before you can inquire further. You make a mental note to look up the full McLaren staff list later and figure out his specific role.

The night flies by in a blur of laughter and stolen glances. Oscar gamely joins you on the dance floor, his hands resting lightly on your waist as you sway together.

When at last you note the time, disappointment sinks heavy in your gut. Oscar’s face mirrors your own regret as he insists on walking you to meet your bodyguards.

Outside the club, you turn to him reluctantly. “I wish this didn’t have to end. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

Oscar shuffles his feet, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “Would … would you want to meet up again tomorrow? Maybe outside the McLaren garage before the race?”

Your face lights up. “I’d love that.” Overcome by boldness, you lean in and brush a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

Oscar’s hand drifts up to his cheek, eyes dazed. “Brilliant. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

You bid him goodnight before allowing Henrik and Simone to usher you into the waiting car, unable to keep the giddy smile from your face the entire ride back.

***

The next morning, you awake with a smile stretching across your face. The memory of Oscar’s brown eyes gazing into yours as you swayed together in the club fills you with warmth.

As you dress and prepare to head to the circuit, an idea strikes. There’s no rule saying you have to spend the entire pre-race hours cooped up in the Haas garage after all.

You slip into the hotel dining room, grabbing a piece of toast. “I’m afraid the petrol fumes in the garage were giving me a dreadful headache yesterday. I think I’ll take a walk around the paddock this morning for some fresh air before the race.”

Your mother’s brows furrow in concern. “Oh dear, that won’t do at all! Yes, a nice walk sounds wise.”

You thank her profusely on your way out, hiding your triumphant smile until the door closes behind you. Phase one complete.

You hold yourself back from rushing through the paddock once at the circuit, maintaining a sedate royal pace. But inside, excitement bubbles through your veins at the thought of seeing Oscar again.

As you make your way to the McLaren garage, your steps falter at the larger-than-life image emblazoned on the wall. Oscar beams back at you, brown hair just barely poking out from under his McLaren cap. The block letters beside the photo proclaim OSCAR PIASTRI #81.

You press a hand to your mouth to smother your gasp. Oscar is a driver? Your Oscar?

Speak of the devil, you spot him emerging from the garage, already dressed in fireproofs with his race suit half hanging around his waist. His face lights up when he sees you, lips curving into that boyish grin that makes your knees weak.

“Good morning!” He chirps, moving in for a brief hug.

You return the hug distractedly, still grappling with this new discovery. As you pull back, you arch a questioning brow at him.

“So … you’re a driver. Funny, I don’t recall you mentioning that last night.”

Pink stains Oscar’s cheeks and he rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, right. I may have omitted certain details about my role here.” His eyes turn pleading. “I hope you can forgive me? I just liked talking to someone who didn’t already know everything about me for once.”

You regard him thoughtfully before allowing a teasing grin to emerge. “Well, I suppose I can understand the appeal of a fresh slate. And it’s not as if I was fully forthcoming either.”

Oscar’s shoulders sag in relief. “Too right. Quite the pair we make, Princess.” His eyes dance playfully.

You open your mouth to respond but are interrupted by a shout from the garage. “Oscar! Debrief in two minutes, let’s go!”

Oscar smiles apologetically. “Duty calls. But let’s continue this later?”

At your nod, he squeezes your hand briefly before jogging back inside. You make your way back to Haas, butterflies still fluttering wildly.

Once the race starts, you have to work to restrain your enthusiasm as Oscar quickly moves up the field. More than once, you catch your lips curving upward as he deftly overtakes a competitor, and have to rearrange them into careful neutrality.

A discreet glance sideways shows your family members focused intently on Kevin’s efforts in the Haas. You allow yourself a small smile. Watching Oscar race with no one the wiser feels like getting away with something deliciously secretive.

The checkered flag finally waves after 58 intense laps. Your heart leaps as the McLaren crew begins celebrating Oscar’s podium finish. You have to force yourself not to join the applause as he climbs from his car, settling for clasping your hands tightly to contain your glee.

Meanwhile, Kevin finishes in 18th position while his teammate Nico suffered a mechanical retirement. You paste on an encouraging smile, tamping down your excitement over Oscar’s podium.

“Nice recovery there at the end, Kevin. Surely the team can build on this result in the next race.”

Privately, you think Haas would be lucky to keep a wheel attached long enough to make it to the end of a full race, let alone fight for points. But you keep that thought to yourself for now.

As your family rises to congratulate a dejected Kevin on completing the race, Isabella leans in close to whisper in your ear. “Not a great showing, I dare say. Perhaps you are considering transferring allegiance to a certain papaya team instead?”

You press your lips together to contain your smile. Trust Isabella to have guessed your conflicted loyalties.

“Indeed,” you murmur back. “One must be open to supporting all teams in the spirit of global unity.”

Isabella’s eyes dance with mirth, but she simply links her arm through yours, giving a sage nod. “Spoken like a true diplomat.”

As the celebrations kick off for Oscar’s first home race podium, you sneak glances over your shoulder, hoping for another glimpse of him through the chaos.

Someday soon, perhaps you’ll be able to cheer for him openly. For now, you hold the image of his smiling face in your mind as you reluctantly follow your family back out of the disappointing Haas garage.

If nothing else, this surprise-filled weekend has shown you that your heart will not be so easily commanded. And it seems to have rather fixated itself on a certain charismatic McLaren driver.

***

You hover near the paddock exit, half hoping to catch one last glimpse of Oscar before your departure. Your family made their polite farewells to the Haas team and you seized the opportunity to slip away.

You’ve just resigned yourself to missing him when hurried footsteps sound behind you.

“Princess! Wait up!”

You whirl around to see Oscar jogging towards you, face freshly showered but still flushed with elation. He draws up before you, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“I’m so glad I caught you before I had to leave,” you smile brightly. “I had to come say a proper congratulations for your podium first!”

Oscar ducks his head bashfully even as his eyes shine. “And, well, I hoped maybe you were cheering me on out there today?”

Heat floods your cheeks as you let out an embarrassed laugh. “You know I can’t answer that. But I will say you drove brilliantly and I’m so pleased for your result.”

Oscar’s grin widens, clearly reading between the lines of your diplomatic answer.

“Well I’m glad I could end your weekend on a high note after the woeful introduction to Formula 1 from Haas.”

You groan good-naturedly. “Ugh yes, I think Kevin was grateful when I finally made myself scarce from that garage of doom.”

Oscar chuckles before his expression turns wistful. “I suppose this means you’ll be heading back to Denmark now though?”

You shake your head, curls spilling over your shoulders. “Oh no, we’re spending a few more weeks visiting my mother’s family in Tasmania first.”

At Oscar’s look of surprise, you elaborate, “My mother is originally Australian. Her family is from Tasmania.”

Understanding dawns on Oscar’s face. “Well how about that! Danish royalty certainly seems to have a taste for us Aussies.” He winks playfully.

Heat blooms in your cheeks but you rally to return his banter. “I suppose we do. Though from what I hear, McLaren seemed rather keen on Danes once upon a time as well.”

A rather in-depth Google search earlier that day taught you that Kevin Magnussen once raced for the papaya team. You rather wish he never left, if only so you did not have to suffer through the tedium of being in the Haas garage for the past two days.

Oscar barks out a laugh, eyes dancing with mirth. “Too right, you’ve got me there.” His laughter fades to a soft smile. “But I can’t say I blame my predecessors in the slightest.”

The tender look in his eyes makes your breath catch. Before you lose your nerve, you hurriedly dig out your phone.

“I should give you my number. So we can keep in touch.”

Oscar’s face lights up as he scrambles for his own phone. You quickly swap devices, inputting your contact info and trying not to notice how his name looks lighting up your screen.

Once you’ve traded phones again, an awkward silence descends. You clutch your phone tightly, unsure how to say goodbye when this thing between you feels so new and delicate.

Oscar clears his throat, scuffing his shoe against the pavement. “Well, I suppose I should let you get on your way ...”

“Right, yes ...” You trail off, searching for the right words. Because as silly as it sounds, the thought of not seeing Oscar’s smile for who knows how long makes your chest unexpectedly tight.

Acting on impulse, you step forward to wrap your arms around his shoulders in a hug. Oscar’s arms immediately curl around your back, clutching you close.

You breathe him in, imprinting this moment in your memory. The noise of the paddock fades away until it’s just this — the two of you suspended in time.

Far too soon, Oscar pulls back reluctantly. His eyes search your face like he’s trying to memorize it.

“Travel safely, Princess. I’ll see you soon.” His voice holds a promise.

You nod, not trusting your voice. With a final squeeze of his hand, you turn and walk steadily towards the exit. Your bodyguards fall in step behind you.

You don’t look back, though you can feel Oscar’s gaze on you until you disappear from view. As your car pulls away, you finally chance a glance backwards, just in time to see Oscar still watching wistfully after you.

Your breath escapes in a shaky exhale and you clutch your phone like a lifeline. Everywhere else suddenly feels much too far away.

***

You collapse back onto your bed, phone already pressed to your ear before the first ring even finishes. Oscar picks up on the second, voice warm and teasing as always.

“Eager today, are we Princess?”

You roll your eyes even as your lips quirk up. “Oh hush, you know you wait just as anxiously for my calls.”

Oscar’s answering chuckle makes your heart skip a beat. “Guilty. I’ll gladly admit your voice is the highlight of my day.”

Warmth floods your cheeks as you get comfortable against the pillows. “Flatterer. Now distract me from the drudgery of royal life with some F1 gossip. How go things in the glamorous world of racing?”

“Oh where to even start!” Oscar launches eagerly into the latest paddock drama — teammate clashes, contract disputes, and salacious hookups. You listen eagerly, living vicariously through his tales.

“Meanwhile Lando has been his usual chaos gremlin self ...” Oscar continues, recounting his teammate’s latest antics.

You laugh until your sides ache, picturing the outrageous scenes. “Honestly, I don’t know how McLaren copes with you two!”

“We keep things lively, that’s for sure,” Oscar agrees, audibly grinning. “Although we’d love an even livelier paddock with a certain Danish princess around again ...”

He leaves the statement hanging tentatively. You chew your lip, heart racing as you gather your courage.

“Funny you should mention that … I’ve been thinking lately that it would be nice to attend a race again soon.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale crackles through the phone. “Really? You’d come to another race?” His voice turns playful. “Any particular reason for the sudden interest?”

You laugh, hoping he can’t hear the breathlessness in it. “Oh you know, miss the atmosphere, the excitement ...” You pause before adding softly, “Getting to see a certain Aussie driver again.”

Oscar makes a pleased little noise that sends butterflies swirling wildly. “Well I’m sure that driver would be absolutely thrilled to see your face in the paddock again.”

Warmth spreads through your chest, emboldening you further. “As it happens, my godmother is the Queen of Belgium. So it should be easy enough to arrange an appearance at the Belgian Grand Prix.”

“That’s perfect!” Oscar enthuses. “Spa is one of my favorite circuits too. Say you’ll be there?”

His boyish eagerness melts your heart. “I’ll speak to our communications secretary this week. I’m sure they can make it happen.”

“Brilliant.” The tender hope in Oscar’s voice finds its mirror in your own thudding heart. A new chapter is beginning.

You chat longer about lighter topics until Oscar reluctantly says he should get some rest before practice tomorrow.

“I suppose I should let you go then ...” He trails off reluctantly, neither wanting to be the one to end the call.

You clutch the phone tighter, casting wildly for an excuse to keep him on the line. “Wait, you haven’t told me what ridiculous outfit Lando is wearing today!”

Oscar huffs out a laugh. “Trust me, words don’t do justice to the monstrosity. I’ll send pictures so you can experience it fully.”

“It’s a deal.” You know you’re only delaying the inevitable, but the thought of hanging up is unbearable.

Just then, the bedroom door crashes open and your younger brother Christian strolls in.

“Hey Y/N, Mor wants to know if … is that Oscar you’re talking to?” He raises his eyebrows knowingly.

You frantically shoo him away but Christian swoops in and plucks the phone from your hand. “Sorry mate, gotta steal my sister back. Royal duties call and all that. But great chatting, bye now!”

Before you can wrestle the phone away, Christian ends the call with a cheeky grin.

You smack his shoulder indignantly. “You little brat! I was right in the middle of important diplomatic relations!”

Christian just cackles gleefully. “Oh yeah, I could tell. Your dopey romantic sighing was a big clue.” He laughs harder at your outraged stammers.

“Just you wait until you’re madly pining over someone, I’ll get my revenge,” you threaten.

But inside, not even Christian’s teasing can diminish your euphoria. The promise of seeing Oscar again soon eclipses all else.

***

Your heels click rapidly over the pavement as you sweep through the Spa paddock gates. Bodyguards trail discreetly behind but you barely notice them, eyes scanning the bustling crowd for one face.

And then you see him. Oscar stands just ahead, back turned as he bounces on his toes, head swiveling in search of you.

Joy bubbles up in your chest. You break into a run, calling his name. “Oscar!”

He whips around, eyes lighting up when they land on you. His arms open wide and you launch yourself into them with a breathless laugh.

Strong hands grip your waist, swinging you in an enthusiastic circle before setting you back on your feet. Neither of you make any move to step back, standing tangled together.

“You came,” Oscar murmurs, voice awed like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

You lean into him, his warmth chasing away the months spent missing him. “Of course. After all, I made a promise to a certain driver.”

Oscar’s answering smile outshines the sun. Reluctantly, he loosens his hold, keeping one hand entwined with yours.

“Well then, allow me to escort you inside properly.” He presses a quick kiss to your knuckles before leading you towards the paddock entrance.

After scanning your VIP guest pass, courtesy of Oscar, you pass through security hand-in-hand, giddy smiles fixed in place.

The paddock buzzes with activity but you only have eyes for Oscar as he guides you straight to the McLaren garage.

Mechanics glance up curiously as you enter behind Oscar. He squeezes your hand, leaning in close.

“Ready to meet the team, Princess?” At your answering nod, he steers you confidently through the organized chaos.

You run a suddenly nervous hand over your hair as Oscar approaches a genial looking man conversing with a slimmer bearded man.

“Zak, Andrea — there’s someone special I want you both to meet.”

The two men turn, eyebrows raising in polite expectation. Oscar gently tugs you forward.

“This is Crown Princess Y/N of Denmark. Y/N, meet Zak Brown, our CEO, and Andrea Stella, team principal.”

Zak’s eyebrows climb higher but he recovers smoothly, extending a hand. “Your Royal Highness, welcome. We’re honored to host you in our garage.”

You return his firm handshake. “The honor is mine, thank you. Your team has been so welcoming.”

After greeting Andrea as well, Oscar steers you further inside just as a mop of fluffy brown hair zooms by.

“Oscar, mate! There you are, I’ve been ...” The words die on his lips as he spots you, mouth falling open comically. His eyes dart between you and Oscar rapidly.

“Lando, come meet the princess!” Oscar calls out cheekily.

Lando snaps his jaw shut, looking utterly bewildered but offering you a hasty bow. “Your Highness! I mean, lovely to meet you, really.”

Amusement flickers through you at his gobsmacked expression. Oscar shoots you a playful wink over Lando’s shoulder as he scrambles to regain composure.

“But, wait.” Lando glances between you again in confusion. “You mean all those times you cooed ’good morning, Princess’ over the phone … you were talking to an actual princess!”

Oscar bursts out laughing while you press a hand to your mouth to smother your own giggles. Lando flushes but eventually joins in your laughter.

After extracting a promise to explain everything later, Oscar steers you away so they can focus on final prep.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of during the race before I have to suit up,” he promises, getting you settled with refreshments.

The anticipation builds until finally the cars are screaming away from the grid in a blur of color. Your nails dig into your palms as positions shuffle wildly on the first lap.

But soon Oscar settles into a rhythm, battling wheel to wheel with Lewis Hamilton. You’re on your feet with every overtake, yelling yourself hoarse.

The final laps loom with Oscar still fighting for a podium finish. But suddenly disaster strikes for the leaders. Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc collide attempting to lap a backmarker on the Kemmel Straight.

You watch in disbelief as both the Red Bull and Ferrari limp to a stop off the track, clearing the path for Oscar to sweep through into the lead.

The McLaren garage roars in elation as Oscar maintains the gap and finally, finally crosses the line to claim his maiden Grand Prix win.

Chaos erupts as a stampede of papaya uniforms makes its way towards parc fermé but Oscar’s performance coach Kim grasps your arm urgently. “Quickly, he’ll want you there for this!”

Kim rushes you down towards the area where Oscar guides his car to a stop. He vaults out, pumping both fists and clambering atop the chassis in triumph.

Your breath catches at the sight of his windswept hair and exultant grin. As McLaren swarms Oscar, his gaze catches on you at the barrier, pressed close by Kim.

In two strides Oscar is right there, joy and adrenaline shining in his eyes. His hand cups your cheek … and then his lips find yours.

The roar around you fades away. For one perfect, suspended moment, your world narrows down to Oscar’s lips slanted over yours, his fingers tangled in your hair.

When you break apart, eyes flying open, the full reality crashes back in. But with Oscar’s breathless laugh warming your skin, the rest of the world no longer matters.

***

You pace the plush hotel carpet, nerves jangling as you await the imminent video call with your family. Since Oscar’s podium kiss yesterday, you’ve been hyper aware of your phone blowing up with notifications but too anxious to check them.

A brisk knock precedes your royal secretary poking his head in. “The call is ready whenever you are, Your Highness.”

Squaring your shoulders, you take a seat at the polished desk as the large monitor springs to life. Your family’s faces fill the screen, ranging from sympathetic (Isabella) to highly amused (Christian).

Before you can get a word in, the royal PR advisors elbow into view, expressions like thunderclouds.

“Your Royal Highness, might we have a word about this … incident from the race?” The chief advisor’s tone drips disapproval.

Ice trickles down your spine but you keep your face neutral. “Of course.”

“I trust you’ve seen the coverage?” At your hesitant nod, the advisor continues, “Then you understand what an embarrassment this is, how damaging to the dignity of the crown.”

You clench your jaw, anger rising. But he barrels on, “Such scandalous behavior, and broadcast globally! You must see how this recklessness reflects poorly on Denmark.”

The rest of the advisors murmur emphatic agreement. Your cheeks burn in humiliation even as you desperately blink back furious tears.

“The narrative has already spiraled out of control. Such associations cannot be tolerated from the future queen.”

The scorn in his tone ignites your temper. But before you can spit out a scathing retort, a commanding voice interrupts.

“Enough!” Your father’s stern face fills the screen, pinning the advisors with an icy glare. They recoil, mouths snapping shut.

Satisfied, your father turns to you, expression softening. “My dear, you’ve done nothing wrong. What matters most is that you’re happy.”

Hope flickers tentatively inside you as the advisors gape. But your father silences them with another quelling look.

“I know a thing or two about duty versus matters of the heart.” His eyes soften, finding your mother. “I’ll not see my daughter denied the same chance at love that brought me such joy.”

Your mother smiles gently, affection shining through the screen. On her other side, Isabella squeezes her shoulder in solidarity.

The fight drains from the advisors under your father’s resolute gaze. With a few grumbled concessions, they disconnect from the call.

Your muscles uncoil in relief as your attention returns fully to your family. Isabella waggles her eyebrows.

“Soooo … looks like someone had an eventful race!”

Heat floods your cheeks but you can’t suppress a giddy smile. “It just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.”

“This Oscar must be something special,” your mother remarks kindly.

Your insides turn to mush at the memory of Oscar’s kiss. “He really is. I can’t explain it, but it feels … right with him.”

Your normally stoic mother looks touched. “Then he has my blessing.”

On her other side, Christian smirks. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re in looooove.” He exaggerates a swoon, cackling when you stick your tongue out at him.

“Hush dear, let your sister be happy,” your mother chides, swatting his shoulder before smiling indulgently. “Reminds me of another young prince long ago, besotted with an Australian girl ...”

Your father laughs, eyes crinkling. “Too right, darling. Clearly our Y/N takes after me.” He winks at you. “We Danes do seem to have a weakness for Aussies.”

You groan good-naturedly at the gentle teasing, buoyed by your family’s support. With their love behind you, the rest no longer matters.

You conclude the call with hugs blown through the screen and a heart full to bursting. No matter what the coming days hold, you won’t be facing them alone.

Later, a hesitant knock interrupts your contented musings. You open the door to find Oscar, eyebrows pinched anxiously.

But at the sight of your radiant smile, the tension melts from his frame. His hands settle comfortably on your waist like coming home.

“So ...” he begins, nose scrunching up adorably, “Think your family will let you keep me around?”

You answer by pulling him down into a long, sweet kiss. When you finally separate, foreheads pressed together, Oscar sighs out, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Your answering laugh fills the space between you as he lifts you effortlessly into a spinning embrace. The setting sun gilds the hotel room in amber, basking you both in warmth and promise.

Let the world say what they will. You’ve made your choice, the only one your heart would allow. And with Oscar’s arms encircling you now, you know you’re right where you belong.

***

“Come on, it’ll be great! When’s the next chance you’ll get to come down under?”

Oscar’s pleading face fills your laptop screen, bottom lip poking out beseechingly. You try to stand firm, but your resolve is crumbling.

“I don’t know … won’t I be imposing on your family time?”

Oscar waves a hand breezily. “Nah, Mum and Dad have been hassling me nonstop to bring you for a visit. Trust me, they’ll smother you with Aussie hospitality.”

You chew your lip thoughtfully. A trip together does sound tempting. And you’re endlessly curious to see where Oscar grew up.

Sensing your wavering, Oscar presses his advantage. “There’s so much I want to show you! The beach I learned to surf at, my favorite cafes and shops ...”

His voice turns coaxing. “And just think, falling asleep under the southern stars ...”

Your heart flutters traitorously. Oscar knows your weakness for astronomy. With a defeated huff, you nod.

“Oh alright, you’ve convinced me. I’ll see if I can clear my schedule for next month.”

Oscar whoops, pumping a victorious fist. “Yes! You’re gonna love it, I promise.”

The rest of the call passes in eager planning until Oscar reluctantly disconnects to start his day. As the screen goes dark, butterflies swell in your stomach. A whole trip together!

The weeks crawl by agonizingly until finally you’re boarding the royal jet bound for Melbourne, giddiness rising with each mile.

Oscar is waiting when you deplane, sweeping you up joyfully the second your feet hit the tarmac. You cling to him, breathing in the scent of home you’ve missed so much.

As the hug extends well past proper etiquette, your bodyguard Henrik pointedly clears his throat. You spring apart, blushing when you meet his knowing gaze.

Oscar just grins unrepentantly, grabbing your hand to lead you towards where his parents are waiting.

You spot them immediately — Oscar’s smile mirrored on his mother’s face and his kind eyes reflected in his father’s crinkled gaze. They hurry over, clasping your hands warmly.

“Your Royal Highness, we’re so honored to finally meet you!” His mother gushes. “Oscar’s told us so much, I feel as if we know you already.”

You smile, charmed by her easy manner. “The honor is mine, Mrs. Piastri. Please, call me Y/N.”

She pats your hand merrily. “Of course, dear! And you must call me Nicole. Now come, let’s get you home and settled.”

The ride to Oscar’s childhood home passes quickly, filled with lively conversation. His parents’ sweet banter reminds you so much of your own.

When you arrive, Nicole loops her arm through yours, bustling you inside. “We’ve freshened up Oscar’s old room for you, I do hope it’s comfortable.”

You take in the posters of racing legends and cricketers adorning the walls, the cluttered bookshelves full of well-loved texts. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

“Excellent!” Nicole claps her hands. “Now, you two get settled. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

She disappears down the hall with a parting wink that makes Oscar flush beet red. You stifle a laugh and let him tug you further inside.

Dinner passes in a blur of delicious food and easy laughter. Chris’ eyes twinkle knowingly as he refills your wine.

“We’re just delighted to finally meet the girl who’s made our Oscar so happy.”

Oscar covers his face in exaggerated mortification, but his fingers squeeze yours under the table. You lift your joined hands to brush a kiss over his knuckles when his parents aren’t looking.

The peaceful mood continues as Nicole breaks out photo albums. You coo over baby pictures of Oscar, smothering laughter at his gap-toothed grin and wild hair.

Yawns eventually take over and everyone reluctantly shuffles off to bed. In Oscar’s room, you borrow his old karting club shirt to sleep in.

Oscar looks up from turning down the duvet, eyes darkening as he takes you in. “This was a terrible idea, you looking so cute in my clothes.”

You giggle and kiss the tip of his nose before climbing into bed and patting the space next to you. Oscar obliges, pulling you close and nuzzling into your hair.

Outside the window, the infinity of the southern skies beckons. But here in Oscar’s arms, you have everything you need.

Oscar hums contentedly, dropping a kiss to your hair as your eyes drift closed.

“Sweet dreams, my princess,” he whispers. You float off cradled in his warmth, perfectly at peace.

The rest of the trip passes in blissful domesticity — lazy beach days, intimate dinners, long talks under the stars. Meeting Oscar’s family feels like coming to a second home.

On your last night, you creep outside to sit curled against him on the back porch, committing every detail to memory.

“I don’t want this to end,” you whisper into the quiet night.

Oscar presses a lingering kiss below your ear. “It’s only the start for us.”

And basking in his touch, the infinite potential of the future unfolding before you, you know he’s right. This is just the beginning.

***

You smooth your hands over your dress, peering anxiously out the palace window overlooking the winding driveway. Any moment now, the car bringing Oscar should pull through the gates.

It’s his first time visiting the palace and meeting your family officially as your boyfriend. You know they’ll love him, but nerves still flutter in your chest.

The crunch of tires on gravel draws your gaze back outside. You watch Oscar emerge from the car, craning his head back to take in the towering palace facade.

Unable to wait any longer, you gather your skirts and hurry downstairs just as he steps inside the grand entryway.

Oscar turns at the click of your heels, face melting into a smile. In a few quick strides, he sweeps you into his arms, spinning you joyfully.

You cling to him, breathing in the soothing scent of home you’ve missed. When he sets you down, hands come up to frame your face tenderly, thumbs brushing over your cheeks.

“There’s my beautiful girl. I’ve missed you so much, Princess.”

Heart swelling, you lean in to capture his lips in a kiss that conveys weeks of longing. Oscar responds urgently, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

A pointed cough interrupts your reunion. You pull back to see your brother Christian smirking knowingly.

“Well now I see why you were so eager for Oscar’s visit. Should I come back later?”

You stick your tongue out at him even as a blush stains your cheeks. Taking Oscar’s hand, you lead him towards the family wing.

“Come on, everyone’s excited to finally meet you properly.”

Voices carry from the dining room as you approach. Inside, your family looks up, faces alight with warmth and curiosity.

Your father strides forward first, clasping Oscar’s hand firmly. “Oscar, welcome. We’re delighted to have you here.”

Oscar returns the handshake graciously. “The honor is mine, Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation.”

More greetings follow before your mother guides everyone to the table. Oscar pulls out your chair, pressing a discreet kiss to your temple as you sit. Happiness bubbles up inside at having him here with your family.

Dinner passes enjoyably, conversation flowing. Oscar charms them all effortlessly with his quick wit and humor. Laughter fills the room, the atmosphere light and intimate.

With dessert finished, your siblings seize their chance to grill Oscar playfully.

“Sooo tell us,” Isabella begins, propping her chin on her hands. “What exactly are your intentions with our dear sister?”

Oscar just grins, unfazed. “Why, to make her happy every single day, of course.”

You melt at his simple sincerity, grasping his hand under the table.

“Good answer!” Christian crows. “But know if you ever hurt her, you’ll have the entire Danish army to answer to.”

Despite his teasing tone, you know Christian means every word. Oscar inclines his head solemnly.

“You have my word such a day will never come. Her happiness means everything to me.”

Your siblings appear satisfied, moving on to pepper Oscar with questions about his career and interests. He takes their antics in stride, witty comebacks drawing fond laughter from your parents.

The relaxed family atmosphere reminds you so much of that first dinner at Oscar’s childhood home. Your heart swells with quiet joy at how seamlessly he fits here too.

Eventually Oscar politely extracts you both, citing early flights in the morning. Alone in the hall, he sags against the wall in exaggerated relief.

“Whew, your family is something else! I think that interrogation was more intense than any press conference.”

You laugh and swat his shoulder before lifting on your toes to kiss him sweetly. “You were wonderful. I’m so happy you’re here.”

Oscar’s eyes soften. “Me too, Princess. Being here with you feels like home.”

Heedless of any lingering eyes, you kiss him again under the twinkling chandelier.

A loud retching sound interrupts you. “Ugh, get a room you two!” Christian complains, dodging your swat.

Oscar just tugs you closer with a chuckle. “Don’t worry mate, I plan to.”

He silences Christian’s protests with another searing kiss. And surrounded by Oscar’s warmth, you can’t bring yourself to care who sees.

***

Moonlight filters through the curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. You lay curled against Oscar’s chest, fingers tracing idle patterns over his heart.

The steady rhythm soothes you, but your own heart feels anything but calm. There’s something you need to discuss, but nerves stall your tongue.

Sensing your tension, Oscar’s hand comes up to sift gently through your hair. “Penny for your thoughts, love?”

You lean into his touch, gathering courage. “I was just thinking about the future. Our future.” You twist to meet his gaze. “I know it’s still early days for us, but if this continues to get more serious ...”

You trail off uncertainly, but Oscar’s eyes are warm with encouragement. Bolstered, you continue.

“There are certain expectations that come with being attached to the heir to the throne. Traditions and duties to learn.”

You watch Oscar’s face closely, but he simply nods thoughtfully. “Of course, that makes sense. I’m happy to learn whatever I need to.”

Relief trickles through you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, smiling softly down at him.

“For example, even before my mother was engaged to my father, she decided to learn Danish. The protocol and duties, the public role … it was a massive life change.”

You take a bracing breath. “I don’t expect you to make such changes overnight. But someday, if this continues on the path we hope ...”

You trail off meaningfully. Oscar’s hand comes up to cradle your face. “Hey, if being with you means learning Danish, or attending stuffy banquets, or anything else, I’m in this 100%.”

His eyes bore into yours. “I’ll do whatever it takes to build a life together.”

Emotion clogs your throat. You have to swallow thickly before responding. “Well, maybe we start small then. How about I teach you a few phrases?”

Oscar grins, pulling you back down against him. “Ja, det lyder perfekt.”

You jerk back in surprise, swatting his chest. “You brat, have you been practicing without telling me?”

Oscar’s eyes dance with laughter. “Maybe just a few key phrases. Wanted to surprise you.”

His smile turns tender. “I’d love nothing more than for you to teach me, sweetheart.”

Happiness bubbles up inside you. You snuggle closer, thinking. “Alright, let’s start simple. Like hej simply means hello.”

Oscar repeats the phrase dutifully, brow furrowing in concentration. You cover his hand with yours.

“Jeg elsker dig,” you murmur, gazing into his eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” Oscar echoes. “What does it mean?”

Sudden shyness has you ducking your head. “It means I love you.”

Oscar’s sharp inhale lifts your head. He grasps both of your hands, staring deeply into your eyes.

“Jeg elsker dig,” he repeats reverently.

Emotion clogs your throat. You lean in, whispering against his lips, “Jeg elsker dig, Oscar.”

The kiss starts soft and unhurried, a confirmation of feelings conveyed best without words. Oscar’s arms wrap securely around you as the kiss deepens, pouring every ounce of love and promise into it.

When you eventually break apart, Oscar keeps you cradled close, dropping kisses into your hair. “What else can you teach me?”

Happiness bubbles up at his tentative Danish endearment. You settle back against him, whispering translations as his steady heartbeat lulls you towards sleep.

But too soon, Oscar is reluctantly packing to leave, both clinging to these last private hours before he has to set off for the next race.

You wind yourself around him, unwilling to let go. Oscar holds you close, murmuring promises of next visits and calls into your hair.

As you finally part at the airport, his whispered “jeg elsker dig” warms you from the inside out. No matter the miles between you, your hearts remain entwined.

***

You adjust the diamond clips in your elegantly twisted updo, scanning your reflection critically. The deep blue gown hugs your frame perfectly, but nerves still flutter in your stomach.

Because tonight, Oscar will be attending his first official function as your partner — a lavish gala in honor of the new children’s hospital bearing your mother’s name.

A knock precedes Oscar peeking his head in, hands clapped over his eyes. “Safe to look?”

You smooth your skirt with a shaky exhale. “Yes, come in.”

Oscar drops his hands, mouth falling open. “Wow. You look absolutely stunning tonight, my love.”

He takes your hands, eyes roving appreciatively over you. “Going to have to beat all the envious blokes away with a stick.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “Oh hush. You look rather dashing yourself, Mr. Piastri.”

And he does in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, hair swept back neatly. You brush a piece of imaginary lint from his lapel, nerves melting away under his warm gaze.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm gallantly. You lay your hand atop it, spine straightening.

“We shall.”

The ballroom glitters under fairy lights as you make your entrance, immediately garnering interested looks and murmurs. On your arm, Oscar draws admiring glances of his own with his rakish good looks and easy confidence.

You greet various dignitaries and philanthropists, Oscar a steady, charming presence at your side. As you speak with the hospital’s key figures, his hand at the small of your back anchors you.

But as the speeches drag on, Oscar leans in subtly. “Is it terrible I’m already bored senseless? I’d rather actually meet these kids we’re meant to be helping.”

You hide a smile behind your wine glass. The same restlessness plagues you as schmoozing patrons preen and prattle.

As dessert wraps up, an idea strikes you. You catch Oscar’s eye, tilting your head meaningfully at a side exit before excusing yourself discretely.

Understanding dawns on his face and he trails casually after you. In the entry hall, you hurry to a secluded alcove, grabbing his hand.

“Quick, while we won’t be missed. Let’s actually go see the children.”

Excitement flashes across Oscar’s face. “Brilliant thinking. Lead the way, Princess.”

Adrenaline courses through you as you sneak out to the waiting car, bodyguards eyeing you curiously.

“Rigshospitalet, please. Quickly.”

At the children’s hospital, you sweep inside, Oscar at your heels. The receptionist gapes as you approach.

“So sorry to drop by unannounced. We were hoping there might be a chance for us to visit with some of the patients?”

The receptionist’s mouth opens and closes before she stutters, “O-of course, Your Highness, right away!” Clearly your boldness has paid off.

You exchange exhilarated looks with Oscar as she pages a nurse to escort you up. On the cheery pediatric ward, you peek into rooms, greeting curious families.

At one doorway, a gasp stops you short. A little girl sits up in bed, pointing.

“Mama, it’s the princess! And her boyfriend!”

You glance at Oscar to find him rubbing his neck bashfully. Clearly his fame extends beyond the F1 sphere here.

You laugh and enter slowly. “We were hoping we might visit you, if that’s alright?”

The girl — Else — nods eagerly, blond braids bouncing. Her mother rises to curtsy but you wave her off kindly as Oscar produces a small plush racecar from his pocket, to Else’s delight.

As you chat and play with Else, joy lights up her face. For a short time, she’s just a normal girl again. Your chest aches at her bright spirit despite her poor health.

All too soon, a nurse taps her watch. As you make your goodbyes, Else throws her thin arms around your waist.

“Thank you! This was like a fairytale.” Over her head, her mother mouths a tearful thank you of her own.

You hug Else gently before kneeling down. “It was our honor. You stay strong, little one.”

Her returning whisper warms your heart. “Don’t worry, I will!”

Similar scenes play out in room after room. Your cheeks ache from smiling but it’s a welcome ache. The children’s awed joy makes the real reason for tonight crystal clear.

Watching Oscar kneel patiently as a shy boy shows him a prized toy car, your heart clenches with love. Catching your gaze, Oscar’s eyes mirror the same emotion.

Far too soon, your bodyguards notify you it’s time to return before your absence draws notice. A chorus of disappointed groans follows you out.

Back at the gala, you slip in just in time for closing toasts. No one seems the wiser about your little detour.

Under the table, Oscar squeezes your hand. The contact says it all — this is what truly matters. Not accolades or commendations, but joy brought to hurting hearts.

You know you’ll be back. Both of you. Not for galas or acclaim, but for the chance to see young faces light up, if only for a moment.

Late that night, you slow dance alone in the empty ballroom, music and laughter faded. Oscar’s arms circle you from behind, chin tucking onto your shoulder.

“I think tonight was the most important royal function I’ve ever attended,” he murmurs.

You cover his hands with yours, leaning back into him with a contented sigh. No more words need be said.

The rest of the world may see events like tonight as social currency and networking. But you hold the truth in your heart — the only currency that counts can’t be bought, only given freely through love.

***

Two Years Later

You smooth your hands over your dress, pulse thrumming as you await the imminent news conference. Just hours ago, the palace formally announced your engagement to Oscar, sending the public into a frenzy.

Now, you’re about to face the media together for the first time as an engaged couple. Press stands crowd the palace gardens, cameras poised and ready.

At your side, Oscar seems calm and collected, fingers threaded loosely with yours. But you sense the storm brewing beneath his tranquil surface.

You reach up and gently adjust his suit collar, fingers lingering on the lapels as you meet his eyes. He gives you a small, grateful smile before you both turn to face the expectant crowd.

Because today also brings another announcement — one that will upend Oscar’s world irreversibly.

Your father steps forward first to formally confirm the engagement and expound on Oscar’s character. As he returns to your side, Oscar squeezes your hand and you nod in encouragement.

Oscar clears his throat, stepping closer to the microphones. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Y/N and I are over the moon at the chance to spend our lives together.”

He gazes at you softly before continuing. “I’m truly the luckiest man in the world to have won the heart of Denmark’s lovely princess.”

You have to resist the urge to kiss him senseless then and there. Cameras flash brightly as Oscar details your romantic (and heavily abridged) love story, punctuated with charming wit.

But gradually, his mirth fades. With another fortifying hand squeeze, he steels himself for the harder part.

“While I’m elated at this new chapter ahead, it also brings difficult changes. I’m announcing my retirement from Formula 1 following this season’s conclusion.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Oscar’s grip tightens as he pushes forward.

“As a member of the royal family, I will no longer be able to continue racing competitively. I am grateful to have achieved my dream this year of winning the championship.”

His voice falters briefly and your heart clenches. Racing is Oscar’s passion — having to walk away is unimaginably hard.

Oscar visibly gathers himself. “But as difficult as this is, marrying Y/N is worth any sacrifice. She is my true dream now.”

He turns to you then, eyes glistening. “The honor of being your husband eclipses any trophy or medal. You are my greatest victory.”

Emotion clogs your throat and without thinking, you wrap him in a fierce embrace. The rules of propriety fade away, only your pride and love for Oscar remain.

His arms clutch you close as flashes erupt around you. But in this moment, you see only each other.

Eventually you separate and Oscar takes your hand once more, gracing you with a tender smile. He turns back to the microphones for one last address.

“Til Danmark og det danske folk. Jeg lover at tjene jer med ære, respekt og kærlighed.”

The Danish press reacts first, visibly surprised and impressed at Oscar’s speech in their native tongue.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears at his poignant promise — to serve Denmark with honor, respect, and love.

Overcome with emotion, you step forward to the microphones as well.

“Oscar’s love for me and Denmark is clear to all who meet him. I am truly blessed to have found such a selfless, caring partner.”

Your voice wavers with feeling. “Though it grieves me to see his racing career ended prematurely, I could not be more proud of the man he is.”

You reach for Oscar’s hand, gazing at him through tear-filled eyes. “He gives up much out of love for me. I only hope I can bring him a fraction of the joy in return.”

Oscar’s fingers tighten around yours, eyes shining with affection. Cameras flash furiously at your raw display of love and emotion.

But you remain lost in Oscar’s eyes, the rest of the world fading away. In this moment, all that matters is your shared devotion and the bright future stretching before you.

Questions start flying from the excited press corps but Oscar politely extracts you both, ceding the floor to the waiting palace officials.

Alone inside once more, Oscar sags against the wall in clear emotional exhaustion. You wrap him in your arms, heart aching for the pain this transition causes.

Oscar clings to you tightly, face pressed into your hair. “I meant every word,” he whispers fiercely. “You are my whole world now.”

You draw back just far enough to meet his eyes, hoping he can see the depths of your love reflected there.

“I know, min kæreste. We’ll face this new future together.”

The answering kiss speaks what words cannot. No matter what comes, your love remains constant.

A new path lies ahead now, one you will walk hand in hand, till the end of your days.

***

Five Years Later

The roar of engines draws nearer as your car nears the Copenhagen street circuit. In the seat beside you, Oscar bounces his leg restlessly, face alight with anticipation.

In the backseat, your three-year-old daughter, Margrethe (affectionately called Maise for short), mimics her father’s excitement, chattering cheerfully about anything and everything.

You reach over to still Oscar’s jostling knee, smiling indulgently. “Easy there, we’ve barely arrived and you’re already wound up.”

Oscar shoots you a boyish grin. “Can you blame me? It’s been so long since I was last in the paddock. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

Your heart swells with quiet awe once more at the sacrifices Oscar has made for your future together. While racing still runs through his veins, his duties as Crown Prince of Denmark now take precedence.

But today offers a joyous reunion, with Oscar instrumental in bringing Formula 1 racing back to Danish soil for the first time since 1962.

As the car pulls through the paddock entrance, Oscar cranes his neck eagerly, drinking in the familiar organized chaos. Before the door even opens, you hear a familiar voice shouting.

“He lives! The prodigal prince returns!” A blur of McLaren papaya hurtles towards Oscar as he steps out.

Oscar just manages to brace himself before Lando Norris tackles him in an exuberant hug. Laughter bubbles out of Oscar as he returns the embrace.

“Good to see you too, mate. It’s been way too long.”

You round the car to find Oscar’s former team already swarming him, clapping his back and jostling each other good-naturedly to greet their long-lost driver.

Oscar’s eyes shine as he falls back into easy banter, trading inside jokes and reminiscing. With Maise balanced on your hip, you hang back contentedly, letting Oscar have this moment.

As the reunion finally winds down, Lando gestures to you and Maise. “And who do we have here? Don’t tell me this little beauty is your daughter?”

Oscar beams, waving you both over. “She is indeed! Lando, meet my little girl.”

Lando pretends to stagger back in shock. “No way, our little Oscar is all grown up and domesticated now!”

Oscar shoves him playfully before sweeping Maise into his arms. “What can I say, my fast living days are behind me now.” He kisses Maise’s wavy hair, eyes finding yours. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

Your insides turn mushy at the adoration in his voice. The years have only deepened your love further.

More drivers trickle over to greet Oscar, ribbing him good-naturedly about his new royal status. But the obvious affection underlying the teasing is clear.

Zak Brown claps Oscar on the back. “It’s so good to have you back, even just for a day. You and your family should stay, watch the race from the garage!”

For a fleeting moment, naked longing flashes across Oscar’s face at the thought of experiencing race day excitement again up close.

But reality settles back in quickly, his expression turning regretful. “That’s a lovely offer, truly. But I’m afraid we’ll have to make our way to the royal box.”

He bounces Maise gently, tone wry. “Some of us have a job to do handing out trophies later.” Maise giggles and tugs at his ear happily, blissfully unaware of the wistfulness simmering beneath her father’s smile.

You slip your arm through Oscar’s, offering a comforting squeeze. His answering smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

After more fond farewells, you exit the nostalgic bubble of the garage. Oscar pauses, taking a moment to just breathe and gather himself.

You shift Maise to your other hip, wrapping your free arm around his waist. Oscar leans into you gratefully, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Can’t believe it’s been five years already,” he murmurs. “Feels like another lifetime.”

You smile up at him sadly. “I know, my love. But look at everything you’ve accomplished for Denmark in that time. This race wouldn’t even be happening without you.”

Oscar huffs a small laugh. “Too right. Who needs driving when I’ve got you two anyway?”

He tickles Maise playfully, eliciting delighted giggles. The melancholy edge has left his eyes now, replaced by contentment.

Hand in hand, with Maise toddling happily between you, the three of you set off together towards the royal box. The Danish Grand Prix awaits, along with the bright future you continue building as a family.

This may no longer be Oscar’s world, but he now shapes the path for future generations of drivers. After the race, as Oscar graciously awards the beaming winner while Maise excitedly cheers from the side of the podium, you know this is precisely where he’s meant to be.

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rafeysbafey · 2 months

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season 1 e6 where rafe gets kicked out by ward, he takes it out on you (super shitty SMUT) MDNI

it was around one in the morning when you heard your front door open, the sound of footsteps trailing up the stairs and to your room setting you into a slight panic.

but all worries disappeared as soon as you saw the intruder was actually your boyfriend.

“rafe?” you questioned, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you sat up immediately, reaching over to turn on your lamp.

“ward kicked me out,” he mumbled, kicking off his shoes before peeling off his polo, tossing it into the corner of your room before climbing into bed with you.

“rafe that’s terrible-” before you could finish your sentence, he had you flipped on your stomach, ass exposed and in the air as he thrusted into you from behind.

his dick reached the spongey spot inside that had your eyes rolling back, tears running down your face at the brutal pace he kept on your pussy.

his balls slapped heavily against your ass, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other came down to hold your hip in place.

“im in charge, baby,” he groaned, his thrusts brutal causing your ass to ripple with each one.

“fuck, rafe- im cumming,” you whimpered, moans bouncing off the wall as he suddenly yanked you up to rest against his chest, his hips thrusting up into your dripping heat at a rapid pace.

“cum on my dick, slut,” he growled, breath hot in your ear as he squeezed your neck ever so slightly causing you to release around him.

after rafe dumped himself inside you, he got you water and helped you get all cleaned up, cuddling into your side with a sigh as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“was i too rough?” he mumbled, the pad of his thumb running circles along your hip as you shook your head.

“do you feel better?” you whispered, leaning over to brush your lips against his as he smiled into the kiss.

“much better, you’re the best.”

“don’t forget it,” you hummed, finally letting sleep take over you as he kissed your temple.

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apomaro-mellow · 5 months

Text

Every Baby Needs a Daddy

Part 1/?

Modern au rock star!Eddie & sugar baby!Steve; alpha!Eddie/omega!Steve

Fall was in full swing and a chill was officially in the air at all times. Most especially as the sun started to go down. Eddie was warm in his leather jacket but for a brief moment his heart went out to the guy standing outside the bar, arms bare to the wind. He was dressed in a striped polo shirt and jeans, not quite what one might see in a dive bar like this.

But he was probably waiting for someone, so Eddie went inside without another thought, catching just the smallest whiff of his scent as he walked by. An omega. He was definitely waiting for someone then. No one kept their omega idling for long. Once inside, Eddie took his shades off, the lights low enough to keep most from recognizing him.

It helped that he was flying solo tonight. No band members or bodyguards in sight. It was nice to be anonymous sometimes. Not that fame and fortune ever got tiring, it was just a good change of pace. He posted up to the bar, ordered a beer, and got comfortable. He was right in the middle of a conversation with another patron about the current season's fishing prospects when that scent washed over him again something like lavender and petrichor.

Although, when Eddie looked over, that second part might've just been the scent of actual rain. The omega from outside was sitting next to him. The tops of his shoulders and head were damp.

"Was wonderin' when you'd come in and grace us with your presence", the bartender said.

The omega simply rolled his eyes and didn't order anything. Eddie saw him shiver and without thinking, took off his jacket and placed it over his shoulders. He realized what he'd done when the other man froze.

"Sorry you just looked cold and maybe you were but I shouldn't've just done something like that I can-I can take it back", he reached out.

"No", the omega held onto the jacket. "No, it's fine. I was cold. Thank you."

"I uh, saw you outside. Boyfriend making you wait?" Eddie inwardly cringed. He meant to be more subtle than that. Meant to say something anything else.

"Don't have one." The omega got a strange look as he finally looked Eddie square in the face. "Have I...seen you somewhere before? Sorry", he shook his head and let out a breath of laughter. "What I line. I swear I'm not-I'm not trying to come on to you or anything, I just know I've seen you on like tv or something."

Eddie couldn't judge on pick up lines after what he said about a boyfriend. "You...you might've." He looked around and contemplated for just a second before he continued. "Ever heard of Corroded Coffin?"

"They're a band, right? That's where I know you from?"

Eddie grinned. "Yeah, that's where." He could tell this guy just barely recognized him and that it wasn't an act.

"God, Dustin would kill me. I can hear him now. Sorry, I'm probably not the kind of fan you like running in to."

"I'll take polite conversation over groveling any day. So do you know any of the member's names?"

"I know there's the guy Dustin likes the most because he can play drums and the bass. He admires talented people like that. And he goes on and on about this Eddie guy, but I can never remember which one-you?"

"Me, handsome", Eddie grinned. "And your name?"

"Steve. But I also answer to 'handsome'."

Steve. Eddie had to taste it on his tongue. "Steve. And were you waiting for Dustin before the rain brought you in?"

Steve smiled now, adjusting Eddie's jacket across his shoulders. "No, I wasn't really waiting for anyone. And before you ask, Dustin is definitely not my boyfriend. I'm completely untethered." Steve ran a hand through his hair, not so damp anymore after they had been talking.

"You gonna order something or keep taking up space at my bar?", the bartender asked.

"What's your poison, Steve?"

"Oh, I can't pay you back", Steve said.

"Then don't. Order something."

"I mean I really can't pay you back, Eddie. I was hanging around outside because I...because I'm between paychecks right now. And I'm not that kind of omega." Steve's shoulders hunched up in shame and he looked like he was about to remove Eddie's jacket.

"I didn't say you were. You don't have to pay me like that. I take many forms of compensation. Including sparkling dialogue with gorgeous men."

"Really?", Steve asked, voice flat in disbelief.

"Really."

Steve turned to the bartender. "Whiskey sour please."

Eddie smiled. "So, what's your opinion on farmed fish versus wild caught?"

---------------------------

Steve had been going through the worst day of his life. Work had been awful and he had wanted to scream. He ran out so quick that he forgot his jacket and was already halfway home when he remembered. He kept going. He wasn't going back there today. He got to his apartment, ready to fill his empty stomach with something only to find he was devoid of food.

Of course. He'd cleaned himself out with his last heat and hadn't gone grocery shopping since. He'd been eating out for the past week. And if he checked his bank account....

$10.43

And pay day wasn't for another three days. Steve was desperate. It was plenty of money if he went to the convenience store right outside his apartment. But the cashier there always gave him odd looks and he just didn't have the energy for it. He contemplated sending someone in to buy his stuff, but he wasn't feeling very trusting right now.

Which was how he ended up at the bar. The dollar store would've been an option last week, but it was a couple of miles away and his car was in the shop. He didn't even know what his plan was. Buy the cheapest drink and fill up on pretzels and nuts? It was why he was standing outside as the sun got lower, just feeling sorry for himself.

He just wished someone would take pity on him. Would see how hard he had been working and told him it was okay, he could take a break now and they'd take care of him.

Hell would probably freeze over first though.

Then the rain started and he couldn't waste time out here any longer. At least inside the bar, it was warm. Steve already wasn't looking forward to the walk home. What if it was still raining? He couldn't afford to get sick right now. He sat at the only empty seat at the bar and thought of the least pathetic way to ask for a cheap drink when something warm came over him.

It smelled of ginger and cinnamon and for a moment, Steve was drowning in it when he heard the owner of the jacket try to apologize for it and then take it back. Instinctively, Steve held onto it tighter.

"No, no, it's fine. I was cold. Thank you."

The alpha next to him said something about a boyfriend that Steve barely registered but figured out by context what he was asking.

"Don't have one." He shook his head and then actually looked the alpha up and down. Curly hair spilled over his shoulders and he looked smaller without the leather jacket that was currently over his own shoulders. There was something oddly familiar about him. Like he'd seen that face on his social media feed or something.

When Steve asked, he realized he was talking to a guy in Dustin's favorite band. He felt like an idiot. This guy was probably used to starstruck fans bowing at his feet and here Steve was, just treating him like a nobody. But try as he might, Steve couldn't pretend like he was some big deal, even imagining Dustin's lecture on proper celebrity sighting etiquette later didn't change things.

Then the alpha, Eddie his name was Eddie, introduced himself and then asked for his name, tacking on a compliment at the end of the question.

"Steve. But I also answer to 'handsome'." He couldn't help being a little hungry for some positive attention right now.

Then Eddie asked a very unsubtle question about Dustin, insinuating that he was some kind of boyfriend and Steve wanted to laugh. The little kid he had babysat that had been like the pain in the ass brother he never asked for definitely wasn't that. And he let Eddie know that.

"Dustin is definitely not my boyfriend. I'm completely untethered." He didn't know why he said it like that. He might as well have spread his legs and held up a sign that said 'open for business'. This guy was a literal rock star, he must have lustful groupies throwing themselves at him all the time. Wording it like that absolutely wasn't Steve intention. Even if his scent was so comforting and intoxicating.

Then the bartender urged them to order something and Steve felt his empty stomach drop. Eddie insisted on buying him a drink and Steve really wished he had the money for it because there was no way he was paying in any other way. And if Eddie was expecting that, he'd just as soon go back out into the rain, leaving the warm jacket behind.

"You don't have to pay me like that. I take many forms of compensation. Including sparkling dialogue with gorgeous men."

Steve searched his face for a bluff, any sign of dishonesty. But he saw none.

"Really?"

"Really."

So Steve ordered just as Eddie asked him something about fishing and clearly this night was not going to go the way he planned.

--------------------------

Eddie was halfway through his second drink and knee deep in a conversation about the pros and cons of fishing compared to hunting. Apparently Steve's dad took him out hunting before he presented and afterward, his grandfather took him out on a couple of fishing trips.

"One just seems more fair, is all I'm saying", Steve said, still nursing his first drink. "One has you sneaking up on an unsuspecting animal. The other one you're just luring them. Fish know what they're getting into. Deer don't until they're already in your sights."

"You think very highly of fish intelligence", Eddie noted.

"I once had a year long beef with a friend's pet fish. Long story. But fish are smarter than they look." Then Steve's stomach growled. Very loudly. Embarrassingly loud.

"I don't know about you, but all this fish talk is making me hungry", Eddie said. "Can I buy you dinner?"

"I suppose I've got about twenty bucks worth of more conversation in me", Steve smiled, appreciating what Eddie was offering.

Eddie paid the tab and Steve put his arms into the jacket, then remembered Eddie might want it since it was cold outside. "Did you want-"

"Keep it on. I run hot anyway and we just need to make it to my car." That was a lie, Eddie had the circulation of a failing newspaper but he liked the look of Steve in his jacket too much to give it up. And the rain had stopped so now it was just damp and cold outside.

Steve thought he should feel wary of getting into a car with a stranger, especially a famous one. But he had his phone on him and Eddie was taking him to a place with a lot of people, so it was fine. Eddie put his sunglasses on as they went inside and asked for a table in the back, which the person up front gladly accommodated.

"Not to toot my own horn", Eddie said as they were seated. "But I can never tell when and where I'll get recognized. And I don't want any tabloids tomorrow morning." Because right now, Steve didn't just look like some random guy that Eddie was wining and dining. Right now, he looked like he belonged to Eddie.

"Got any funny stories?", Steve asked.

Eddie grinned and rolled his shoulders as he got comfortable in his seat. "Well, there was the one time I was literally in a tv studio about to be interviewed with the band and someone thought I was the boom guy."

"If I was dressing up on Halloween as a boom guy, I think I'd put on this general look", Steve said, gesturing to Eddie's whole body.

"And there was the time I got recognized while at a fabric store. I'm standing in line, basket full of sewing supplies and a bunch of floral fabrics, and this woman in her sixties asks for my autograph."

"Aren't you in a metal band?"

"Yeah and some of our most hardcore fans are women over 40", Eddie said. "Don't underestimate 'em."

A waiter came by and took their orders and they kept talking. Steve couldn't believe how badly his day had started because now it felt like he was flying above the clouds. Eddie actually seemed interested in what he had to say. And Steve was constantly thrown by the different directions Eddie took the conversation. From fishing, to getting recognized stories, to horrible customers, to the perils of sailing a boat.

"Never?"

"I remember going once as a kid and was scared shitless the whole time", Steve said. "Whoever decided it was okay for me to watch Titanic in kindergarten really messed me up."

"So besides that one time you've never been on a boat?", Eddie asked.

"My parents tried getting me on a yacht once and I started hyperventilating on the dock. I stayed on the boardwalk", Steve said. Just one of the many ways he'd been a disappointment.

After the meal, Eddie offered to drive Steve home. He wanted to. But after drinks and food and talking to Eddie for so long about nothing at all, Steve felt cautious. Had his guard lowered? If he let Eddie see him to his door, would Eddie be expecting something? What made him even more hesitant was that he might let Eddie get away with it.

He was handsome and charming and had alleviated Steve's worries for a few hours. He was even going home with some leftovers in a box. For a second, Steve wondered if food was all it took.

"Hey, look, I understand if you don't want some strange alpha taking you home. What about if I just order you a ride?", Eddie suggested.

"You can take me home", Steve said quickly. "Just don't expect any dessert."

Before leaving, Eddie excused himself to use the restroom and Steve used that opportunity to do something that was probably really stupid. It was certainly pointless. But he could take a risk every now and then. He tore off a piece of the menu and used a pen at the podium up front and that was how Eddie found him.

"Ready to go?"

"Ready", Steve smiled.

The car ride was a little more quiet, both of them digesting both the food and what had happened tonight. Meeting a stranger that you clicked with, it didn't happen every day. Steve gave him his address and Eddie pulled up to the building.

"You should walk me up", Steve said. "Make sure I get there safe."

"Y-yeah, I can do that", Eddie stuttered, struggling with his seatbelt while Steve was already out of the car.

Eddie followed him to his apartment, glad now for the chill outside because otherwise he'd be sweating watching Steve's ass for so long as he walked in front of him.

"Well, this is me", Steve said.

"I had a great time tonight", Eddie said.

Steve laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Can we come up with anymore first date lines?"

"Hmm, how's about I'd love to do this again soon?", Eddie smiled, leaning in a bit.

"I'd like that." Steve took Eddie's jacket off his shoulders.

"What if I want you to wear it for our next date?", Eddie asked.

"If you want me to wear this, you better scent it properly", Steve goaded.

Eddie pinned him against the door and smashed their mouths together. His jacket was trapped between their bodies. Steve let out a soft sound and brought a hand to Eddie's cheek.

"We can't go on a second date until the first one is over", Steve said when he pulled back. He curled a lock of Eddie's hair around his finger just because he couldn't help it.

"Your number?", Eddie asked, licking at Steve's lips.

"Check your jacket", Steve breathed.

Eddie didn't take his eyes off Steve as he went through his jacket pocket and found what Steve had been scribbling on earlier. It was a ripped piece of the menu. And it had Steve's number on it.

Part 2

If I had a nickel for every time I steddified a Marilyn Monroe song I'd have two nickels.

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #a/b/o #omegaverse #okay maybe dont expect all the parts to be this long tho LOL

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joshlmbrt · 4 months

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hi angel, im so excited to read your stories :)

would love to make an angsty Steve x reader request. im forever such a Steve Harrington girl 🥹

an angsty enemies (more like rivals) to lovers. they get roped into the upside down things together, and their mutual love for the kids really brings them together. over the seasons they get closer and closer, silently falling in love. then towards the end, something happens and they all get separated.. and they all think she’s dead? until they’re somehow reunited and realize she’s okay? and Steve’s just a wreck, completely inconsolable thinking that she’s gone. and even more of a mess when he finds out she’s alive?

…or is that stupid… 🥲🥲

Angsty Teens. ( s. harrington x reader )

【𝜗𝜚 warnings; enemies to lovers!!!!, canon compliant, r is dustin’s sibling, r makes a joke about a father leaving during the middle of the night, dustin & erica gets TIRED ( robin enjoys the banter ), they think r is dead, blood, long over-due kissy kiss, sort of changed it a bit - i hope that’s okay! NO ONE DIES! i don’t think there is any use of pronouns, but if there is, let me know!

【𝜗𝜚 an; oh, oh, this is NOT stupid AT ALL!!!! ( no request is ever stupid! ) i was just gonna do 1-3 but then …. i rethought and decided to do all four. i hope you enjoy and this is what you had in mind!!

1983

There’s something about Steve Harrington - Steve ‘King’ Harrington as many people loved to call him - that you hated.

You weren’t for sure what caused this deep hatred. Maybe it was the many girls who he kept wrapped around his finger and he just messed with them, loved to parade it around.

‘Look at me! I have someone, and you don’t!’

Or maybe it was the fact that he used to be your friend and completely ditched you for Thomas Hagan and Carol Michaels.

“Your face is going to get stuck like that.” Eddie notes out loud, a small smirk on his face as he watches your face scrunch up in disgusted as the boy walks past with his goons and the girl of the month.

Nancy Wheeler.

Pretty. Pristine. Good grades. Never in trouble.

Her poor friend Barbra Holland - also known as Barb - was following behind quietly, books tucked close to her chest.

“Shut up,” You grumble to Eddie, slamming the locker door shut. “Hey, Barb!” You wave, giving her a kind smile.

Her head towards yours, waving with a small smile. She continues to follow behind Nancy.

You sigh. “I don’t get why he goes from girl to girl.”

“Well, he seems pretty serious about her.” Eddie shrugs, walking out with you.

“He seemed serious with Vanessa, Tiffany, Erica, Monica, and-”

Eddie clasps a hand over your mouth. You stare at him with wide eyes. “Okay. Okay,” He breathes, removing his hand. “I think I know why you feel this way.”

“What way?” You open the passenger door to Eddie’s van and slips in. He shuts the door for you, jogging to the other side.

He opens the door. “Jealous.”

You sputter on words. “What?! Me? Jealous? You cannot be serious!”

He slips into the car, shutting his door. “You had a small crush on Stevie boy and then - boom - he suddenly gets popular overnight with his big hair and nice polos.”

“Okay, first,” You hold up an index finger. “Gag me with a spoon. Secondly, I am not jealous. I could care less who Steve Harrington dates. He’s just. . . a boy.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You know what I mean. I just hate that he leads everyone one, making them think he cares for them, then - bam - he’s gone like a father who leaves in the middle of the night.”

He purses his lips and squints his eyes at you. “I feel like you just related Steve to your father.”

“I did.”

He hums, nodding and turning in his seat. “Alrighty, then.”

ও

NOVEMBER 24TH 1983

There’s a knocking on the door that causes you to flinch and Nancy turn quickly, high on alert.

You’d never guess you’d be fighting faceless monsters with your brother and his small friends, plus Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers.

“You don’t think they knock, do you?” You breathe out, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple.

“Jonathan! It’s me, Steve! I just- I’m not looking to cause any trouble, I just wanted-” Nancy is marching towards the door, opening it only a crack. His bruised face is confused when he sees the girl. “Nance? What-what are you doing here?”

“You need to leave.” Is all she says.

His eyes dart over her face, shaking his head. “What are you doing here? What happened to your hand?” His eyes peek over her head and you gulp once they land on your face. “What’s she doing here? What’s going on?”

He pushes his way in, stumbling a bit. He stands straighter, eyes moving over all the lights in the home.

“What is all this? What’s-”

“Steve,” Nancy says, catching his attention. He looks over at her, holding his hands up quickly.

You quickly step in front of Steve without thinking. “Nancy, what are you-” She cuts you off.

“You need to leave. And now.”

“Nancy.”

“I don’t understand what is going on! You all are acting craz-"

“Nancy!” Jonathan finally catches the attention of you all, he places his finger on his lips. “Listen.” He whispers.

Everyone goes silent, eyes lifting towards the roof.

“This is crazy. . .” Steve whispers to himself. “This is crazy! This is crazy!”

He rushes towards phone, picking it up. Nancy yanks it from his hold, slamming it back down. “Leave. Now. While you have the chance.”

And of course, Steve leaves, the door slamming behind him.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head.

The lights cut off, before flickering. You freeze, eyes darting around.

“Nancy!” You call out. “I can’t see anything! What’s-” A scream leaves your lips, your legs getting lifting from the ground, the blood flowing down to your head quickly.

“Oh, my god! Oh, no! Please! I don’t want to die!” You didn’t feel like you were going to die, but. . . with these things? You never know.

Your dropped onto your back, your breath being knocked from your lungs. A hand grips your shoulder pulling you up.

“Come on!” A voice eerily similar to Steve yells out. You check over your shoulder, before heat suddenly licks up your body.

You flinch back from the fire, staring down at the flames.

“Do you think it’s dead?” Nancy whispers. Jonathan steps forward, her hand shooting out quickly to grab at his arm.

“I’m just checking.” He says. She nods hesitantly, dropping her hand. He kneels down in front of the trap, watching it bubble.

“I think it’s dead.”

ও

Dustin’s head was laid over on left your shoulder, Lucas’ head occupied your right shoulder. Your arms were fuzzy but you weren’t going to complain.

Happy Will was alright and all the kids were fine. . . besides the poor girl who had grown on you.

Jonathan steps into the room, a small smile on his face. “Guys,” Mike was the only one away, slapping at Dustin’s arm. “Will’s awake.”

Mike stands from the seat, slapping both their shoulders now. You laugh softly, shaking your head as both of them startle awake.

“Come on! Will’s awake!” Mike cheers. Dustin grins, shooting up from his seat, Lucas following behind him down the hall to his room.

You’d go visit him later, allowing the boys to have their own time.

You stand from the seat, yawning as you walk towards the water machine, grabbing a small paper cup and filling it.

“Uh,” There’s a throat clearing behind you and you turn around. Steve Harrington. “Thanks for. . . not letting Nancy shoot me.”

“That’s only because I want to,” You shrug. “Not to help you.”

Lies. It’s still in your nature to care for your old friends and it’s tiring. Especially when they wouldn’t do the same for you.

Except, Steve had taken care of you. Made sure you weren’t eaten.

His lip quirks at the corner and he nods. “Right.”

You nod, lifting the cup to your lips, chugging it all. He nods a bit again, turning and making his way towards the door.

“Uh,” You wipe the corner of your lip off. You watch as he stops and turns towards you. “Thanks, too. I guess. For, uh, saving me?”

He nods and smiles a bit. “Anytime.”

ও

1984

You curse yourself for feeling bad for Steve as he watches Nancy stand next to Jonathan, her hand placed on his head.

He steps towards the back door, sitting down on the small step. You sigh a bit, looking out the window above the sink.

“Go talk to him,” There’s a nudge at your side. You turn and look at Dustin. “You know you want too.” He grins.

“Oh, shut up. I don’t want too,” You grumble, turning away and resting your back on the counter. “Why did you even get Steve in the first place?”

He squints his eyes at you. “You were on a date.”

“So? Couldn’t you have called someone else?”

“He was just there,” He says. “Literally.”

You let out a sigh, looking at your chipped polish. “I come home to you and Steve chopping up cubes of steak. It was weird.”

He rolls his eyes. “Go. He’s. . . he needs a friend.”

“You both are friends now,” You lift a brow at him. “Why can’t you go talk to him?”

“Because you know him better than me,” He shrugs. “Than anyone really. Weren’t you both best friends?”

“Key word: were. We aren’t anymore.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you know him better than anyone.”

You frown - because Dustin is right. The little brother who you had taught to be nice to everyone, kill them wiyh kindness even, was giving you the same talk you’d give to him if it was between him and one of his friends.

You sigh and push yourself off the counter. “Fine. But don’t think I’m going to listen to you all the time just because I do this one time.”

He grins cheekily at you, despite all that has happened tonight, and makes his way towards the table and sits down.

You inhale deeply before exhaling, stepping outside now. You shut the door, stepping next to Steve and placing yourself next to him.

You stay quiet, eyes staring at the small building in the back.

“You didn’t have to come out here, you know?”

Your head reels back at the bite in his tone, a frown on your face as you turn to look at him.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

You rub your lips together, wanting to keep everything in.

“Just because your girlfriend doesn’t care about you anymore, doesn’t mean you can just snap at other people. It’s not an excuse,” You snap back. It was a low blow, really. Especially after learning what actually happened at the Halloween party. You stand from your seat.

“You are not going to speak to me that way. I won’t allow it. I came out here to see if you were okay, but. . . I can see that was clearly a mistake. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t love you anymore.��

Your cheeks are flushed red with anger and you walk past him, your dress hitting your thighs as you make your way towards the back door. He calls out your name, but you don’t stop and listen to him.

You shut the door.

ও

1985

Your head slams into the metal wall, a groan leaving your lips. “Booby trap.” You whisper to yourself.

“What?” Dustin murmured.

You stand slowly from the floor. Dustin stands next to you. “The canisters that Steve pulled out was a booby trap,” You narrow your eyes on him. “Why would you do that?!” You throw your arms up.

“Do you think I meant for us to get stuck down here?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Because you never think!”

“Like I wanted to get stuck on an elevator with you!”

“Oh yeah?” Your brows furrow. “I had a date after this and now I won’t be able to go! Because of you pulling out that stupid canister! I mean, really?! Who pulls something out of a box that comes from Russians?!”

Erica leans towards Dustin. “Oh, they hate each other.” She whispers.

Dustin shakes his head, Robin does as well. “No, they don’t.”

“It’s the angsty teen, enemies to lovers plot.” Robin whispers, fingers giddily fiddling together. Erica furrows her brows. Robin cuts her eyes over to the confused girl. She then quickly looks back. “You’ll understand when you read Pride and Prejudice.”

“Pride and what?”

“Prejudice. It’s a-" Robin looks at Erica who has a brow lifted. She stops, lips rubbing together. “I don’t have time to describe it.”

Erica hums, turning towards you and Steve once again. “You know what,” You grumble. “I’m through with arguing with you! You never change!” You throw your arms up, stepping towards the center of the room.

“Dustin,” You say his name. He’s standing next to you in an instant. “Help me up there. I’m going to see if we can climb our way out of this. . . this literal hell. Especially if it has him in it.” He nods and pulls a chair over. You step on top of it, reaching up and pushing the tile up and over. You grip the sides, grunting as you pull yourself up.

You slide back before standing up, pushing your hair back as you stare up, hands on your hips.

You sigh and close your eyes.

You’re all stuck there.

ও

Your forehead is resting on your knees, eyes closed as you rest on top of the elevator.

It had been quiet the whole time, Dustin trying to get ahold of anyone. But of course, no one was answering.

You almost cry at the feeling of being stuck.

You feel someone’s knee bump into yours, and you know who it is before they even speak.

“Are you, uh, okay?”

You huff out a small laugh. “Oh, yeah,” You nod, lifting up your head. “Perfect. I love being stuck in an elevator with no way out.”

He looks down, fingers intertwining together. “It is my fault. I’m sorry.”

You sigh a bit, shaking your head. “It’s not your fault,” It pains you to say it, but it’s right. It’s not his fault that he pulled out a canister filled with mystery green goop. “We just know now that Russians can’t build elevators now.”

He snorts. “That’s exactly what I said.” You smile a bit.

“I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean what I said,” You let out a sigh. “I was just. . . angry.”

He nods a bit. “I understand,” He pushes a hand through his hair. “I promise to listen to you next time.”

You lift a brow. “Oh, that’s going to be so hard for you, Harrington.”

He nods and scoffs. “Definitely.” You give him a small smile.

Your heart feels a bit warm at the interaction.

ও

1986.

“Steve!” Dustin cries out, his knees digging into the unnatural ground. “She’s. . . She’s not waking up!”

Steve drops the bags, Nancy almost stumbling over the thing before coming to a stop. He jogs over, dropping to his knees.

The color had drained slightly causing Steve to worry. “Okay, move.” He pushes at Dustin’s hands. Dustin looks up at him with a worried express, tears falling down his cheeks and onto your shirt.

“What are you going to do?”

“CPR.” He nods, his hands moving onto your chest.

“You-you know how to do CPR?” Dustin’s voice wavers. Steve nods, huffing as he mutters numbers. He leans down over your mouth.

He lifts back up, pumping once again. After four times, tilts your head back, unhinging your jaw more. His lips press to yours, blowing into your mouth.

Dustin’s eyes dart between you both, eyes wide with worry. Robin, Nancy, and Eddie stand behind him watching.

There’s a deep greedy inhale that has Steve pulling back, allowing you to breath in the air. He pulls you up, hand pushing back your hair.

“Hey, hey. . . God,” He mutters to himself. His hand trails down your back. “Thank God you’re okay.”

Dustin throws his arms around your neck. You wrap an arm around his side, patting his back. “Steve saved you.”

“What?” You pull back.

“I didn’t.” Steve quickly denies, shaking his head.

“What are you talking about?” Eddie shakes his head. “You absolutely did.”

“No, I-”

“Could everyone give Steve and I a minute please?”

Everyone’s eyes dart to you. “You’re not gonna kill him are you? We just literally survived this whole thing.” Eddie shakes his head.

“No, I’m not. Now please, give me a minute alone with Steve.” They nod, making their way towards the trailer.

“Look, I’m sorry about mouth to mouth. I had too, you were-"

“Steve,” You cut him off. “It’s fine. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“Why would I be mad about you saving me?”

“Because you. . . hate me?”

You let out a small sigh, shaking your head. “I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“I did,” You say. “But not anymore.”

He smiles a bit, pushing some of the strands of hair that had fallen back to your face. “I’m glad.”

You stare up at him quietly, moving to your knees in front of him. He gulps slightly.

You press a small kiss to the corner of his mouth, hands moving up to cup his face. “Thanks for saving me.”

His own hands press to yours on his cheeks. “Anytime.”

You grin and lean in again, pressing your lips fully to his this time. He gladly allows you.

Robin grins as she peeks through the window with Dustin.

She leans closer. “Told you.” She whispers.

Dustin makes a face and looks over at her. “Told me what?”

“Pride and Prejudice, my tiny friend.”

【𝜗𝜚 thank you for reading! comments, feedback, likes, & reblogs are encouraged, welcomed, & deeply appreciated!ও

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #joe keery x reader

451 notes · View notes

leclucklerc · 6 months

Text

Hard Carry CL16 - 03. Brocedes Esque

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: It's a one sided fight for the throne. And yet, y/n will still go all out.

Word Count: 5k

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Drive to Survive season 1 episode 1

All to Play For

The screen was black before it changed into a clip of 2017 driver championship. A narrator could be heard on the background, narrating an overview of Formula One. The most expensive sport, a brilliant combination of technology and man-made skills. It’s the pinnacle of motorsport, a true show of speed and adrenaline.

Will Buxton appeared, “This is a sport only for those who wants to win,” he said. “No one is more competitive than all of these drivers.”

“They trained like a jet pilot,” said Christian Horner as he appeared on the screen. “Formula one is a show of how mighty a collaboration between technology and what pure manmade skill can do.”

The sound of whirring engine as Formula One cars passed by the screen, leaving nothing but blurs and shocked gasps. The sound of screeching tires as cars after cars fight against each other. It is a spectacle. An exclusive sport only those who has enough privilege can enjoy. Cheers could be heard, and a crowd of spectators could be seen watching the race.

And then, someone back could be seen. The camera is shooting from behind and it looks like it was a normal race suit. At least, until long cascading hair appeared on the screen.

“Formula one changed,” said Will and a montage of the celebration of 2017’s championship could be seen. Of Lewis Hamilton, Sebastian Vettel, and y/n l/n fierce rivalry for the title championship.

In a sport that is not known for its diversity, a female managed to become one of the best drivers on the grid. In a sport that is not known for its diversity, y/n l/n proved that anyone could do anything if they want. A show full of determination and fighting spirit. A show full of desperation and fights for her voice to be heard.

Silver, red, and black. Three cars that dominated the season. Each desperately trying to gain a place in front of another.

Silver, red, and black.

The scene change, showing Daniel Ricciardo in the interview room. Daniel could be seen looking around, a bit awkward and yet, there’s still a huge grin plastered across his face. “Are we ready?” he asked, tone full of humor.

“Do you think you can win against y/n l/n if you have the same car?” asked the producer on the background.

Daniel eyes shook, as he looked as if he was thinking about the question for a bit. Though, when he answered, he sounds so sure and without the slightest hesitance. “Yes,” answered the man.

“Yes,” answered Fernando Alonso as the scene changed to him.

“Yes,” answered Max Verstappen as the scene too changed to him.

“Yeah,” answered Pierre Gasly and after that, a speed up montage of the entire grid appeared. All of them are saying yes, confirming their confidence about beating the current world champion.

It’s not a bad attitude to have. After all, Formula One drivers are confident. They’re confident of their skill, of their talent, and of their potential. To drive in Formula One, they have to believe that they’re the best driver on the grid. Having that kind of confidence on your ability, is the very essential to be a Formula One driver.

Shortly after that, the scene changed. This time showing a woman with perfectly styled hair and colored lips. The dark team polo that she’s wearing oddly look like a designer brand, despite it being a uniform that everyone on the team wears.

For this woman, the question was altered a bit.

“If all of you have the same car,” started the producer. “Do you think you can still become a world champion?”

That question made her let out a bark of laugh, as if it was the funniest thing that someone had ever said to her. And maybe it is because it’s been a while since she heard something so ridiculous. Her eyes crinkled and her painted lips are set in a wide grin, showing all of them how amused she is at the question.

“Babe,” she started, amusement clear on her face.” I can certainly beat them even if the rest of the grid is using Porsche and me in a Williams.”

It’s a statement that is full of arrogance.

It’s a statement, that fully show how confident she in in her abilities.

Y/n l/n, three-time world champion.

The opening of drive to survive starts playing.

2013

Y/n first notice something became a bit weird after she won her first world champion.

Back then, she had thought that everything was going great. Porsche is a great team with a great car. She’s getting many attentions, outside and inside of Formula One. She had performed incredibly, managing to snag a championship only on her second year.

The sensational driver. One of the biggest name in Formula One.

Yes, she had thought that everything had been going on great.

That is, until her teammate terminates his contract with Porsche.

It was a bit shocking, considering that he had another year in Porsche. Besides that, they’ve been getting along great. They may not be the best of friends, but she had thought that they’re teamwork had been amicable. They both shared dinners here and there, even went to the gym together. So, hearing that he was leaving the team so abruptly had been a bit of a shock to her.

“Hey,” she called out, catching the attention of the male. “You… do you not like Formula One anymore?”

They may have not been the best of friends, but they’ve been friends alright. The both of them had spent two years together as a teammate. It’s only normal for her to see what is going on and why did he decide to leave the team so suddenly.

She had asked Herman, questioning his decision to leave the team. Oddly, the man had closed his mouth. Refusing to say anything more than that it was his decision to leave Porsche.

Staring at her, the male let out a scoff. “Fuck,” he hissed out. “It’s not funny to hear that from you.”

The female raised an eyebrow, a bit shocked at the sudden show of hostility directed towards her. “What’s your problem?” she asked, moving away to stand in front of him. Blocking his path from the door. “I was just asking why you are leaving the team so suddenly.”

Something in that statement sounds funny to him because he lets out a bark of laugh. His shoulder shook as if what she just said was the funniest thing on earth. It annoyed her a bit. Though considering his bad mood, she doesn’t call him out.

“Really?” he finally said after his laughter lessened. “Really, y/n?”

“What?” y/n asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why are you acting as if I should know the reason, you’re leaving the team?”

“Shit, knowing that you don’t even realize only make all of these worse,” he said, slinging his bag on his back. “Assholes.”

She bristled at that. “It’s clear that you have a problem with me,” said the female. “You wanna tell it to my face?”

The male stared at her. Dark orbs meeting her own as a tense silence fell between them. The tension is thick, not wanting to back off.

“I’m tired,” he finally said. “I’m tired being the second fiddle.”

Y/n blinked, “What?” she asked. “What second fiddle?”

“Second fiddle in fucking Porsche,” replied the male, shoving past her.

She stumbled at that, though y/n quickly regained his footing as she quickly followed the male across the grid. It’s late at night but the place is still full of life. She could see a lot of eyes – drivers, engineers, mechanics – following both of their figure as they shared a heated whispering feat between each other.

“What second fiddle in Porsche!?” she hissed out. “You were fourth in the drivers ranking!”

“And you were number one!” he whispers shouted, glaring at her. “It’s obvious that Porsche will favor you more after this! I don’t want to be treated like that-“

“What favor!?” said y/n, a bit too heated. “I tried my best and-“

“I know you fucking tried your best!” said the male as the both of them stopped just near the exit gate. “I know, but with the way you’re performing right now- I don’t want to be stuck as a second driver in the team.”

Y/n grabbed her collar, dragging his face forward. “So, what if you’re the second driver!? Many drivers would kill for an opportunity to just drive for Porsche in Formula One!”

“There’s nothing wrong being a second driver,” scoffed the male as he yanked back his collar. “That is, if you’re in any other team. Being the second driver in Porsche is worst.”

“What are you even talking about- “

“Think,” cut off the male. “Think y/n, remember these past months and how Porsche is fucking treating you compared to me.”

“There’s nothing different! I- “

She stopped. Y/n stopped because there’s a rush of memories appearing inside of her head. Moments, that had happened even during her rookie season last year.

The way the team had prepared her favorite foods for their catering at the start of the season, despite its being a rare cuisine on the country they’re racing in. The way during the off season she had declined a practice session in the factory due to a photoshoot and Herman had allowed it while her teammate was forced to come despite living in a different country.

How the team had issued a team order to let her pass, raising her ranking while decreasing his. How Herman and the team had always celebrated every victory and podiums of hers, while her teammate watch from the side.

How, the mechanics – even his teammate’s mechanics – are the people that she has a close relationship with. People, that she’s comfortable with. How the race engineers are the people that she regularly have dinner with. Something, she had never seen her teammate’s do.

In Porsche, everyone is someone that y/n is close with.

A team, that was built for her.

Her very own personal Formula One team.

The moment she had her realization must’ve showed clearly on her face because her teammate let out a scoff as he yanked out of her grip. “Realize it yet, princess?” he sneered out before he marched out, leaving her standing there in silence.

That was the last time she ever saw him.

And it was the start of Porsche’s almost yearly change of their second driver.

2017

“You should be careful,” said Lewis in the middle of the 2017 season. It was just announced that her teammate of the year will not be extending his contract with Porsche. She’s not even surprised at this point. “I know teammates can be an ass, but it’s best to not antagonize them.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow at that.

It was really funny to hear that from Lewis, considering all the drama that happened back in 2016. After all, the feud between Lewis and Nico had been entertaining and yet painful to watch. Something worthy of a soap opera and certainly must be Toto’s worst nightmare. To see two men who used to be the best of friends tearing each other apart as teammates.

She knows that the tension in that team has been unbearable. At least in Porsche, they never let the tension to remain that long considering how they change their second driver every year. With Mercedes though?

When Mercedes paired the both of them, they probably didn’t expect the sheer rivalry that they both had with each other. How they despised the mere thought of losing against each other. How everything has to be a competition between them, no matter how small. Maybe that’s why they used to get along so well. Considering how much they loved racing and how competitive they are.

“You’re really saying that?” asked y/n, amusement clear on her tone. “You?”

Lewis rolled his eyes at that. “I know it’s hypocrite of me,” he started off. “But believe me, I know firsthand how awful it is to have your teammate as an enemy.”

The female laughed at that. Obviously, he would know. “I never antagonize my teammate,” unlike you, remain unsaid. “They just feel threatened.”

He hummed, leaning back on the sofa. “They just got embarrassed at the thought of losing from you. A female.”

Y/n snorted at that. “Well, Formula One it’s not a sport that is known for its diversity,” she said pointedly towards the male.

He let out a laugh. She doesn’t know if he found some kind of sick amusement in that statement or if he just thought what she said is the truth. Probably the second one.

“Indeed,” said Lewis, a faraway look on his face. “Yeah, indeed.”

2018

That certain conversation had always been at the back of her mind.

It rang inside of her head as she won her third championship and saw her teammate staring up at her not from the podium. It rang inside of her head as her teammate terminate their contract from Porsche. It rang inside of her head as Herman introduced Henry to her.

It certainly rang inside of her head as Henry crashed his car into her.

The loud screeching sound that appeared inside of her ear as she could feel her car spin towards the barrier is making her head ache. Truthfully, the impact is not that big, and she certainly had had a worst crash before. Though what made this one a bit special is the pitch-black car that also laid across the gravel in front of her.

Ah, she thought, trying to lessen her anger. Retire. The both of us.

Herman will be so fucking pissed.

Even when her race engineer asked her if she’s okay, y/n really doesn’t have the energy to reply. She merely answered with a short hum, not saying anything besides that. After all, she felt that if she answers more than that, her anger will leak through. Shattering the perfectly crafted image that she had crafted over the years.

Perfect y/n who always smiles.

Charming y/n who is a different driver from her rookie season.

Beautiful y/n who is always laughing-

It seems, all of her effort to lessen her anger became futile when she saw Henry climbing out of his car. She doesn’t know what sets her off. Maybe it’s because Henry doesn’t even look guilty or maybe it’s the fierce glare that he directed towards her from behind his helmet as if she’s the problem.

She really doesn’t know what set her off but almost immediately, her anger surged forward.

Fuck, thought the female as she climbed out of her car.

Fucking hell, thought the female as she took off her helmet.

Y/n turned around, staring at her car that had hit the wall. Y/n turned towards the track, hearing the sound of other cars making their laps.

DNF.

Fucking DNF.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck-

Y/n almost throw his helmet to the floor as she marched back towards Porsche garage. Her hair is a mess and the way her race suit is sticking to her body uncomfortably does not help her temper the slightest. Around her, she could faintly see the wary glances that people gave her. No doubt, a bit fearful at the angry woman.

She doesn’t really care, and she’s also sure that Herman doesn’t care. After all, he has a more pressing issue to tackle. Namely, the two DNF that Porsche suffered during the Spanish Grand Prix.

It’s a tight fight for the constructor championship with Mercedes after all. Having to retire both cars is not helpful at all. The way both cars retired is a bit embarrassing. No, scratch that. It’s so fucking embarrassing and the mere thought of that incident made her had headache.

During the race, Henry who was ahead of the woman after y/n’s pitstop, was asked to let her overtake. Which make sense because y/n got a new set of tires and faster. It was projected that she could pass Lewis and Bottas who was leading the race at 1-2. Porsche needed the team points anyway and y/n is gunning for her fourth driver title.

But of course not.

It’s the damn disease that every Formula One drivers seem to have. Aka, their far too big pride.

Henry – the little shit – decided that he doesn’t want to do that. She doesn’t know what’s his problem or what kind of mental ego that he’s battling with himself, during the race, he decided that he’s not going to let her pass.

Fucking asshole.

The guy is not even a contender for the driver’s title! He should’ve been satisfied to manage to be in the top 6 drivers during his rookie season! But of course not. He decided that he wants to be some kind of hero or some kind of historic driver.

Maybe he wants to be known as someone that finished ahead of y/n. Or maybe he just wants people to know that he’s here in Porsche to be the number one driver. Not the driver that have to stay behind y/n.

Fucking asshole. Rookie little shit.

It’s no brainer that she will try to overtake Henry. It’s no brainer that she’s aiming to win the championship. But no. The little shit decided that he wants to kill the both of them and made them crash against each other, officially retiring both Porsche from the race.

She could still hear the dramatic narration that the announcer made as they crashed against each other. Y/n could almost see her fourth championship slipping from her finger because this is the last thing that she needs. After all, Lewis and Sebastian are tough opponents. They’re not going to let her win the championship without a fight. And don’t get her started with Red Bull growing dominance and Max’s overwhelming talent.

DNF, is something that she doesn’t fucking need at this point.

“Deep breathes,” muttered Luca as he takes her helmet inside of her driver’s room. His tone calm, as he desperately tries to calm the raging inferno inside the female. “Y/n, remember it’s important to stay calm during this kind of situation.”

The female is known as a charming woman. One of the friendliest people on the paddock. She can make friends with anyone she set her eyes on. Always welcoming every person with a perfectly shaped smile and a friendly aura.

Though in the end, y/n is still a world champion. To be a world champion, you need to be some kind of an asshole. An asshole, on the track and on the garage.

“Fuck,” she lets out, taking a deep breath as she leaned back on the chair. “Fucking asshole, he was going to kill us.”

Luca winced a bit at that because yes, the crash was pretty bad. The mechanics needs to stay up all night to make sure that the car will be ready for Monaco. No thanks for Henry.

“Herman will want to have a team meeting after this,” said the man as he handed her a drink. “Obviously to talk about what just happened.”

“They can blame all of it to Henry,” she seethed out, gripping the drink with too much strength. “Asshole didn’t obey team orders! What right does he have to do that!?”

“I know, I know,” said Luca as he patted her back in order to placate her for a bit. “I understand that you’re frustrated, you can tell everyone all about it during the meeting, no?”

“Henry better listens well during that,” said y/n.

The meeting takes place when the race had long finished in the meeting room inside of their motorhome. Y/n had given Lewis a congratulation about his win and Max about his podium before she was ushered inside.

Herman’s face looks scary and the stillness inside of the meeting room too, was deafening. Y/n’s silent anger as well as brooding face also doesn’t help the growing coldness. It’s a bit jarring to see the usually friendly woman looks so emotionless.

On the other hand, Henry clearly looks nervous. It’s clear that the male is a bit scared at how tense the meeting room is. The atmosphere is clearly different from how the team is usually. Y/n really wants to shake his head, because this situation is clearly his fault.

Seriously fuck Henry and his fragile ego.

“What happened today,” started Herman, breaking the silence between all of them. “Is something that shouldn’t happen again.”

There’s a round of agreement across the room. She could feel the eyes that’s staring at her, no doubt searching for a flicker of emotion or a reaction from her. Y/n ignored all of them, pointedly starting at Henry who was sitting in front of her and at the same time, avoiding her gaze.

“Our goal for every championship is to win,” said the team principal, fixing his glasses as he stared around the room. “And Formula One, no matter how it looks, is a team sport. We need to work as a team to achieve that.”

A beat passed, before people voiced their agreement at that.

“Whoever was faster, will have to let the other one to pass,” continue Herman. “If the both of you are at 1-2, the one on the second place should defend from the third place. I don’t care about all of your ego and pride; I want all of you to work as a professional and not be a fucking child.”

Y/n let out a snort at that.

The way Herman said it, it was as if the team doesn’t have a favorite. As if, Porsche doesn’t care which one of them finished first or second as long as they’re using the Porsche car to win. Though, both y/n and everyone – including Henry – knows the hidden meaning behind the statement.

It means to let y/n pass every time. It means that Henry has to defend y/n from the car behind them. It means, that no matter how hard he tried, y/n will always come first.

First driver and second driver. An almost public secret to everyone on the grid.

Y/n is the first driver and Henry is the second driver.

She raised her eyebrows as she could see how Henry clenched his fist tightly. No doubt wanting to refute the order from Herman. Though alas, he also knows that it’s going to be useless. After all, he’s the rookie driver. He’s not the three-time world champion. He’s not the driver that had been in Porsche since the start.

He also doesn’t have a dad who is a major investor in Porsche.

“Everyone understand?” asked Herman after silence descend upon the room. “I don’t want to see this kind of mistake anymore.”

“Yes,” replied y/n, eyes still boring towards the younger driver in front of her.

Henry too, let out a strained smile at that. “Yes, I understand,” he said.

It was a shame, she thought. After all, just like the previous drivers, this is the final nail of the coffin. The realization that there is no hope for them in Porsche as long as y/n is still in the team. To know, that clearly your team have a favorite and it’s not you.

This is the point in time for them to be more or less, annoying.

Veiled insults, ignorance over team orders, blatant manipulation. It’s the same thing over and over again. If she’s someone with a better personality, she would try and discuss with the team on how to make a fairer working environment. She would try to mediate between Porsche and the second driver on how to improve their situation.

But no, y/n is not someone with a better personality.

Many like to praise how different she is compared to her rookie season. That the brash and highly competitive girl in 2012 is now replaced by a friendly and charming woman. A hotheaded rookie now known as the most beloved driver on the grid.

Many likes to say that she’s someone better now. That adulthood had ceased down all of her childishness.

What they didn’t know is, y/n never changed. She only learnt how to put up a persona that will be beloved by everyone. To wear a mask, to hide herself from the prying eyes from the media.

Y/n, is still the loud and abrasive rookie driver.

She’s still hotheaded and can throw a massive tantrum.

Y/n, is still an asshole and Porsche, is hers.

She’s not going to let a rookie to take it from her.

Despite all the drama that happened today, meeting Charles Leclerc is the last thing that she expected.

When Herman had ordered the team to go home for the day, she really didn’t expect to see the guy loitering around Porsche’s motorhome. If it’s anyone else, y/n would’ve thought that they’re doing some kind of company espionage towards them.

But it’s Charles. A rookie driver with big eyes and emotions clear on his face. Emotions, that clearly shows how worried he is right now.

“Y/n!” he called out the moment he spotted her exiting the building.

“Charles?” she asked, approaching the younger driver. “What are you doing here?”

He looks a bit nervous, “I- uh I saw the crash earlier,” he started. “I was just wondering if you’re, okay?”

Y/n blinked. A bit startled at the question, because isn’t that a bit sweet? After all, they hardly know each other. The only time that even had a real conversation was during their first meeting. Besides that, it was only short pleasantries with each other. He didn't even contacted her after she gave him her number, giving her the impression that he's not that interested in her.

Turns out Charles is a good guy after all.

It’s hard to see someone this nice. Especially in Formula One where everyone has a far too big egos and pride – y/n included.

She can’t suppress the grin that’s tugging her mouth. “Well, as you can see, I’m in one piece,” said the female, gesturing towards her body as the two of them began to walk. “Thank you for worrying though.”

“It’s no problem,” he said, almost too quick. “I just wanna make sure that you’re okay, sorry if I’m disturbing you.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” she shrugged off. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to after a shitty day like this.”

“I’m glad then,” replied the male as they walk through the paddock. There are a lot of people, but mostly people from the constructor work who is on their way to tear down each team motorhome.Most of team members already went home at this hour. From the backpack that he’s carrying, it seems that he’s also on his way back to the hotel. “I’m glad that I can help you, even if it’s only a little.”

How nice.

Y/n let out a laugh at that. “Don’t change, Charles,” she said. “It’s rare to see a driver this nice.”

Charles merely shrugged. “If you asked Max, I’m an asshole though.”

“Ah,” said the female. “Yeah, I saw the video, cute kids certainly. The both of you.”

He flushed at that. "It's a bit embarrassing that everyone knows about that now."

"Why?" asked y/n, amusement clear on her eyes. "It's a good story, no? Fated rival and stuff."

"If you put it like that it is a bit nice," said the male, scratching his cheek. "I just don't like being compared to him."

She laughed. "Deal with it, Leclerc," she said as she sling an arm around his shoulder, tugging him down a bit. "The media will always compare you with someone, I guess they want to make the headline a bit spicy considering how boring most of the drivers are."

What she said about the comparison is the truth. For y/n, she had been compared to Lewis and Sebastian ever since she won her first championship. When she first debuted, she was compared against Sebastian a lot. Claiming them as two young talents that had arrived to take over Formula One. Even back when Max first entered the sport, he was compared to her most of the times.

"I guess so," muttered Charles. "It's only my rookie season, after all."

"Precisely," she grinned. "Wait for another season and they will be talking all about your achievements. That is if you able to stay for another season," teased the female a bit.

"I will be," answered Charles lightheartedly. "It's my dream to drive for Ferrari after all."

Y/n nodded, "Good dream, Ferrari is a pretty good team." She knows that Charles is projected to be the red car future driver, but she doesn't know when will that happen considering their current driver lineup. Seb and Kimi is a good pair after all.

But knowing Ferrari?

Anything can really happen.

They continue talking as they made their walk towards the parking lot. It’s surprisingly easy talking to him, as if she’s talking with an old friend. Charles is an animated talker, slipping into French here and there - which she doesn't mind. I sounds cute and she did grew up in France. Somehow, it's easy for her to find a conversation topic. From things like racing to mundane topics like the catering on their team.

Maybe it’s how expressive he is, or maybe it’s because he’s someone that put his heart on his sleeve, making it easy for her to read on his emotions. It was a bit cute and endearing. Y/n thought that if she has a little brother, maybe it’s almost like this.

Their conversation was cut short when it’s time for them to go to their own cars.

"Guess this is it," she said, giving him a cheeky grin. "It was nice talking to you."

"Yeah," agreed the male. "I hope we can do this again."

She laughed at that. "I did gave you my number, Leclerc," said the female, giving him a friendly shove. "You can always text me for a chat. Or maybe a call."

His eyes widened, clearly not expecting that. "I-" he stopped. "I'll text you!"

"You better be," she said, giving him a sidehug, she said, “Text me later!” to him before she climbed into the car.

Her day became a bit lighter.

Charles thinks he's dreaming.

Text me later?

Text me later!?

Fuck, he hopes he didn’t fumble. Did he say yes? He didn’t remember saying yes. But he also didn’t remember saying no. Shit- what if she thought that he’s being rude!? Did he even confirmed that yes, obviously he’s going to text her after this-

If Pierre was here, he’s going to laugh so hard.

Really, Charles doesn’t know what possessed him that it made him thought visiting y/n was a good idea. He didn’t even got the courage to visit her during good days. What made him thought that visiting her after a bad race is a good idea!? After all, she had a DNF back in the race. A double DNF for Porsche to add salt into the wound. Everyone would have been in a bad mood if that happened to them.

He was half expecting to be ignored or to be met with short answers. But no, y/n was so nice that she had actually entertained his silly attempt of small conversation. He doesn’t even know what they’re talking about throughout their walk because he’s just way too nervous to make sure that the conversation kept going.

Charles had been way too distracted by the smiles and grins that she had directed towards him to even make sure that his brain is working.

Because fuckk.

Whoever said never meet your idols must be delusional because his idol – y/n – is just so fucking perfect.

She’s just like what he imagined her to be. An amazing driver. An amazing woman. An amazing human in general.

And she said to text her!?

Like- like text, text her!?

He’s not going to lie and say that the thought had never passed inside his mind. After all, ever since he first got her number all those weeks ago, he had opened up the messaging up countless of times, fingers hovering on top of the keyboards as he pondered about texting her. It’s a bit embarrassing how often he did that, but-

But it’s y/n! He can’t just randomly text her! She’s busy and-

And yet she told him to text her.

During the start of the season Pierre had told him that it was a dumb move to try to shoot his shot towards y/n - Formula One superstar, a fucking icon, the it girl - but isn't this clearly a sign!? She did told him to contact her!

Eat shit, Pierre.

“Charles?”

Snapping his head towards where his manager is, he mumbled. “Y-yeah?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Were you talking with l/n earlier?” he asked as they both climbed into the car.

He nodded. “I ran into her when I was leaving.”

“I see,” mumbled the man. There’s a certain look inside his eyes, as if he wants to say something to him but at the same time, he’s hesitant. It made Charles a bit confused.

“Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No,” said his manager, a bit too quick. “No, it’s… okay.”

He didn’t probe further.

Taglist!

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stargirlsturniololover · 4 months

Text

rafe’s babydoll

request: no this is actually a dream that i had a daydream that is… but since day one i’ve said that rafe could run me over with his motorcycle i swear i’m sane

warnings: no slight mean!rafe but like rafe is always slightly mean. very much bimbo!ditzy!reader tho

summary: you show rafe your new biking jacket when he takes you to get your nails done.

also: i swear i’m not like an anti-feminist that is just like girls are dumb and are all bimbos or something bug😭 i just love the idea of rade with a bimbo gf is that a crime

also also: i’m imagining season 1 (only cuz i literally started watching this show yesterday but it could be whenever ig)

also also also: i just finished season 1 so now i’m starting season 2 in case y’all were wondering

also to the 4th: i HIGHKEY think i ate this up and i’m a sucker for sweet rafe like mean rafe is good in moderation but i’m down for sweet bf rafe anytime😜 (if i didn’t eat please tell me, tell me if i did eat too)

fit check:

reader: this with the pink helmet and pink jacket from the heading (very much lela from teen beach movie core aka MY CHILDHOOD MOVIE… anyway)

rafe: kinda this or just his normal polo and board shorts combo.

rafe cameron x fem!bimbo!ditzy!reader (sorry for all those exclamations😭)

“rafey….” you whine, stomping into the living room of tanneyhill.

rafe sighs as he stands up from the couch and walks over to where you stood huffing in the hallway.

“what is it baby….? ‘s something wrong?” he questions, grabbing you by the waist and giving you a once over to make sure everything’s alright.

you hold up your hand to show rafe the broken nail on your right hand.

“i was just helping wheeze cut out some papers for her diary and the next thing you know my nail broke in half.” you blubber, resting your head on rafe’s chest.

“oh princess…” he says in a mocking tone, “we can’t have that, can we?”

“no rafey, and tonights the midsummer party and now my nail is all gross.” you say, pressing your chin into his chest so you can look up at him.

“alright princess, go grab your helmet, i’ll drive you to the nail salon.” he says, folding at your adorable little pout.

“but rafey, why can’t we take the truck….? don’t wanna ride on the motorcycle.” you whine.

“now babydoll, if you want your nails to be nice for the party, you’re gonna go get your helmet like i asked.”

“sorry rafey,” you pout, sulking back to rafe’s room to grab your pink jacket and helmet from his closet.

“‘s it still wet outside R?” you ask, still not sure on the weather after the hurricane that swept through the county a few days back.

“if you’re wondering if it’s the right weather for that jacket of yours, it is.” he responds, slipping on his boat shoes.

you squeal as you run back downstairs, jacket and helmet in hand.

“that jacket of yours” was the jacket that had just arrived after a couple months in the mail transit.

it was a light pink biker jacket that you had perfectly color matched to the helmet rafe bought you for when you rode his bike with him.

if it were any other regular pink biker jacket, it would have arrived about 5 and a half months earlier, but this jacket was special.

on the back of the jacket, in pure swarovski crystals, were the words “rafe’s babydoll”.

you had wanted it to be a birthday present for rafe, but since it was so late it was more of a just cause gift.

“look rafey.” you squeal, slipping the jacket on and giving him a twirl.

“oh babydoll, it’s adorable…. you’re adorable.” he states, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you into a kiss.

“thank you rafe, ‘s just for you.” you mumble, pressing a kiss to the slope of his nose.

after rafe zipped up your jacket for you, he walked you outside.

“now precious, do you remember the rule for riding rafey’s motorcycle?” he asks, setting you on the back and sliding your helmet over your head.

“mhm” you hum, smiling at rafe through the visor of your pink helmet.

“ok and what is it.” he asks, clasping the helmet under your chin.

“hold on to rafey at all times….?” you state, with little confidence because you can’t be bothered with rules when rafe can just re-tell them to you.

“right baby, hold on to rafey at all times.” he confirms, sliding in front of you on the bike.

you slip your hands around his middle as rafe starts the drive to the starlight nail salon.

• • • •

after your appointment, you and rafe walked out of the salon, you admiring your fresh pink manicure and rafe admiring you.

he took in your pink biker jacket, hello kitty cropped t shirt, and your light denim short shorts.

he leans in and presses a lingering kiss to the side of your perfectly styled hair.

you look up at rafe and smile, gently placing a kiss to his lips.

“thank you for taking me to get my nails done rafey,” you say, grateful for your boyfriend that can’t help but spoil you.

“no problem babydoll, it’s what ‘m here for.” he responds, as you arrive back to where his bike was parked.

“now let’s go get ready for this party, how’s that sound?” he asks, slipping onto the seat in front of you.

“sounds good rafey.” you hum, resting the cheek of your helmet to his back as he pulls out of the parking lot.

#rafe cameron #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe fanfiction #rafe fluff #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x bimbo!reader #bimbo!reader #obx fic #outer banks

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alittlebitofsainz · 17 days

Text

a place in this world - ch1

a dream come true. you, a race engineer in formula one, having built your way up through the ranks. sure, the 2020 season hadn’t exactly gone the way that everyone had expected, but this was your chance, your moment to prove to the world of racing what you and your driver, carlos, were made of. but carlos isn’t staying at mclaren forever, and eventually, you’ll have a decision to make…

pairing: carlos sainz x f! reader. slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers (please, from my own experience, don’t follow this pipeline)

info: reader lives in the uk due to working at mclaren, and is somewhat implied to be british. it is also implied that they listen to bbc radio 2 and support leicester city football club. this may or may not be because these things are true of me and I wasn’t planning on publishing this, sorry!

warnings: cursing, a lil’ bit of angst, very infrequent use of y/n, one (1) google translated spanish sentence, a dry british writing style xoxo a/n: hello! welcome to a little passion project I never thought I’d share with the internet. this will eventually become a sort of ‘choose your own adventure’ type series, where you can make decisions about your career that can eventually lead you to different teams and drivers. will be posting a masterlist soon with more info so bare with me! any feedback / comments are always welcome

Masterlist | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

Chapter One: … Ready for It?

it had started out like any other wednesday. except it hadn’t, not really. the nature of your job meant that there was no ‘any other wednesday’. most wednesdays meant that you were jetting off to some new country, your wide eyed face in the window seat, reflecting back off the pane of glass separating you from the dancing lights of some exciting new city, 5,000 feet below. race engineer to mclaren-renault formula one driver number 55, carlos sainz, wasn’t exactly what you had listed as what you wanted to be when you grew up, but you were far from disappointed that that’s what your linkedin profile now read, a metaphorical middle finger to everyone who’d said you’d never amount to anything in motorsports.

but by all accounts it had been a relatively uneventful wednesday in your life, in fact even more so than usual compared to the early morning check ins at Stansted airport that you’d grown accustomed to. this week was silverstone, your home race, if race engineers could call it that, and that meant no early mornings, no check ins, no flights, no decanting your liquids into tiny bottles and zipping them into a plastic bag to take through security. this wednesday was a stop at sainsburys to fill up the tank of your vw polo with petrol, and an 80 mile drive west towards silverstone circuit. the most exciting part of your morning was getting stuck in half an hour of traffic on the m25; you didn’t even need the dulcet tones of Richie Anderson on radio 2 to tell you there’d be traffic at Potters Bar. as a native southerner, you could just feel it in your bones.

still, only fifteen minutes late to track wasn’t too bad, considering your lengthy journey, and you were by far the last member of the team to arrive. you would’ve been even less late, but for the fact that you’d sat for the best part of five minutes in your car, engine off, staring at the notification on your phone. there were so many questions running around in your head, first and foremost of which was why on earth did dan from engineering have your number? but the second question, which was possibly the more important one, was why did carlos ask him for it? he said that it ‘might be useful to contact each other.’ if the current expression on your face could be summed up in a noise, it would be a very confused and very emphatic ‘huh?’.

sure, you and carlos interacted a lot during race weekends, that much was a given. you were forever catching up to discuss data, strategies, the car setup, the sandwich options at the hospitality, why the leicester city football team would beat real madrid in a fist fight. so okay, your conversations weren’t allstrictly work related, and you could’t deny that the two of you got on well and seemed to really understand each other, but that was all part of being a driver and race engineer duo; you had to be on the same wavelength. it was non-negotiable. but swapping phone numbers? you couldn’t imagine why the two of you would need to text or call each outside of work hours, and you had work phones for that. which led you to your third and fourth questions: number three, why did you suddenly feel so nervous and giddy with excitement when you re-read his message for the seventh time? (question three point five was why did you re-read his message seven times?) and number four, what the hell were you supposed to message back in reply?

you typed in a thumbs up emoji and then immediately deleted it. how fucking old were you, 65? what next, start talking to him about the cold war? no, you had to keep it fun and casual, not too overfamiliar but not too weirdly distant and cold. god, why was this so difficult? you felt like a schoolgirl with a teenage crush, constantly typing various replies and deleting them again, letter by letter. eventually you settled on a cool, calm and collected response, typing it out and shoving your phone into your pocket before you had time to overanalyse what you’d just sent. quickly gathering up your stuff from the boot of your car, you spammed the lock button on your car keys, just in case the first five times didn’t stick, and trotted off towards the entrance to the paddock.

as it was approaching the hour mark since he’d sent his text, carlos had been starting to worry that he’d overstepped an unwritten boundary. why had he even asked dan from engineering for her number in the first place? it just felt like something that he should have. lando had will’s number, he’d already asked him that. but once he’d sent the message he realised that he couldn’t really come up with an excuse as to why he’d needed it, why he couldn’t have waited until he’d seen her this weekend and ask for her number from herself. like a normal person. deep down he knew why, though he was in some sort of state of denial about it, and it was the same reason that he hadn’t asked for her number two weeks ago in Hungary, or at the previous race in Austria, or when he’d first met her at the start of the season.

he breathed a sigh of relief when her reply came through, 57 minutes after he’d sent his message. well, the first one that is. the second message came two minutes after the first; god, he couldn’t believe he’d been stupid enough to forget to include who he was at the end of the text the first time around.

but it didn’t matter now, because she’d replied, and her words on the screen made him smile to himself, her voice in his head as he read them through three, now four times over. his fingers hovered over the keypad, contemplating a reply. he checked the time - it wouldn’t be long until she arrived at track anyway and they could chat in person, so he closed the messages app on his phone and tucked it away in his pocket, deciding against committing any words to the everlasting aether which was the iPhone messages app.

it was nearing the end of a lengthy strategy department meeting when your phone went off, a few pair of eyes glancing your way as you apologised profusely, eyes scanning over the text before sheepishly putting your phone on do not disturb and placing it back on the table face down. shit, this meeting wouldn’t be finished for another ten minutes at least, and by that time all the bacon and brie toasties would be gone (everyone knew they were the best lunch option). worse still, you hated the fact that you had to leave carlos hanging; pausing the strategy meeting to send off a quick text was equivalent to a cardinal sin, even if it was to carlos sainz. your eyes were flicking increasingly often down to the time on your laptop, the seconds crawling by as the time approached one o’clock. it felt like whichever godlike entity governed the laws of time was toying with you; surely it wasn’t possible for time to move this slowly? the head of strategy wrapped the meeting at 13:04, and you were out of your seat like a rocket.

amy, one of the strategists, fell into step beside you as you paced it down the corridor.

“you’ve heard about the brie and bacon being back on?” she asked; you only had to reply with a grin to give her the answer that she needed. she eyed you up, as much as anyone power walking down a busy corridor could whilst still maintaining maximum straight line speed.

“everyone from strategy and engineering has been in meetings. so who’s your source?” came her second question. you picked up your pace, under the guise of trying to get to the canteen quicker.

she had a habit of taking just enough time to respond to carlos’ messages to keep him guessing whether she actually would respond at all. it wasn’t entirely her fault, carlos realised; she’d apologised for earlier, explaining that she was busy driving. of course she was, how could he be such an idiot? maybe a part of him was hoping that she’d been acting coy, teasing him by waiting, purposefully trying to keep him on the edge of his seat.

carlos saw her enter the canteen, watched with a small, self satisfied smirk as her face fell, the rattan shelf where the brie and bacon toasties had been, now depressingly empty. he left it just long enough so that she was forced to consider which disappointing option to go for instead, before finally calling her over.

“Y/N!” carlos called, watching as her head whipped round, and he had to stifle a laugh at her confusion. he waved her over.

“sorry, I was stuck in a meeting.” she sighed, her voice slightly breathless. had she ran here? he fought back the urge to tease her about it, shaking his head slightly.

“don’t worry about it.” he replied, gesturing to the seat beside him as he spoke. her eyes lit up when her gaze fell on the plate on the table, in just the way he’d pictured in his head. god, he’d never get over the way the simple things pleased her, and he didn’t mean that in a bad way. over the past couple of months that he’d known her, carlos had learned that the little things really mattered, in a way that was almost rare in this environment. she looked upon a brie and bacon sandwich like it was the sun that shined, and if she’d have looked up at carlos in that moment, she’d have seen that he was looking at her in the exact same way.

“is that for me?”

“no.” carlos replied, deadpan. she shot him a look, her face screwed up in a pout that he’d grown more accustomed to the more he teased her like this. eventually he let out a soft chuckle, as a way to say I’m only joking, of course it’s for you, and she sat down in the seat next to him with a playful scowl, which only caused him to laugh more.

“thanks, carlos. you’re the best.” she told him through a mouthful of brie, bacon and toasted bread.

“I know.” he replied, a cheeky grin dancing across his face. “it was the last one as well.”

“amy’s gonna be pissed.” she giggled, glancing over her shoulder to watch as her colleague was forced to settle for regular ham and cheese.

a podium finish to p13. was it worse to fail because of your own shortcomings or because of something that was out of your control? if you’d asked carlos sainz right now, he would think about it for a moment, and then tell you to vete a la mierda.*

his phone screen lighting up in the darkness was the only thing that brought his attention to how dark it had become in his hotel room. christ, how long had he been sat there, staring at the wall, trying to process how frustrated and angry and upset he was? he’d put his phone on silent, tired of all the commiseratory messages that had been coming through, but apparently his bedtime reminder didn’t obey the laws of do not disturb. sighing, he unlocked the device, and quickly scanned down the many notifications he had been ignoring for the past few hours. one stood out above all the rest, because of course it did. he felt guilt clutch him as he noticed the message from well over an hour ago. from her.not only guilty at the fact that he’d not seen her message, but for some reason guilty for perceiving that he’d let her down at her home race. it was stupid, he knew, to feel that way - it wasn’t his fault that his tyre had blown out with just a few laps to go, but he knew how excited she’d been for her first ever british gp, and it had all ended in disappointment. his fingers hovered over the keyboard at the bottom of his phone for a moment, a million different emotions whizzing round in his head, bouncing off the sides like a demented pinball machine. no wonder he had a headache. he drew in a sharp breath before typing out his reply.

*I’m hoping this means somewhat akin to ‘fuck off’

you’d almost forgotten that you’d sent carlos sainz a message of commiseration, which was shocking considering how long you’d been deliberating over it only a mere hour ago. you were back in your own bed in your hometown, seeing no need to stick around seeing as there would be no celebrations this weekend, and carlos had disappeared as soon as the team debrief had ended, making it very clear that he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. which made it all the more surprising when you leaned over to your bedside table, bleary eyes blinking back sleep as your vision adjusted to the pitch black of your room, to pick up the phone which had woken you from your sleep.

your eyes blinked again against the harsh light of the phone, taking a moment to focus on the big bold numbers on your lockscreen. 01:03? who was texting you at this time? eyebrows knitted together in an increasingly deep frown, you scanned carlos’ message. as was becoming customary, you read it several times over, this time to check whether you’d read it right. why would he want to ring you, at this time of night as well? your mind started to reach for wild possibilities - was he in trouble? hurt? worse?

before he changed his mind, carlos hit the telephone symbol next to her contact details.

“Carlos, are you okay?” her voice came through almost immediately, sounding equal parts panicked yet somehow sleepy. shit, not only had he caused her to worry, he’d probably just woken her up in the middle of the night as well. what kind of dickhead rings a colleague that he’s only known for a few months at 1am? he cleared his throat.

“fuck, sorry, I woke you up.”

“don’t worry about it, I was awake.” she replied. a blatant lie, but carlos appreciated the attempt to make him feel better.

“can I help you with something?” she continued, still sounding concerned. he shook his head even though she couldn’t see.

“yes, no. fuck, I don’t know.” he growled at himself for being so confused, so confusing, for not even really knowing why he’d called her. was he going insane, or did he just hear a soft sigh on the other end of the line? he squeezed his eyes shut, collecting himself to try again, but she beat him to it.

“I’m sorry about today, carlos, it must be tough to deal with.”

sometimes it felt like she knew him better than he knew himself. he dragged a hand down his face.

“yeah, I’m- it’s not great.” he stumbled over his words slightly, his voice catching in his throat. usually he’d be reluctant to show this vulnerability, embarrassed even, but something about the late hour combined with how oh-so-soft her voice was… it made him forget his pride for just that moment.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, feeling a ramble coming on but equally feeling powerless to stop it. “I know that it was a problem with the tyre, I know that it wasn’t my fault, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating. and then there’s always a part of me that wonders whether there was anything that I could’ve done. like, maybe if I’d driven less aggressively or something, or changed the way I braked around a certain corner. I still feel like I’ve let myself down, let the team down, let you dow-“

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” her abrupt reply broke him from his monologue, stopping him in his tracks and allowing him to fill his lungs with air, not realising how out of breath he was becoming with his run-on sentences.

“what?” came his soft reply. he’d heard perfectly clearly what she’d said the first time. but a part of him needed to hear it again.

“you didn’t let me down, carlos.” she repeated, with the same clarity, the same sincerity, the same low tone that he’d never heard from her before that made her sound so wise beyond her years.

“you didn’t let anyone down. this wasn’t your fault. I know it doesn’t make it any less frustrating or easier to deal with - there’s nothing I can say that will change that. but please, please don’t blame yourself for any part of it.”

there was silence on both ends for a moment, before carlos let out a long sigh.

“I- yeah, I guess you’re right.” there was something still on his mind, something that one am carlosknew that one pm carlos would never want to talk about, least of all burden his race engineer with it. but that was all the more reason to say it now.

“I just feel so much pressure to perform, now that I have the ferrari contract.” his voice dropped even lower as he spoke, as if whispering it quietly enough could make it not be true. “I feel like I have to earn my place there, you know?”

“carlos, you were P-fucking-3.”

something about the way she stressed the syllables made carlos chuckle despite himself, and from the way she let out a small giggle on the other end of the phone, he guessed that that had been her intention all along.

“anyone can see that you’ve earned that seat at ferrari. you’ve proved that time and time again already. this isn’t about anyone else, this is about you, and what you believe you deserve. the only person you need to convince is yourself.”

carlos chuckled again, feeling some sort of playful nature already coming back to him. maybe he’d finally figured out why he wanted to call her in the middle of the night, maybe it was even the reason he wanted her number in the first place. maybe it was because he knew that no matter how crappy he was feeling, talking to her always seemed to turn the day around. she always seemed to make him smile.

“very inspirational.” he replied, his tone almost teasing over her ‘believing in yourself’ speech. the corners of his lips curved upwards as he could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end.

“this is what I get for trying to be nice.” she muttered, but her tone was light, reciprocating the teasing. carlos smiled, his first genuine smile in several hours. probably since the last time he’d seen her.

“thank you, really. talking to you it… it always puts me in a better mood.” carlos confessed, glad that this was a phone call so she couldn’t see the way his cheeks lit up a soft shade of pink.

“anytime, carlos.”

when they eventually hung up the call, carlos felt lighter than he had in weeks, like she’d melted all his problems away with her soft voice and warm heart. he slept easy that night. meanwhile, she was now wide awake.

you groaned when the sound of your phone pinging dragged you from your admittedly tumultuous sleep. it had been difficult to drift off again after that call with carlos, a million thoughts buzzing around your brain like a swarm of bees on cocaine. you felt bad for carlos, sure, but that wasn’t enough to keep you awake on its own. there was another feeling there; if you were to flip through an oxford english dictionary until you found a word that summed it up you might settle for ‘intrigued’.

you were intrigued that carlos that had decided to ring you of all people last night; surely he had family, or at the very least close friends, that he would rather turn to? but you were also intrigued by your own reaction - why were you feeling so warm and fuzzy that carlos had chosen you, the knowledge that when he was feeling low you were the one he wanted to hear on the other end of the line creating some sort of feeling in your heart, like someone was squeezing it not-quite-too tightly?

it was these questions, and an incessant amount of bin lorries driving past at 5am, that kept you from falling back asleep, and were the reason that you were grumbling now, as you reached over to pick up your phone. the grumbling ceased the moment you read the message and saw who it was from, replaced by a softly murmured ‘oh’, and that strange feeling in your chest again.

as always feedback and comments are welcomed with massive appreciation and open arms! a second part is written and will be out soonish! much love, Katie x

#f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 x female reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #f1 fic #f1 imagine

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jomgiiu · 1 year

Text

HEAT OF THE MOMENT

The king of Hawkins high, Steve Harrington asks you out on a date but not for the reason you think. After that night, you learn who the real Steve Harrington is.. or so you thought.

paring: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

CW: ANGST ANGST ANGST, i guess bully!steve?, steve being a douchebag, king steve taking effect, swearing obviously, mentions of wounds/blood not to major.

A/N: i wrote this one a whim, got carried away it’s not the best but i need feedback to see what i should do next with it lol. i liked writing season 1 steve, i made him meaner than in the actual show but ofc i hope you all dont mind! enjoy and reblog! (not proof read and poor writing oops)

Last night was the worst nights of your life, you got stood up by Steve Harrington. He'd asked you on a date during lunch and you obviously said yes. You and your friends were giggling and whispering about it all day, they gave you advice about what to do and say, what to wear, how to do your makeup, they seemed more excited than you. The moment you got home you got ready. He said he’d be there at 6 and it was already 3, so you had enough time to plan everything out. You put on your favorite record, pulled out your lucky socks, and got ready. The outfit you picked look like it came out of a magazine, so elegant and beautiful; Steve was definitely going to fall for you. At least that’s what you thought.

Sitting on the couch, you waited and waited and waited. 6 o’clock rolled around and the butterflies in your stomach would not stop.

6:13. He's just running a bit late.

6:28. Maybe he had car trouble?

6:41. Maybe he actually meant 7!

7:15. Or maybe he didn’t mean anything at all.

7:35. You were nothing to him.

Your parents didn’t get home from work until 8, so you decided to go up and change to save yourself the embarrassment of them asking about anything. Feeling like you came out of magazine just to feel like you were a thrown-out magazine because it’s the wrong issue. You went to sleep that night, crying over a stupid boy and a stupid date. It was stupid.

What felt like forever, you finally got to your locker. Fumbling with the lock, you got it to open and put your things away, grabbing stuff for your classes. Laughter was heard a few lockers down, glancing over it was Steve and his idiot friends. You sighed and shut your locker. You didn’t want to confront Steve but you had the right too. Confidently, you walked over to them but that instantly left when Carol whispered something to Steve, making him snicker. Your stomach felt like it was twisting and winding, you felt sick.

“Hey, you!” Carol greeted; her words were sweet but was sour coming out of her mouth. You gave her a small wave and went to focus on Steve. He had on a blue polo, Calvin Klein jeans and a dark windbreaker complementing his outfit. His hair was perfect as always, he spent more time looking at himself than he did anyone else.

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“Um,” the words were stuck in your throat. His stare was burning you. Either you chicken out or you confront him.

“Where were you last night?” the words came out in almost a whisper.

“Huh? What was that?” he put his hand behind his ear, leaning down a bit to you. “What did you say?” Steve’s teasing was cruel, he has a smirk planted on his face waiting for you respond.

“I think our friend here asked about your date last night.” Tommy commented.

“Ah.” Steve moved his hand away from his ear and resting it in his jean pocket. “Listen, I was planning on going but I got wrapped up in somethings. I was going to call. Promise.” The sympathy in his voice was forced.

“Yeah, Steve was too busy studying anatomy with Nancy.” Tommy teased, making Carol slap him on the chest playfully. Steve smirked and looked at you.

“Tom, pay up man.”

What?

You tried to process what was going on. You watched Tommy give Steve a $20, shoving it in his pocket looking so proud of himself.

“Why did-”

“Oh gosh, for being a straight ‘A’ student, you really are stupid.” Carol said.

“W-what?”

“Tommy over here told me if I asked you out, I'd get the 20. I did and I got the 20.” Steves words felt like a knife to the heart.

“You put a bet on me?”

“Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner!” Tommy exclaimed, making everyone laugh.

“You really believed that Steve would go out with you!” Carol snorted.

“I-”

“Listen, you seem like a great girl, I just don’t think you're up to the Steve Harrington standard. Nancy on the other hand, well she is. Don’t get me wrong, she just like you but more put together you get what I mean?” Steve’s words were harsh but said with ease.

You began to shake, you tried to hold the tears back forming in your eyes letting one fall down your cheek.

“Aw are you crying?” Carol pouted.

“I just thought you wanted to actually get to know me.” You choked out.

“Get to know you? I’d rather talk to a freak than talk to you. But I guess that’s what I’m doing now huh?” Laughter erupted around you. People stopped and stared at you, all eyes were on you, people where whispering and giggling.

You quickly walked away from them, tears clouding your vision you didn’t want to go anywhere else but out. Your friends tried to stop you but you ignored them, you were just trying to get to your car where you could be alone. Getting in your car, you finally let it all out. They humiliated you in front of everyone, Steve placed a bet on you, everyone knew why. You were a loser. You’d never be Nancy Wheeler and you’d never be with Steve Harrington. Going home that day felt awful, you told your parents that you got sick and just needed to be home for the day, or the week. Thankfully, they took the bait and let you come home early and stay home for the week. Your mom went to the school to pick up your work you missed and that kept you occupied for the time being but didn’t distract you from your feelings.

It didn’t help either that one of your friends called you, basically screaming at you that Steve asked her out on a date and she was calling you from the diner payphone that they were at right now. Your heart almost about blew up when you heard that. The day he does that to you, he asks one of your friends out? You told her congrats and when she briefly asked about your date, you just told her that you canceled because you didn’t feel well, hence why you left school today. She instantly bought it and told you that she’ll update you later and hung up. Of course, everyone had a crush on Steve and everyone wanted to be Steve. You wanted Steve but you didn’t know his personality, you didn’t know who he was as a person until now. Every girl he’s been with was ranting and raving about him and the dates he brings them on, you just wanted to experience one. You knew you were pretty, smart and you had a pretty decent reputation, why would he do that to you. Steve made you feel like nothing. He made you feel ugly, stupid and a loser. Steve Harrington was an asshole and no one knew that expect for you.

Tuesday finally came. You begged your mom to stay home again, since you did Monday. You tired the fake puke trick but she saw right through it. Your mom convinced you if you went to school, you could buy something out of a catalog. You couldn’t pass that opportunity. If you were coming back, you were coming back looking like you haven’t been crying for the past week. You threw on the cutest outfit you could find, made sure the tear stains were off your face, kissed your mom goodbye and headed to school. The moment you walked in, the counselor grabbed you by the throat and dragged you into her office. Ms. Kelly was a nice lady; it was clear she cared about the students but it annoyed you because you didn’t want to talk. She asked how you were doing and what you plan on doing to keep your grades up. You explained that you have all your work, you just need to turn it in.

“Wonderful!” she said.

Ms. Kelly looked down at her paper, dragging her finger along until she stopped.

“Ms. Click has actually requested to see you, I told her I'd send you down to talk to her. She couldn’t wait until your period. You can also take your work for her class and turn it in then.” She said, writing a hall pass. “Just come back here when you’re done okay?” You nodded gripping your history work, taking the hall pass and walking to Clicks. You liked Click, she was nice to you and you had her 5th period which was such a calm class, you liked everyone in there. As soon as you opened the door to Clicks, everyone's eyes were on you and even pair you didn’t want. Steve Harringtons.

“Oh, perfect timing! Class, turn and talk about the question on the board I'll be a moment.”

You walked into the classroom more to Clicks desk. She smiled at you and offered you a little candy. How could you say no. You handed her your stack of papers as she sat down at her desk.

“How have you been. 5th hour hasn’t been the same!”

You glanced around the class to see the people. Steve was still looking at you. You began to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

“Oh, I've been sick. Flu season I guess.”

“Ah, I see. Thank you for doing your work while you were sick. Not a lot of kids even do their work in class.” you nodded. “I called you here to obviously see if you were alright but also to see if a student can borrow your notes. You did them perfectly and I think it would help them. Don’t worry, he’ll give it back to me so you can have it back.” Click began to look through another pile of papers.

“Sure, who’s using it?”

“Steve.”

The color drained from your face. God was not on your side today. You didn’t want the cause of you missing school to look at your notes, it’s his fault he’s stupid.

“Ah, here we are,” She pulled out your notes and handed them to you. “Give those to Steve please and you can be on your way. We can talk more in 5th hour!” She smiled. You grabbed your notes and have her a tight-lipped smile. Turning away from her desk, you walked to Steve’s. He clearly wasn’t doing the assignment, just goofing around and flirting with the girls around him. Making it to his desk, he stopped talking to the girls and instantly looked at you.

“What-”

“Ms. Click wanted me to give you my notes to help you out.” you interrupted, holding out the notes to him.

“Pfft, I don’t need your notes. I don’t want to read mistakes.”

Hold it together.

“It wasn’t my choice. It was Ms. Cli-”

“Does it look like I care about what she has to say? No. Do I care what you have to say? No. I'm surprised you even came to school today looking like this.”

The girls around him started giggling and whispering to each other.

“I think I look fine.”

“Well, I'm glad you had the confidence to wear clothes from the salvation army.”

Don’t cry.

“For your information, I got an ‘A’ on these notes and Ms. Click said I was the only one who got an ‘A.’ And I got these from a catalog and I'm sorry my daddy doesn’t buy me every new thing like your ugly BMW you drive and at least I'm not a wannabe dickhead.”

Steve put his hands over his chest, having a shocked expression on his face which quickly switched to a smug look.

“Wow! You got me there! You showed me!” Steve scooted up closer in his seat, resting his arms in front of him looking right at you.

“I'm not the wannabe sweetheart, you are. You want to have my money and BMW so bad but here you are driving your run-down Ford Escort and thinking that catalog clothing is going to save you. It’s not. Sure, you think you're all smart but looks will do you better in the future. Remember that.” Steve snatched the notes from your hands and started to talk to his friends again.

You left the classroom so fast, before you could say goodbye to Ms. Click. The whole day you were worried about what Steve said. About how you looked and how looks will get you places. You knew it was bullshit, you had colleges already begging for you to go to school but it’s the way Steve said it. Worse of it all, you went to 5th hour, hoping for a good period. Until you got your notes back to notice he scribbled all over them, writing things, drawing crude things on all your work. You frantically began to look through the notes until one comment stood out to you.

‘When you walk out of school, make sure to wear the bag on your head I left you at your locker. You need it.’

Tears filled your eyes. You shot up from your seat and ran out of your class. Ms. Click was yelling for you as you ran down the halls until you got to your locker. There you saw a paper bag with eye holes cut out of it, tapped to your locker. You ripped the bag off your locker and fell to your knees, sobbing into the paper bag. Why was Steve being so mean to you? You should be ruining his life; he shouldn’t be ruining yours. This all started with a date that turned out to be a joke and then ever since your life went downhill. Classmates from your period found you and tried to comfort you of what happened. You broke and told Ms. Click what happened and what Steve did which led to Principal Higgins getting involved and calling your parents and Steve's. He got a suspended for the rest of the week which was a relief to you but didn’t help the situation. Now since this situation, you were known as the ‘Cry baby.’ Your friends tried to help you feel better and stood up for you when the time was right. You were grateful to have a support system but not grateful for Steve Harrington.

It’s been a few months since the whole Steve situation and some forgot about it and moved on to other things like the Byers youngest boy going missing and Barb Holland also going missing, making the whole town worried. Steve was still a dick but he didn’t pay any mind to you though, he was too busy dealing with his goons and his dream girl, Nancy Wheeler. A part of you still had a crush on him, just the smallest he was still cute but he was still a dick. You had to go see Ms. Kelly every Friday since what happened which you didn’t mind but it was still annoying. It was the same bland conversation about your week. If there's any people giving you a hard time, grades, college, just boring, stupid conversations that waste your time during 6th period but you got to leave earlier which was a plus. Before you left, Ms. Kelly told you that your mom called and wanted you to stop by Melvald’s to grab some more dish soap so that’s where you are now, looking for dish soap and Melvald’s. Why are there so many soaps? You never paid attention to what one you used it was just soap. You notice someone move at the conner of your eye, you paid no mind to it until you noticed who the someone was. The navy-blue jacket, the blue jeans, the green shirt, the hair. Yeah, it was him.

Oh god not here.

Focus on the soaps.

Glancing over at him he was looking at the band aids and ointments he looked dazed, squinting at labels trying to make it clear. Then a pair of hazel eyes fell on you, making you quickly look at the soaps. You swore your heart was going to explode it was pounding so fast, it felt like someone was squeezing your whole body you couldn’t breathe. Was this really happening? Why was he here? How could you not see his BMW in the parking lot? Anxiety riddled your body as you heard someone shuffle up to you. God don’t let it be you.

“Hey,”

Frozen in place, you moved your head slightly to look at him. You were taken back by the way he looked. The right side of his face was bloody and bruised with the wound already scabbing over, his right eye swollen, a small cut settled on his lip following one on the bridge of his nose., going slightly down to the right of his cheek. He looked awful. You tried not to stare at him too much, you didn’t want to be rude but it was impossible to look away. Who did this to the king of Hawkins high?

“Sorry to bother you. I just--I can't really read this. Is this the right ointment?”

Your eyes trailed down to the box he was holding making you huff out a laugh.

“Well, if you have hemorrhoids then yes, but otherwise no.”

“Uh, no. Not necessarily.” His face turned a light shade of red. “I need something for um,” he pointed to his face rising his eyebrows. “This.”

“I’ll help you. Hemorrhoid cream definitely isn't gonna help that.” you kicked yourself for that and made your way to where he was before. Steve stood watching you look through the hundreds of creams and ointments on the shelf. You eventually found one and replaced it the original ointment in Steve's hand for the new one.

“Zemo will help a lot it does wonders; it makes it less itchy and heals quicker. You'll thank me later.”

Steve looked at the medicine and looked back at you. There was no hatred in his eyes, no cruelness. Just hurt. He was hurt inside and out; he was guilty for what he’s done to you and so many others. He’s guilty for hurting the only girl he loves. He’s hurting.

“Thanks.” that’s all he could say to you in this moment. A simple thank you, not anything else.

“Have you cleaned them?”

“Uh no, just had an aspirin and a cold coke to put it on.” Steve shrugged.

You sighed.

“Okay, just get that, I'll finish what I need and meet me outside okay?”

The stinging sensation of the alcohol covered cotton pad on the open wound made Steve wince, making him pull his head away from you. You muttered a sorry and he just huffed and let you clean him up. Never in a million years you would be sitting here in the Milvad’s parking lot taking care of Steve Harrington. He watched you carefully as you take your time with him, carefully moving so he wouldn’t be in as much pain as he already was. It took someone to beat the absolute shit out of him for him to realize how much of a dick he was. How miserable he made people feel. How miserable he made you feel.

“Sorry, this happened to you, I can't imagine how much it hurts.”

Steve scoffed at your sincerity.

“I deserved it, you out of all people should be happy this happened to me.”

“A little part of me is,” you admitted. “Who did this to you?”

You put the cotton pad down and grabbed the Zemo putting a glob on your finger and gently rubbing it in over his wound. Steve hissed at the contact.

“Jonathan Byers.” Steve mumbled.

“Oh wow.” You were quite shocked that a quiet boy like him could rock Steve’s shit. Steve was fit, he had to be for basketball and baseball so you assume he could win a fight. You finished applying the Zemo and giving it to Steve.

“Make sure you put this on twice a day, and only once if you shower. It should help the itch and the scaring a bit. You'll be healed in no time.”

Steve held the Zemo in his hands and watched you clean everything up. You were really pretty up close. Yeah, he looked at you close up a lot of times but this time he noticed every detail of your face, every curve, every wrinkle, every texture, he was scared of looking away because he didn’t want to forget it. Steve thought back to the paper bag he taped to your locker, Tommy and Carol thought it would be a funny idea and so did he at the time. When he was in the principal's office with his dad with you and your parents, he glanced at you and his chest was tight. Your head was hanging low, tears falling down your cheeks and landing on your hands, silent sobs coming from you. Steve recoiled when heard let out sobs after him and his dad left the principal's office. Mr. Harrington made it clear if he pulled that shit again, he would be kicked off the basketball and baseball teams, he wouldn’t get into an ivy league school and end up as a drug dealer on the streets. Mrs. Harrington told him that’s no way to treat girls, there’s no reason to bully girls anyway. She was disappointed in her Stevie and Stevie was disappointed in himself. Of course, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole, if he didn’t get caught then he wouldn’t have to go through that whole fiasco again so he moved on from you and started being an arrogant prick either way to everyone around him. That ended up getting beat up, ditching his “friends” and getting taken care of by the girl he bullied.

“Thanks for doing this, you didn’t have to you know?”

“I know.” you responded.

“Why did you?”

You sighed and looked at him. He looked so vulnerable, his hazel eyes soft and looking at you. Steve looked like a lost puppy; in some cases, he was. Now he was. He had no friends anymore, he was hurt and lost, no guidance, nothing. You seemed like the only thing keeping him afloat at this moment.

“Unlike some people Steve, I care. No matter what you did to me, how you treated me, you deserve some type of -- I don’t know but I was always taught to help people that needed it. I know you know what's right. I know what you have to do, so do it. You're better than this Steve Harrington.”

You walked towards your car, quickly getting in throwing the stuff in the front and driving off before Steve could say anything to you. Deep down, you knew Steve was a good person he was just around bad people. As much as you hated it, you knew he had to apologize to Nancy, he had to make everything up to her and even Jonathan but it was selfish to think he’d do the same to you.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things angst #enimies to friends to lovers #steve harrington angst #king steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #angst #season one steve harrington #stranger things season 1 #mean!steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n smut

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