Masterlist

Qatar Heat (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x female! Driver! Reader

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Summary:

A team rivalry for the world championship always makes for tension in the McLaren garage. But what happens when that tension breaks? An unexpected period and an under filled water supply maybe just the thing to break the tension brewing between teammates and rivals, but at what cost?

‘“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.’

Warnings;

Dehydration/ fainting, slow burn, both of you are idiots unaware of your feelings, swearing

A/N: ahhh here it is! By far the longest piece I’ve ever written, I hope y’all enjoy. Thank you guys for the support, please Feel free to sent ideas my way for what you would like to see next!

Masterlist

Word count:

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No, no, no.

Not today, now now.

You paced around the drivers room, hands running over your face in frustration. Stomach twisting with the familiar sensation that ran a cold shiver down your spine. This wasn’t just pre-race nerves.

Your face twisted as you felt the first drop of blood, a low spike in anxiety as you scan the room. Gingerly opening drawers and cabinets in search of a tampon.

Drawer after drawer, cabinet after cabinet, your turn up with nothing. A frustrated groan escapes as your movements become frantic, grabbing items from your view and tossing them behind you. Of course, a room full of medical supplies and not a single tampon. You take a mental note to give Zac hell for this after the race. That is, if you can get to the car before the dang event starts.

You bite your lip as frustrated tears fill your eyes. Twenty minutes until lights out and you're stranded in this stupid room.

Of course the room was fitted with just about anything a formula one driver could need, a male formula one driver that was.

You place both hands on the cool counter of the vanity, leaning forward slightly as a wave of cramps wreaks havoc on your insides. A loud shout echoing through the halls of the McLaren garage as your foot collided with the bottom of the cabinet, the force rattling the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, skin slightly damp and pale. Eyes sunken just enough that the camera will for sure pick up on it. Your mind is swirling with the possible headlines following the race.

The media- a constant criticism of your very existence in f1- not so subtle in their objections to your racing ability, always on the hunt for the next reason why you just aren’t cut out for this sport. (Despite the fact you were currently in position to strip your teammate of his current hold on the championship).

You weren’t about to pull out, that just wasn’t an option.

But the damp sticky feeling of your lower half accompanied with the gut wrenching cramps steadily stabbing your organs weren’t about to make for any easy race.

A soft knock echoes on the door, your ears perking and your heart skipping at the sound. Your head snapping in the direction as a voice spoke, low and controlled, through the wooded blockage.

“Y/n”- it was Oscar.

What did he want? Probably here to play mind games with you. Your eyes rolling at the reminder of the Australians drivers tricks. He barely spoke to you, always a taught and quick exchange between the two McLaren drivers. And when did he speak? A sarcastic response, a witty remark, a comment on your performance not matching up to his. the way he wore that shit eating grin after a good qualifying. The way he flicks his tongue over his lips before he speaks.

God, you hate him.

“I-I heard a shout, are you okay?”

Oscar was shocked as the door to your driver's room flung open, practically flying off its hinges. Your fist collided with his fireproofs- his race suit slung low on his hips- grasping the material before pulling the man inside.

He stood confused as you slammed the door, body whipping around to stare at him- eyes wide in panic as you press your back firm against the wood. Your heart hammering as your mind spirals for ways to ask Oscar what you’re about to. A steady stream of anxiety pulling at your lungs as you fight a losing battle to breath.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

He had never seen you like this. You were always calm, never allowing anyone to see ever the smallest of your cracks. You smiled tight for the cameras, answered questions and criticisms with poise and decorum. Your face on race day never shifts from a hardened stare, a tight line and focused eyes. He respected that about you, never letting anything slip. You never gave anyone the chance to call you emotional, not that they didn’t try.

Now you stood in front of him, shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears, heaving heavy breaths. Your driver's room- usually left in a pristine state- ripped apart. Towels and miscellaneous items lay forgotten on the floor, drawers and cabinets left open. Your Face flushed with- anger? Embarrassment?

The Aussie wasn’t too sure, could never get a full read on your emotions.

“What’s goin-“

Oscar was stopped with the raise of your hand, the motion quick as a low groan escaped you again. Your eyes screwing shut tight as you grind your teeth through another shock of cramps.

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach in a tight hold. Your posture hunching over slightly.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.

Your tensed posture relaxes slightly under his hand, a small smile gracing his lips. This is the closest he’s ever gotten to you, the faint smell of your shampoo, the light bouncing from your shining hair. Even scrunched in pain Oscar took a moment to study your features. Your soft skin dampened with a thin layer of sweat, pretty lips parted just so. His eyes scanning over each line, following the scattered pattern of freckles and moles in a dazed trance.

His heart skipping slightly as another, barely audible, groan fills the room once more.

His stupid cologne fills your senses, making you want to slap him in a hormone filled rage. The very fact that his presence is soothing you, enough of a reason for your anger to spike once more at your teammate.

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes at the pity in his voice. Shoving his hand away from you as your turn to look at the older man in front of you. One hand placed on your hip as your spit;

“Jesus Christ Oscar I’m not dying, I just got my period.”

Oscar blinks, the hand that caressed your back now drawn close to his body. His cheeks flush a deep red as hot embarrassment climbs up his neck. His hand coming up the cup the back of his neck, rubbing over the area bashfully at your words. His biceps flexing under the strain of the action, those godforsaken fireproofs clinging tight to the skin.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’. Can you help me?”

He swallows harsh as he averts his gaze. Eyes casting to the door behind you, seemingly lost in thought. He’s brought back by the clicking of your fingers, hand waving in his face.

“Earth to Oscar are you there? I need a tampon, and I can’t exactly just leave to go and ask for one.”

Oscar nods slow, mind absorbing this information. The frustration in your voice is evident as your bite your lip, willing away the hot tears threatening to spill. Oscars eyes widening slightly before darting around the room, refusing to meet your burning stare. His jaw clenching slight as his eyes flutter closer, a deep breath escaping his nose.

He turns without a word, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Once again leaving you alone in the trashed room.

You sigh as you sink down onto the couch, focusing on your breathing as your attempt to slow your racing thoughts. You allowed the room the blur as your eyes shut, basking in the silence once more.

Little did you know Oscar has prepared for this. Once finding out he had a female teammate at the very start of the season, he recruited the help of sister to create an ‘emergency bag’ for you. One he carried with him to every race, PR event, you name it.

The bag was Stocked with pads, tampons, pain killers, various hair and makeup products his sister picked out. Snacks of various varieties, protein bars and chocolates being the main offenders. Oscar ever going as far to buy fresh pants and undergarments in your size- just incase.

Oscar wasn’t dumb, he saw the way you were treated differently to him as a driver. He also saw that the McLaren management net refused to acknowledge that you didn’t have a penis between your legs. Which usually, is a good thing. The very idea of critiquing your abilities as a driver based on gender has been scared out of the staff by a few (heated) words from Zac in an all employee meeting.

But he also knew the chances of getting you a tampon, without bothering any female employees- was next to none.

Plus, Oscar knew if he did ask a female staff member, you would wring his neck out of embarrassment. He knew you held the weight of the world on your shoulders, the first female to driver a formula one car, the idea of this incident going public enough for the man to cringe.

A soft knock echoes through the room, a simple two strikes.

You opened the door slower this time, your body now hidden behind it. Peaking your head out the gap your eyes meet Oscars back.

Allowing yourself a moment to run your gaze down the rippling curves, hugged taught in his black fireproofs. You don’t register your lip between your teeth as you stare at his waist, a white hot jealousy coming over you as you view the shrunken point of the man’s body. His waist pulled in taught, his broad shoulder extenuating this feature. The race suit hung lowly on his hips, mocking you slightly as it obstructed the perfect view underneath.

He turns to meet you, his biceps tensing slightly as he extends his hand towards you.

Like a shitty drug dealer, Oscar palms a small black makeup bag into your open hand. His face burns red as he scans the hallway.

You can’t help the small chuckle escaping you as you grab the offending item from him. Ignoring the tingling sensation of your skin meeting his, the way his long fingers lingers on yours before pulling away.

“Thanks Osc-“ the new nickname hitting the man like a truck, accompanied with your whispered thanks. Your eyes staring up at him through thick lashes, your head tilted just to view his face.

“I appreciate it, seriously.”

Oscar coughs out a faint reply, something along the lines of “no problem” and “don’t worry about it” escaping him in a rushed string of words. Turning on his heels as he rushes towards the exit, praying nobody will notice the way he has to shift himself in his race suit as he jogs away.

A wide grin spreads across your face as you open the bag, pulling out not only a tampon, but two painkillers, a pair of fresh (tags still on) underwear, a protein bar and a small bottle of water.

Okay maybe Oscar Piastri wasn’t always an asshole.

The roaring groan of engines surrounds you as you pull up to the grid, your car planted in P3. Damp sweat stains your skin from the residual heat emanating off the track, the thick air entering your lungs. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, the blinding lights shining down over the perfect row of cars.

The crackle of your radio rings in your ears as your race engineers announces over the radio

“Piastri and Leclerc ahead. Head down, let’s show them what you're made of.”

A wicked grin creeps onto your face as you shut the visor, hands gripping the wheel tight, your eyes trained on the lights ahead.

The car jolts as the lights go out, your foot planted hard on the floor.

Your reaction was good, getting the jump on leclerc on the first corner. Cars pulling side by side as they speed their way down the track. A quick glimpse in your right mirror tells you Charles is right on your six, a fresh surge of adrenaline courses through your veins.

You're late onto the brakes into turn one, locking up your front left as you squeeze your way past leclerc, his car veering off into the gravel slightly as your escape unscathed. Pushing the car hard as you pull away.

But he’s right on your back, steering his way around your left side through turn two as you go side by side down the straight.

Cars rising to full power as you battle again though turn two, your hands battling with the twitching steering wheel.

You pull ahead of Leclerc once more, revelling as you manage to creep your way out of his DRS zone.

As the race continues you settle into P2. Mind focused on tire management and your strategy in place for the race. Your face is hot as you feel beads of sweat crawl down your skin, mouth drying as you push your car and body to limit. You struggle slightly as another wave of cramps wash over you, teeth biting on the straw of your water supply.

Desperate for relief you try to take a sip- key word here being try.

Nerves spike as nothing comes from your actions. Trying again you pull the straw harder into your mouth, desperate for even a drip of the sweet cool liquid. A frustrated growl rumbles from your chest as your car shifts slightly, a snap of understeer as you speak over the radio, voice harsh as your bite;

“What’s going on with my water supply.”

Your met with silence for a moment, your engineers reasoning;

“Checking now. Head down, let’s catch Oscar.”

Lap after lap you get no update on your water situation, as pit stops come and go the frustration and anger inside you grows. Along with the steady pressure intensifying behind your eyes, your body slumping slightly in the seat.

Your head pounded, your hands had begun to shake. Your breath was coming out in short gasps as you desperately tried to focus on the car in front of you. The shining helmet of Piastri mocking you from P1.

You have given up on the radio, every attempt to get an answer met with a quick dismissal.

“Oscars got the jump on you in sector one, but you're faster in two and three. Overtake is available.”

You can help the words flying from your mouth as you shout over the radio, voice strained with frustration and fatigue, not soaring a thought to anyone who may be listening in;

“Shut up. maybe he’s quicker in sector one because he had a working fucking water supply in his car.”

The words were harsh, spat out between clenched teeth. You can’t help the scoff and roll of yours eyes as the radios crackles again

“Understood.”

Head down. Focus.

You ignore the shaking in your hands, the hot sweat stinging your eyes. The fuzzy feeling in your head and slight blur in your vision. You were not about to let the incompetence of a few shitty engineers ruin your chance of snatching the championship.

Your close being Oscar in the final corner, DRS opens as you scream your way down the main straight. Crowd roaring as the two McLarens come racing side by side down the track, a game of chicken as to who will break first.

A quick glimpse in your mirror shows Oscar taking the inside line, aware of his tricks you go wide around the outside, front wings touching as you cut him off outside of the turn. He breaks hard, both fronts locking as he steers out of your path, a yelp of disbelief escaping the Aussie as you take P1.

You fight Oscar hard through turns two and three, pulling away from him down the next straight.

5 laps to go

Your car veers left into the gravel slightly as the weight of your head strains your neck, your muscles tight as you fight away the ever growing feeling of fatigue. You snap the car back right, body slamming hard against the side of your pod.

You felt heavy, the weight of your body pressed firm in the seat. Your arms burn as you struggle to keep hold of the wheel, not missing the slight snap of the back end. Eyes straining under the weight just to keep them open, knuckled white as you bite back the bile rising in your throat.

Oscar watched from behind you, his heart jumping into his throat as he watched your car closely. Your actions were sloppy, the car slipping and sliding around the track as you battled to keep a straight line.

This wasn’t like you, something had to be wrong.

“What’s up with y/l/n? Something seems off.” He pondered over the radio, voice tight with worry.

“Head down Oscar, focus on the race.” Was the only response granted to him.

His body flushed with anger at the dismissal, his eyes narrowing slightly and jaw clenched tight. He watched your every move closely, not just to find a way around you, but to tame the pit forming in his stomach.

The team hangs from the barriers as you cross the line, cheering loudly at the McLaren win. Their cheers rise as Oscar finishes P2, a picture perfect finish.

You sit in your car as you pull into the pits, lining the car on the P1 position. Your head leans heavily on the steering wheel as shouts echo over the radio.

Something about the championship lead, a race well ran.

A hot and heavy sob ripples through your chest as hot tears stream down your face, your body grown limp in your seat. You couldn’t move, your body muscles screamed with every twitch. Your mind swirled as the noises around you faded into a low whistle in your ears.

Oscar was quick out of his car, ignoring the shouts and yells from the team as he makes a b-line straight to you. His large frame blocking the lights above as he looms over your potions in the car, visor flipped to look at you. His eyes shone with worry and burned with a hint of anger as your head rose, titling up to meet his gaze. His hands tense into a fists as you flip your visor, revealing a rest wave of tears as your hiccup a broken and tired sob.

His voice was cold, dangerous. Disgust filling his words as he forces out a strained whisper. Eyes narrowing as he spoke

“What did they do to you.”

You shiver slightly from his words, his tone dark and eyes darker as the burn into you.

“M-m w-w-water. didn’t ha-have any wa-water.”

Oscar has to fight back the urge to scream at the wall of mechanics behind him. He closes his eyes in frustration as he leans down closer to you. His heart hammered hard in his chest, eyeing your slouched position in your seat.

His now shaking hands making quick work to remove the steering wheel. His frantic movements capturing the attention of everyone around him, the noise quieting into a hush. Cameras flashed as teams look on with worry.

He makes easy work of your helmet, removing the encompassing material of your balaclava as you let out a sharp breath of relief. The slight breeze flowing over your heated and slick skin. Oscars hands come under your shoulders, lifting you with ease out of the car. The sudden movement causes the world to shift, your head leaning heavily on his shoulder as he pulls you from the car, your body practically gone limp.

Charles runs over to the two of you, taking some of your weight from Oscar as the two men steady you.

You were thankful for their driver reaction times as your knees buckle, their arms holding your weight as they lower your gentle to the ground. Oscar kneels beside you, his hand coming to rest on your back for the second time today.

You don’t push him off this time. Too focussed on the tightness in your throat, sobs shaking your frail frame as your gasp to catch your breath.

You feel the burn of bile rise in your throat as you throw up the remaining liquid in your stomach, your hands coming to clench your stomach in a pained cry. Doubling over onto the heated tar of the pits.

Oscar moved quick shouting for a medic, not caring about the flashing cameras or judgmental stares of those around him. His strong arms wind around your waste as he pulls you to sit in his lap, his legs outstretched. His large frame envelopes you as he tightens his hold, his helmet covered head coming to rest on top of yours.

A gloved hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding your gaze firm but gentle as he ran his thumb over the flushed skin of your cheek. Your eyes fluttering closed as you lean heavily into his hold.

“Shh it’s okay. It’s going to be okay, I’ve got you now.”

His voice was a soft whisper, muffled accent thick with emotion as he held your body close.

Your mind a haze of frustration and fatigue as you focus on the steady breathing of your teammate. His soft words the last thing ringing in your ears as your mind goes blank, body succumbing to the heat as you grow limp in Oscars arms.

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Tag list:

@piastri-my-boy @wolfbc97 @presleycaudle @haunteddestinykryptonite @feyrecarol @edgyficuselastica

Hey my darling. Hope you're doing well xx

Please disregard this if you're no longer taking requests.

However, could I please request an Oscar fic? The first time he calls reader "baby" he sees their reaction and how much they love it (think butterflies and major grinning) and makes it a habbit to use baby as a go to nickname for reader.

Love your work darling. Speak soon

🇦🇺💜 anon xx

Unexpected Pet Name (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader {major fluff!}

A/N: OMG hi anon! I absolutely loved this idea, i hope i did it justice.

P.s i love you 🫶🇦🇺

Masterlist

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.

it was early when Oscar finally made it home. Bordering delirium as he approaches the thirty-sixth hour of being awake.

Race weekends were always brutal, and without you by his side (a luxury he has come to depend on it seems) he just couldn’t sleep.

His heavy footsteps shuffled through the entryway, each muscle twisting and tightening as he walked. His shoulder screamed as his backpack and duffel bag thump to the ground.

Oscar breathes deep, the welcoming smells of home flooding his senses. A satisfying crack of his back as he stretched high. Eyes closed as he settled into the quiet, a small smile forming on his lips.

The golden rays of sunrise threatened to breach the curtains as Oscar quietly opened the door to your shared bedroom. Leaning heavy on the wooden door frame as his strained eyes fell on you, for the first time in forever it seemed.

Your body curled deep in the mattress. The large comforter of your king bed swallows your relaxed frame. Oscar counted six pillows on the bed, with a further three lying forgotten on the floor. Your hair lay tucked under the hood of your his hoodie.

Oscar felt his cheats tighten, blinking away a stinging tear. His watch announced with a splitting beat that his heart rate had spiked past resting. His fingers twitch at his sides as he fights to hold himself in place.

You just looked so peaceful. Like an angel he compared silently.

He stood like that for a moment, slightly creeping himself out as he watched you sleep. The steady rise and fall of your body with each breath. The slight twitch in your face muscles as you dream.

His stare breaking only to look up, thanking whatever god or dead guy who was watching over him. A silent prey of ‘what did i do to deserve such a wonder?’

He made his way silently around the bed, coming to sit by your side. His large hand reaching out for your cheek, the rough skin of his fingers sinking into the warmth.

He cursed silently as your eyes flutter open, a deep breath escaping you. Your hand coming to rest atop his as you blinked up at him.

Oscar swears he felt his mind fuzz to a stop as a crooked smile stretched onto your face. Your voice thick with sleep as you whisper

“Your home.”

You scanned his face, your sleep heavy eyes burning deep. He looked tired, a little worn. His eyes squinted and a smile that didn't quite reach to where it should. A dark shadow staining under each blood shot eye.

You sat up slow, maneuvering on the bed to give Oscar more space. You raise the blanket as Oscar slips under the sheets. One arm slipping under your head, the other winding itself around your waist. Coming to rest heavily as Oscar’s body relaxes into the mattress.

You two lay in silence for a moment, holding each other close as you both revel in each others presence. Your fingers tracing slow, delicate patterns over the decal of his McLaren tee, exploring the heated skin of his neck.

He spoke first, his voice gone gruff with fatigue. Hooded eyes trailing your face

”I missed you so much baby, never gonna let you go again.”

You felt your skin flush, attempting to hide your heating cheeks and quickly forming smile in the crook of his neck.

Oscar wasn’t one for pet names, at least in the six months you have been dating he hasn’t been.

But the way it rolled off his tongue, his accent thickened by sleep. You felt your tummy tightened, swallowing back an embarrassing giggle as your toes wiggled. And his voice, god his voice. Strung out from post race celebrations, gravely and torn. Laced with a thick layer of exhaustion, dropping lower with each word.

you had tried to hide it, your body betraying you as your muscles tensed. Wriggling against your boyfriend like a content worm.

Never would you think Oscar would call you that.

And you definitely didn't expect the effects of it.

But the thing about Oscar, he didn't miss anything when it comes to you. He could read you like an open book, you had even gone as far as accusing him of being a mind reader. He knew your every tell, and you sometimes hated that.

His body protested as he pulled you away from him, straining at your fleeting attempt to stay in place. He held you at an arm's distance, a glint now shining in his eyes. His hair falling onto the pillow as he tilted his head, studying your reaction to his words. A devilish grin slowly creeping onto his face.

You had gone red, your skin emanating a new kind of heat. Your eyes cast down, refusing to meet him. You lip pulled hard between your teeth as you desperately bite back a grin.

”what’s wrong, baby? Your looking a little flustered over there.”

Oscar captures your wrist, blocking your bashful attempt to strike his cheats. A laugh bubbling at your actions. His blunt call out of your behaviour had a new wave of butterflies straining your insides. Your smile now shining bright as you met his eyes, the deep brown orbs swirling with adoration and love.

Putting you out of your misery he pulls you close. Entwining your body once more, his larger frame holding you flush.

Your name quickly fell out of Oscar’s vocabulary.

The new nicknames taking its place over the course of a short nap. Oscar couldn’t help it. He was floored with your reaction, and would do anything to keep that glowing smile on your face. A perminate red tinge flushing your heated skin.

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Tags list

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4

(If you would like to be added please comment on my master list and let me know!)

the only person who had a worse race than ferrari was oscar piastri – and when the leaderboard listed him as 'out', he reversed out of the grass and got back on track. he was not going to DNF at his home race without the stewards physically wrenching a front axle from his hands.

oscar piastri is a goddamn phoenix, and he will rise again and again and again. i love charles, and he is il predestinato - but oscar being a champion is not even predestined. it's literally inevitable.

Hi everyone!

I’m currently in the process of making an Oscar Piastri x female f1 driver reader!

OP81 x Female Driver! Reader

Essentially, reader is Oscars teamate for McLaren, and gets her period before the Qatar GP (the hottest race of the year), the engineers ,forget to fill readers water before the race. That’s all y’all are getting from me for now teehee

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Sneak peek;

He couldn’t stop the way he stepped closer to you, hand reaching out slightly as your arms came around your stomach once more.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Should I get the medic.”

The questions fly from Oscar in a panic strain, his eyes inspecting your hunched frame. Scanning quickly for any visible injuries you may have.

Coming closer to you now he places a soft hand on the swell of your back, gentle movements as he rubs small circles on the area. His face crunched in concern as he squinted down at you.

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If you’re interested let me know below, and I’ll tag you once it’s done!

Y’all! this FUCKING RACE

I have so many feelings, but it’s late here in the land down-under and I need to sleep

01/06/25 (McLaren)

ready for the spanish gp tomorrow!!

This pic makes me feral;

Something about playing Oscar in pool and him losing on purpose to make you smile…

Shackled To You

Eddie Muson x Reader

Part 2 to ‘Broken Nails and Broken Promises’

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Prologue:

Eddie Muson was a pain in Jim Hoppers ass, but when the boy comes to him broken and desperate to fix your relationship; the older man literally has no choice but to help.

Warnings:

angst, hurt, comfort, slight reader x Steve, Father figure Hopper, mentions of drunks and alcohol, mentions of violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: Here we go y’all, part 2. I hope you enjoy!

Please send me some requests! I need inspiration I’ll write for pretty much any character as long as I know enough about them ☺️🥹

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Eddie lays uncomfortably on Jim Hopper's couch. Lumps and bumps wreaking havoc on his body, the smell of old beer and sweat invading his senses. His left arm lay above him, cold metal of Hoppers cuffs biting at the skin of his wrist, the other side securing Eddie into this position.

Jim had cuffed Eddie to his couch, haphazardly tossing the boy a musky blanket and floppy pillow.

”Sleep.” Hop demanded of Eddie, tightening the cuff around a single wrist. A precaution just in case Edddie tried to run, tried to get to you before Hop could get a read. Hop couldn't risk that, he would never admit it out loud, but you're the best thing that ever could have come into Eddie’s life. Ever since you two have started dating, most of Eddie's nights have been spent with you. Walks through the dark and empty Main Street of Hawkins, gatherings with friends and family, late nights spent wrapped in each other's arms. These days Eddie was always with you, present and accounted for.

Yes, Hop had begun to enjoy his quiet nights now that Eddie Munson, the devil of Hawkins, was preoccupied by the angle on his shoulder. You kept him in check, something Hopper and the entire Hawkins PD couldn’t manage.

“And before you argue, you don’t have a choice.” The older man sighed as he swept his keys and wallet from the dining room table. Gesturing a point finger at the boy, tone stern and eyes serious.

“You sleep. I'll get eyes on the girl.”

Hop was expecting Eddie to throw one of his usual smart ass remarks his way. But was met with silence as the younger man stared off into space, seemingly weighing his options to his predicament. Eyes blurry with sleep and body heavy with fatigue. He was exhausted, yet sleep evaded him. Without you next to him, your soft body pressed against his, heat emanating off every curve. Your sweet scent filling his lungs, swirling his mind into a fuzzy haze. What was the point of even trying? It hadn’t even been a full day and already Eddie felt he was going mad. His every thought is consumed by you.

When Hopper returned an hour later, having spotted you downtown with Steve, arm in arm as you skipped into the video store. Eddie still hadn’t slept. Eyes wide and wild when the door is kicked open. Rusted hinges squeaking in distress as the split wood made contact with the nicotine stained walls. A large thud echoing throughout the small house.

“I thought I told you to sleep?” Hop interrogated, looking down at Eddie as he shook his head a soft, sad smile pulling at his lips. Hopper has to admit, the boy looked like crap. Dark bags had formed predominantly under Eddied eyes, Skin clammy and somehow even paler than usual. His body lay heavy on top of the worn cushions, long limbs stretched in every direction. Eddie's hands kept fiddling with his rings, fingers shaking as they rotated the cold metal around each digit, before moving to tug at the strands of unruly hair. The sting on his scalp comforted him. A grounding mechanism he had developed when he was young, the pain bringing him back to reality. Pulling him away from the floating feeling that had encompassed his weak body, it wasn’t enough. Eddie began to rub his hands over his face aggressively, as his breathing started to waver. Mumbling to himself as he pinched harshly at the soft skin of his cheeks, causing small red blemishes to form. He felt numb, the sharp sting from the nails now running down his face proved as a reminder. Even though his world had crumbled, his body working on autopilot while his brain went into damage repair mode, he was still alive, for now at least.

“Now.” Hopper began, standing tall in front of Eddie.

“I’m not going to uncuff you yet, mostly because I don’t want to. Partly because what I'm about to tell you may strike a nerve.” The man finished, watching closely for Eddies reaction. Now seated on the couch, legs curled under him. Hands placed on his lap, sunken eyes desperately searching Hoppers. The boy didn’t move, didn’t speak.

“I saw her walking down town with Harrington.” Hop had moved to throw his heavy body on the couch next to Eddie with an exaggerated huff.

Running a stressed hand through his hair in the process. Eddie scoffed, eyes rolling hard in his skull.

Harrington. Steve Harrington. King Steve.

The same King Steve who has an almost crippling crush on you. Eddie used to watch the way Steve's eyes never seemed to leave your frame whenever you were together. Raking over every curve and indent, burning holes through your clothes. Eddie has confronted Steve about it one drunken night in the park. Grabbing him by his collar and shoving Steve hard into the rough bark of a nearby tree. Tone cold and deadly. He would never tell Steve to leave you alone, that wasn’t Eddie's place. Eddie just gave Steve a -not so- gentle reminder that you were HIS. Patting Steve on the cheek with one hand, the other used to push Steve in the sharp bark of the tree, piercing his skin in the process.

Eddie seethed with rage at the picture of you and Steve, holding hands and laughing in the sun. Your hands roaming his skin, just like the rich boy had always wanted, always planned it seemed. Eddie's jaw clenched, body jerking in a fast motion to move up from the tattered old couch. Feet planting fast on the floor, Hoppers cuffs doing their job as the metal clanged from the tension. Eddie let out a short, sharp breath through his nostrils. Face flushed with rage and eyes boring holes into Jim.

“You see.” Hopper smirked, gesturing towards the boys trapped position.

“This is exactly why I didn’t uncuff you. What’s your plan here exactly? You gonna’ go jump Harrington in front of her, sweep her of her feet with your manly brutalistic ways?”

That’s exactly what Eddie was planning on doing.

Jim signed once more, a deep yawn rumbling through his chest. For the first time in hours, Eddie spoke. His voice came out in a harsh crack.

”I just need to talk to her. Maybe-” The boy faltered. Eyes burning with fresh tears and he swallowed back the hot bile rising in his throat.

“I just need her to know that I didn’t want what happened to happen. I froze like an idiot and now she hates me. She is probably living it up with King Steve.” The name rolled off Eddied tongue with a vicious snap.

Hopper signed again, looking up to the roof in a silent prayer. Why him? Why did Eddie have to drag him into the middle of this lovers quarrel? Teenage drama? Bullshit. That’s the word Hop landed on.

“What if I can get you two in the same room together?”

—————————————————————————-

Hopper's van pulled to a slow stop next to you, driver's side window lowering as he shouted your name, beaconing towards you. You scoffed at Hopper's story, Eddie had gotten drunk and climbed through the wrong bedroom window. Landing him in holding for the night.

“You tell Eddie that I hope he rots in a cell for the rest of his life.” You spat in Hopper's direction, feet spinning as you turned away. Hop swore under his breath. Fucking kids.

He opened the door before stepping out of his truck.

“Hey!” He yelled harshly. Jaw clenched and he spoke through his teeth. “Don’t you walk away from me young lady. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

The cool metal of the cuffs on your wrist caught you by surprise, jerking in Hooper's grasp and you kicked and squirmed, demanding to know the charges. Hopper didn’t want to use force, he just wanted to go back to bed for God sake. He put you in the back of the truck as you were demanding a lawyer. Hopper wasn’t about to let your stubbornness get in the way of him and the soft mattress.

You were placed in a holding room, chair cold and sticky as you sat waiting. You seethe in anger, how is it that the entire time you and Eddie were going around you never got stopped by the cops. But, the second you call it quits he somehow gets you arrested?! It was bullshit. And, to top things off, you didn’t even know what charges were being placed on you, being met with silence whenever you demanded to know. A fact you made evidently clear as you continued to yell in your cell.

“Hey assholes! Seriously, I didn't do anything. What did Eddie say? I wasn’t with him last night. I swear, you can ask Steve!”

The door to the room swung open as Hopper walked in, unlocking your cuffs before placing a firm hand on the table in front of you.

“Now, you're not being charged with shit okay. I just need you to keep an open mind.”

You tilted your head in confusion at Hopper's words, hands rubbing absently at your wrist.

The large metal door opened one more time revealing Eddie, shoulders slumping as he kept his gaze fixated on the floor. You snapped your head in Hopper's direction, body tensing. Hop said nothing as he strolled to the door, a light whistle emanating from his lips. You watched as the older man placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, whispered something, then turned to meet your gaze again. A grin now planted on his face.

“Okay kiddos, you two play nice. I'll be back in an hour.” The door swung close behind the man, a sharp locking sound bouncing through the walls.

——————————————————————

You didn’t say a word as you shoved passed Eddie, hands pulling desperately at the door handle. Fists banging harshly on the cool metal when it didn’t budge. You were pulled back to reality by a cold hand on yours. Eddie’s long nimble fingers reach out to grasp at your fingertips in a desperate attempt to touch you. You pulled your hand from his so fast, clutching it to your chest as if his touch had caused blisters to form on your skin. Eddie’s stomach twists into knots. His eyes screwing shut, his hand lowered to his side, balled into a tight fist as the boy began to shake.

You turned to face him, breath catching as you took him in. Fresh tears cascading down his face, lip quivering in worry. His body trembled in place and he breathed erratically through his nose, desperately trying not to break down right there on the spot. His hair was a mess, even more so than usual, he was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. A dark pit forming in your stomach as a small patch of his jeans shimmers in the dim lighting, the pink patch of strawberry lip gloss taunting you as the glitter clings to the fibers.

“Baby please-“ His voice came out in a cracked whisper.

You turned away from him, chest tightening at the sight of Eddie, your Eddie, completely and utterly wrecked. You pull your arms closer to your chest in a pathetic attempt to soothe yourself.

“Princess-“ He started again, hand coming up to comb through his hair. He didn’t move towards you, feet seemingly glued in place. You turned your face away from his, refusing to meet his eyes as he spoke.

“Sweet girl, please. I- I didn't want that to happen. Crissy she-“ He stopped again as a hiccup bubbled in his chest.

“She stopped me to ask about getting some pot. When I told her my price she was on me in seconds. I-I didn’t know what to do. I just froze.” He stopped again, eyes dragging from the floor to your feet. Slowly scanning their way up your legs, crinkling at your arms crossed heavily in your chest. His breath catches as he meets your gaze, fresh hot tears streaming down your face.

The sight was a punch to the gut for the boy, your beautiful eyes becoming puffy and red, tears tracking down your cheeks. Eddied hated himself, god he hated himself so much right now. Knowing that he was the cause of your pain, knowing he had hurt you, something he promised he would never do. He wanted to punch himself in the face. Scratch that, his fists clenched hard and his nails dug deep into his palms revelling slightly at the satisfying sting of the thin skin bursting under his nails. No, he wanted to beat the ever living shit out of himself, wanted to feel the pain that he was responsible for causing you.

You bring a hand to your nose as you sniffle, wiping away the hot tears streaming down your face. Shaking your head in disbelief. He was lying, you know what you saw.

“An-and, should have pushed her away, should have stopped it the minute I knew what was happening.” He sniffled, shuffling his feet and kicking at an invisible rock.

“I just couldn’t. I don’t know why. It’s like my brain shut down ya know?” He looked up at you again, arms wrapped around yourself. Heart hammering hard in his chest and he took one slow, cautious step towards you. Scared you would turn away from him again, fucking terrified you would just dissapear before his very eyes.

Your gaze landed on his heavy boots, slowly raising your eyes to meet his. Suddenly forgetting how to breathe as you are encased by his presence. His tall frame towering over you, hunched slightly to meet your gaze. His breath, sour and hot, a nose burning mix of smoke and vomit. His cheap cologne, mixing with his natural musk. He was everywhere, pulling at the strings of your heart as he spoke one last time.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. God I’m so fucking sorry.” He hiccuped again as he tried to find the right words. A cautious hand raising to graze your cheek, your body reacting to his touch as you nuzzled slightly into his hand. Eddie's lip quivered, you were so close yet so far away, you were the hammering of his heartbeat in his chest. You were the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins. You were his everything, his knees buckling slightly and a whimper pulling from his chest as you took a step towards him, closing the gap between you.

He sniffles as he brings left hand up to mirror his other. Holding your face so gently in his calloused hands. His rings cool your flushed skin as you meet his gaze, eyelashes fluttering. This was Eddie's last chance.

“I’m not here asking you to forgive me. An-and if you still want nothing to do with me after this I'll leave you alone. You won't see me again I promise. Baby girl, you are my whole world. When you showed up it's like my whole life switched to colour after being nothing but grey. You're too good for me, I know that.” He shakes his head slightly, shaking the thought from his skull.

“But I promise you this, I will spend every second of every minute of every day making it up to you. I’ll get clean, won't sell to no one anymore I-“

Eddie’s desperate rambles we’re silenced by the sweet touch of your soft lips on his. Your hands pulling him by the collar of his shirt, having heard enough, having seen enough. You touch, your sweet sweet touch. As you run your left thumb over his cheek, he breaks. A sickening crack as his knees collide with the hard concrete of the floor, buckling from the soft, sweet warmth of your touch. His body shaking as sobs wrecked through him, arms wrapping softly around your legs.

You peer down at him, hand coming up to run softly through his hair. He pulled you closed, muscles of his arms tensing, straining against the thin seams of his shirt. Your body sinks to the floor next to Eddie,your gaze pulling him in.

“Oh Eddie-.” You whispered breathily, a small sign escaping you. Arms raising to wrap around the boys shaking shoulders, pulling him to your chest as he curled into you.

No words were spoken as you allowed Eddie to pull you in, time passed slowly as Eddie's mind cleared. The sobs that once wrecked him left him tired and sore, desperate for your touch. You knew there was much more to discuss, but for now you're reveling in the feeling of Eddie, your Eddie.

And that’s how Jim Hopper found the two of you. Edward Muson, the devil of Hawkins, curled up asleep in your lap as you sat on the cold, dirty ground of the holding cell.

Soft snores and quiet whispers escaping his chapped lips as you run your fingers through his hair, a content smile on your face as Hopper opens the door.

Hopper couldn’t help the small smile tugging on his lips when he opened the door, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as you sheepishly smiled up at him as he spoke;

“Tell him when he wakes up, drinks are on me.”

End.

———————-

Tags;

@ali-r3n @iyskgd @am0iur

Broken Nails and Broken Promises

Eddie Munson x Reader

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Summary:

Where Eddie Munson comes banging down Jim Hoppers door, desperate to fix you relationship. One he truly and entirely destroyed in a single moment.

Warnings:

angst! (I tried), Slight mention of cheating! Very minor mentions of violence! Eddie pining over reader! Slight father son bond between Hop and Eddie! I think that’s it!

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Y’all, it’s been a while! Now I know I’m late to the party however, Eddie Munson is one of my many fantasy husbands and I’ll be damned if you think I’m not going to change cannon just to bring him back. Hope y’all enjoy!

PART 2 HAS BEEN POSTED! “Shackled to you”

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Eddie Munson is a royal pain in Jim Hoppers ass. An annoying, persistent, smart ass prick. Shoplifting, DUI, petty theft, assault. You name it, Hopper has caught Eddie doing it. But to be fair, Hopper had always been soft on the boy. Usually slapping him in cuffs before circling around the block and releasing Eddie with a few choice words and threats of actual, serious consequences next time. Hopper was always met with Eddies wicked grin and a mock salute as the boy stalked into the night.

But, that little prick did help save the world, and yeah he did try to be a hero and sacrifice himself, winding him up in the hospital for three months. Which is why, when Eddie comes crashing through Hops door, at 6am, on a goddamn Sunday, Hopper was ready to strangle the curly haired devil and drop his body in the lake. But he was stopped with an exaggerated raise of Eddie's pointer finger in his face. Eddies other hand lay perched dramatically on his hip as the boy heaved, years of smoking and minimal cardio was enough to wind the poor stoner. Who moments earlier had barreled out of his van, not even bothering to turn the damn engine off. The machine wining angrily in the distance at the decision.

“Okay I fucked up. Big.” Eddie manages to wease out, his hands emphasising his words with an exaggerated flap.

“And I need your help. And! Before you say anything, please just.” He stopped, eyes wild, scanning the room, looking anywhere but at Jim. Breath coming out heavy through his notisriles, lip pulled tight between his teeth. Still pacing the worn floor his fingers fly through his thick hair, curling into a fist at the back of his scalp. The familiar burn as his rings tug the unruly strands proves enough to ground him. His eyes flick up to meet Hoppers, desperate and wild.

He pushed out an exasperated breath as he started again;

“Please just, let me explain.”

—————————————————-

16 hours earlier:

You has been so excited, giddy even. Staring down at your freshly manicured nails. The ends rounded into a perfect point, coated in a deep, shiny crimson. Eddies favourite colour. A striking black “E” applied so delicately to your ring nail.

You had saved for months; pocket money, coins foraged from the depths of sofas, completing odd tasks for neighbours and friends.

Griminising at the memory of deep cleaning Steve Harrintons car, a tasks that most definitely wasn’t worth the twenty bucks.

All in an effort to surprise Eddie. Your Eddie.

You two tended to have wild conversations in his trailer, legs tangled together in the sheets. Bodies entwined so perfectly it’s as though you were made just to fit with him. ‘Sculpted from the gods like clay, moulded in their image’, thats what Eddie always said. It was one night, minds fizzy with a smoke filled haze, thoughts coming and going, bouncing between each other with smiles and quiet laughter. When he grabbed your hands in his, fingers tracing so delicately over yours.

“You know what would make you, like, even more breathtaking that you already are?” The boy pondered, that wicked grin encompassing his features,

“Oh. And what would that be, pretty boy?” You queried back, the nickname causing heat to rush to Eddies cheeks. His deep eyes meeting yours as he slowly lifted your hand closer to his face. You knuckles grazing lightly over his lips as he spoke.

“I’ve always been, distracted.” He hesitated, his lip becoming trapped by his teeth; “By a girls nails, you know?”

He answered his own question before you could speak.

“The way the look.” His free hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer, ever impossibly closer.

“The way they feel.” His breath hot in your ear sending a shock down your spine as you arched your back.

“wrapped around me, dragging down my back leaving your mark on me. Pushing into my neck.” He had to stop, eyes closing as he inhaled in your scent. Fingers curling into the soft flesh of your hip. Bodies so close, his everything encompassing yours. Twisting together into one.

“Just something that crosses my mind is all sweetheart.” He nuzzles into your neck, stumble tickling your soft skin. Mouth inching closer to your neck, the area tensing as your heartbeat crashes against your eardrums.

Yeah, that night. That was the night you made your decision and began hatching your plan.

You were going to get your nails done if it was the last thing you do. For Eddie.

Which is why when you found him, lent so casually against a pole, with Crissy fucking Cunninghma’s tounge down his throat. He left hand pressed firmly on his chest, a perfectly manicured French tip of her right grazing his cheek. One single finger nail dragging down his neck. The fucker leaning into her touch, chin lifting to grant her more access.

Well, you lost your shit. Stalking up to the pair, reaching our to practically rip the petite blondes body away from his. Shoving her away, your brain went into overdrive, letting emotion take hold. Fist flying in the air before you could even comprehend your actions, colliding hard with the left side of Crissy’s dumb, perfect face. Her body hit the ground with a hard thud, a small steam of blood flowing slowly from the girls bottom lip. You sieved in anger, letting the emotion corse through your veins.

He had tried to explain, even dropping to his knees as he pleaded, begged. Hands clasped firmly together as he tried to be heard. But you weren’t listening, angry words spitting from your mouth in a hot rage. Crissy had come to Eddie to purchase from his illicit business. The girl practically coiled herself around him, limbs encompassing his like a cobra. She had tried to convince Eddie to allower her to pay him in a other way. Before he would refuse her lips were on his, stained with strawberry lipgloss.

He didn’t want this. But he didn’t stop her. He couldn’t, feet glued in place as his brain stopped communicating with his body. And that’s how you found him. Your anger was justified, of course he knew that. But what he didn’t expect was for you to just leave, to turn on your heels and walk away, as he sits on his knees in the dust.

“Princess. Please.” He pleaded, to wrecked to even pick himself up. One arm stretching slowly in your direction. Rind glad fingers grasping at the empty pace between you.

You turn, and for a moment, the boy has hope. He looks up at you, tears falling from his darkened eyes, staining his red face with hot tears. His arm lands pathetically in his lap, waiting, hanging on your every word.

You throw something at him. The impact as patietic as he feels as the small object bounces off his chest. His eyes darting to the small, burgundy oval, tip filed to a perfect point. A crack runs through a prominent ‘E’ in dark black block font. The letter stars up at him accusingly.

“You.” You point another sharp nail in his direction, his eyes widening in surprise at the new extension. “You, Edward Muson. Are an asshole. And I never want to see your face again.”

As you walked away Eddie slammed his palm over his lips. Wiping angrily at the lingering remnants of pink sparkled lipgloss. The sweet sticky substance clinging to his skin, mocking him as the sparkles engrave themselves into the deep filberts of his jeans. His stomach twisting and throat burns as electric stomach bile rises. He spits violently, doubling over onto his hands and knees and he gags and cries. The content of his stomach landing in front of him in a wet, steaming heap. And Eddie swear he will never taste strawberries again.

Eddie tried to talk to you. If only he could explain. If only he could just see your face again, even if it’s for the last time. To touch your face, to kiss your soft lips. Ones that taste of Vanilla Coke and dark chocolate, a deep lingering of smoke cutting through all your sweetness. He called what feels like a hundred times. Even drove to your house, which he found dark and empty.

No, he needs to see you again. He needs to hear your voice. He needs to explain. To say he’s sorry.

—————————————

So that’s how Eddie ended up in Chief detective Jim Hoppers living room at 6am on a goddam Sunday morning. Pacing the floor in a chaotic and unhinged fashion, long arms flailing around him, har bouncing wild with his movements. He hadn’t slept, too caught up in his plan. His plan to get you back.

Eddie knew that if you didn’t want to interact with someone, they would never know you even existed. Which is why he also knew that words wouldn’t work in you. No, actions speak louder than words.

Jim sits in his armchair, head placed heavily in his hands. Eyes screaming at him for sleep, head pounding as Eddies words bounce around his skull. Reverberating off every bone.

As Eddies words stop, his story coming to an end. He looks at Hopper, arms pressed harsh against his sides as he waits on the older man’s reaction.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about this?” The man grunts, annoyance and fatigue evident in his tone.

For the first time in a long time, Eddies thoughts screeched to a halt. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where you are. And most importantly he doesn’t know why he even came here. Jim hoppers house of all places, to beg the older man to help him.

The feeling claws at him, the scars etched deep in his skin burn. A reminder of the battles he fought in the past. Of the people he saved, the ones he brought back, and the ones he lost along the way.

Eddies wasn’t about to lose you to.

No way.

No. Fucking. Way.

A pre-race premonition from my boyfriend

For context; he is a long term f1 fan (and the reason I got into the sport).

He awakens from the dead (his pre race nap);

Him- I’m seeing a rear break lockup onto turn one, as the go into the apex.

Me, now quaking in my slippers; Who?

Him- Who knows…

It’s important to me that you know, he was staring out the window unblinking during this exchange