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the-black-parade-system · 8 months

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hi can u do a walker scobell x reader fic of u meeting the percy jackson cast as his gf for the first time thank uuuu!!

iPhone screen

Walker Scobell x gn!reader

Summary: It’s only walkers 5th day of filming for the Percy Jackson series and Leah, Aryan, Charlie, and Dior find out he has a partner through his iPhone wallpaper.

Warning(s): different povs

A/N: Thank you so much for the request love! If there’s anything I can fix please lmk <33 also the italics were being really mean to me so sorry if those are messed up.

Walkers pov

It was my fifth day on set, and it was going pretty normal. I was sitting in a chair off set scrolling on my phone next to Leah and Aryan since it was our break. Leah looked up from her phone and looked over at me.

“Hey Walker?” She smiled and cocked her head a little, I looked up from my phone and over at Leah.

“yeah?” I look at Leah who is staring at my phone where my lock screen is showing.

“who’s that on your lock screen?” She asked with a slight giggle causing Aryan to look up. I proudly held up my phone showing off my lock screen which had a picture of my partner, Y/N, on it.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, my partner Y/N!” I proudly said as I watch Leah and Aryans mouths gape open.

“Your dating someone?” Aryan said while on the edge of his seat, so was Leah. I gave a nod and pulled up a picture of us when we had went to Universal Studios for their 15th birthday and proudly showed the picture.

“Well why haven’t we met them?!” Leah exclaimed with a smile plastered on her and Aryans faces. Aryan spoke up.

“you should totally bring them to set tomorrow walk,” Aryan said as he straightened out his posture in his seat. I thought for a moment.

“Will Rick allow it? I hope I’m not pissing off the producers if I do that.” I shrugged and put my elbow onto the arm rest of the plastic chair. Aryan looked over at Leah.

“I’m sure he will. I brought my best friend on set that one time.” Leah said, “Why are they like annoying?” She asked, I don’t think she was trying to be mean with that. At least I hope.

“No! They’re really chill.” I said with a smile and looked at the picture I had pulled up on my phone and smiled a little more.

“Then bring them! I’d love to meet them!” Leah said as Aryan nodded in agreement. I gave a nod in response.

“I’ll bring them then.”

Later that night, around 12am I guess, I texted Y/N while I was lying in bed.

You: “Heeeyy sweetheart?”

My love<3: “yeeees?”

You: “would u wanna come to set tmrw? My friends wanna meet you :)”

My love<3: “uhh lemme check with my mom.”

You: “kk”

My love<3: “she said it was fine as long as I can get a ride :)”

You: “sure! Me n my dad will come get ya tmrw morning.”

My love<3: “What time?”

You: “Around 8:30”

My love<3: “that works for me. Night ilysm!”

You: “gn hon, ilyttt”

Your pov

The next morning I had to get up around 7:00 which kind of sucked. I threw on a hoodie and some sweatpants and brushed my teeth, combed my hair etcetera, etcetera. I waited at my front door for Walker to show up like a dog waiting for its owner to get home from work. I hummed a bit before seeing his dad’s car pull up and I immediately opened my front door and ran out.

“Walker!” I called out excitedly at the smiling face I was so used to seeing as I ran to the car that was sitting in my driveway.

“Y/N!” Walker called back, he rolled down the window to the passenger seat and looked at me. “Hello my dear.” He said dramatically and kissed me. I smiled and opened the door to the backseat.

“Hey walk,” I smiled and waved at Pete, walkers dad. “Hi Mr. Scobell.” He gave a wave and a tired smile, which made sense, it was 8:00am.

We got to set in around a 30 minutes, which wasn’t too bad. But the set was..intimidating. It was huge and already had cameras everywhere and a big parking lot. Walker looked at me through the rearview mirror with a smile.

“You nervous?” He giggled. I nodded “A little.” I said even though my hands were shaking. “you don’t have to be nervous, everyone is really nice.” He said, “And they’re all really excited to meet you.” That made me calm down a little, I mean, remembering Walker would be with me made everything better. Me and Walker hopped out of the car and started to walk to Walkers trailer where he introduced me to his makeup artist and his hair stylist. He was sat down in the chair where they did his hair and makeup and I sat in the chair next to him. Then Aryan walked through.

“Hey walk- oh, hi!” He waved at me, “Are you Y/N?” He paused walking for a little to talk to me, never knew I was that interesting.

“oh, yeah. I’m walkers partner.” I shook his hand and he had a big smile on his face. “cool! Nice to meet ya!” He said with a handsome smile on his face and walked off

“see you later!”

Walker perked up, “That’s Aryan, Leah should be here soon cuz she’s always late.” He laughed as I saw Leah walk through. She was even prettier in person. ”Am not!” She playfully punched walkers shoulder lightly as she had a smile abroad her face. “I’m Leah, I’m guessing your Y/N?” She asked and shook my hand

I gave a nod “Nice to meet you!” I said. She let go of my hand and replied with a small laugh. “Lovely to meet you too! See you two later.” She walked off to her trailer and Walker looked at me with an ear-to-ear grin on his face.

“I think you’re gonna have a good time on set today.”

“Me too, Walk, me too.”

#walker scobell x reader #walker scobell #walker scobell fluff #walker scobell pjo #Walker scobell x y/n

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saintescuderia · 6 months

Text

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym.

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes.

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season.

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day.

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place.

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special.

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname.

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain.

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body.

And then you went about destroying your legs.

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates.

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer.

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.”

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it.

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through.

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed.

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

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