Rhaenyra Thought She Needed Dragons As If She Simply Couldn’t Take King’s Landing Using The Power

You Like Me?

A/n: Dudes, my list of requests are dwindling and I couldn’t be happier. Like I was drowning in them a week ago. I should have another Slash fic out tonight because you guys seem to really like him. And once that is posted I’m gonna try to work on a Duff fic, we’ll see how far I get on that. But anyway, I hope y’all enjoy.

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Masterlist

Slash x Reader

Summary: Slash is consistent when it comes to flirting with Y/n. Whenever the opportunity arises, he takes it. And every single time she turns him down. That is until she overhears the guitarist pour out his feelings for her, making her feel bad for not returning them. Or so he thinks.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Language, smoking, probably something else

“Did you ever realize screw rhymes with me and you?”

Y/n rolled her eyes at Slash’s stupid pick up line. Honestly, she thought that he would have gotten the hint and given up. She wasn’t interested. At least, she wasn’t going to make it seem like she was.

“Oh, come on Y/n. That was a decent pickup line,” the man shrugged before grabbing his guitar. “If you didn’t like that, maybe I can sing you a song.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I doubt I’ll like that either. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve gotta go do my job.”

With that, she grabbed a bag of clothes Axl had bought and left the dressing room to take them to the tour bus. Along the way, she couldn’t help but smile at the stupid pick up line. She tried her best to be professional around the boys, she was their personal assistant after all. But that stupid pick up line. God, it made her smile. Y/n did her best to not let Slash get to her, she really did, but somehow he still managed to.

At first, she thought it was one of those stupid middle school crushes, the ones where you only start liking someone after you find out they like you. It was clear that Slash had a thing for her, the boys made sure she knew and the pickup lines further cemented it. So, when Y/n started to feel something for the guitarist, she brushed it off. She believed that she merely liked him for the wrong reason and that the feelings would pass. But then things changed. Suddenly she was more aware of him, always catching him in the crowd, and getting flustered around him. It was horrible to admit, but she was falling for him.

Entering the tour bus, Y/n walked to the back and opened a cabinet, shoving the bags into it before closing it. She walked over to the couch and collapsed onto it. “Why do I feel this way?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer that question or if there was even an answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to like the man, a part of her did, but the other part knew that it was unprofessional and any relationship with him wouldn’t last. Slash was a nice guy, no doubt about it, but he was still a rockstar. Getting with him would be like a death sentence for her heart if she fell too hard. Temptation lingered around every corner and even if she was to believe he wouldn’t fall for it, the temptations he faced were stronger than the ones she did. 

It would be hard for him to go from sleeping with different women every night to sleeping with one. He didn’t seem like the kind that did that. Relationships were something she’d never seen him in. Sure, a girl lingered around for a few days, maybe a month, but then she’d leave and be replaced by someone else. Y/n didn’t want that to happen to her. She didn’t want to be replaced that easily.

So, she loved him in silence. The feelings would eventually fade. And if they didn’t? Well, she would just have to deal with it because she wasn’t willing to get her heartbroken when she could avoid it.

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“Why would I do that?” Slash asked, running a hand through his hair. He winced when it got tangled in the curls and tried to get it out without pulling any hair out.

Duff shrugged, taking a drag on his cigarette. “Because you’re stupid and it may work.”

He raised a brow. If nothing he’d tried so far to win her heart had work, how was anything else supposed to do it?

“It will work,” his friend assured him. “Just trust me.”

Izzy laughed, looking at the two through the vanity mirror. “You really want to take advice from him?”

“Hey! I’m a married man, I think I know what I’m talking about,” Duff argued, grabbing a beer off the small table in front of him. 

“And how’s that going for you?”

The silence that followed was a good enough answer but didn’t help Slash one bit. He was in love and not sure what to do about it. Everyone had different answers and ideas on what he could do but none of them worked. Flirting with Y/n did nothing, talking to her more got him nowhere, being around her only made him want her more. Nothing he did helped him and it was frustrating.

“Maybe I-”

Y/n walked into the room with their food, setting it on the vanity. “I thought some food would do you all some good before the show.” She pulled a couple burgers out of a paper bag and threw them at Duff and Slash before handing one to Izzy. “Also, the photoshoot after the show has been canceled.”

Slash smiled at that and unwrapped his burger. “So, does that mean you’re free after the show?”

“Yes, but not for whatever you’re thinking,” she stated and grabbed the bag to go find Steven and Axl.

Izzy laughed once she was out of the room. “You’re never gonna get with her,” he let out between fits of laughter, causing Slash to through an empty can at him.

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Struggling to carry all the boxes of shoes the boys insisted on taking on tour, Y/n walked through the backstage halls. It was a few hours before showtime, her busiest time of the day. It was the time when everyone was yelling at each to make everything look and feel perfect. The lights had to be hung in the perfect position, bags had to be in excisable places, and the boys had to stay out of trouble. As far as she knew, all three of those things were happening. She was almost entirely sure of it when she came close to Duff’s dressing room and heard faint voices she believed belonged to the boys.

“You need to let it go, dude. She’s clearly not interested,” Duff’s voice came from behind the door. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Y/n stopped next to the door, instantly recognizing the voice. It was Slash. It was wrong to eavesdrop, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“I’m sure some chick would be more than willing to take her off your mind.”

Slash sighed in frustration. “No, this isn’t something like that. This is real, Duff. This is serious. I like her! No, scratch that, I fucking love Y/n and no whore is gonna change that!”

Her eyes went wide at the statement. He loved her, he actually loved her. Before she could fully register what she’d heard, someone stood up and walked towards the door. Y/n shifted the boxes and walked away as quickly as she could, not bothering to look back at whoever exited the room. 

She walked into Axl’s room, setting the boxes on the couch. The singer was fiddling with a guitar when she entered, but he’d since put it down, eyeing her with suspicion.

“Are you alright, Y/n?”

Y/n nodded and decided to stack the boxes neatly. 

How could she not be alright? She’d just learned that she’d been a complete bitch for no reason. Obviously, she was alright. Slash, on the other hand, probably wasn’t. He was probably beating himself up over everything. Y/n sighed, shaking her head. She should have at least given him a chance, he deserved that much. But no, she had to jump to the conclusion that all rockstars are the same and all they want is sex. 

Maybe that wasn’t all Slash wanted.

“Um, is there anything else you need?” she asked Axl as she approached the door, fingers crossed that he was all taken care of.

“I don’t think so…” he trailed off, watching her practically sprint out of the room. He would have questioned it, but he’d seen weirder shit during shows.

Y/n walked as quickly as she could without running anyone over. She weaved between sound tech and crew members, trying to find Slash. Popping her head into Duff’s dressing room, she frowned. Neither of the men were in there. With a huff, she continued down the hall, they couldn’t be that far. 

She’d looked for the man for over an hour, giving up when her feet were beginning to ache. And that’s why heels are Satan’s shoes, she thought and tossed them off. Y/n came to an empty hallway, furthest from the stage. Leaning against the wall, she sighed and slid down the wall. Resting her head against the cold bricks, she couldn’t help but be disappointed in herself. In keeping her heart from getting broken, she’d broken someone else’s. How fucking stupid. That just wasn’t fair. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but no matter how many times she told herself, at the end of the day she still had. 

“This is bullshit,” she muttered, playing the hem of her shirt. “Fucking bullshit.”

Y/n closed her eyes in an attempt to relieve some stress when she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She didn’t bother to see who it was, why would it matter? Then the footsteps stopped in front of her.

“Y/n, are you alright?” Slash asked.

Her eyes shot open and she was on her feet in an instant. “Yeah, yeah. I’m alright.”

He nodded, not sure whether to believe that or not. “Izzy is looking for you. Lost his hat or something. I don’t know, but he won’t perform without it.”

Y/n bite her lip, nodding along to the information. Was now a good time to talk to him? It seemed like one of the only opportunities she’d get, but was it the right moment?

“He’s, ah, in his dressing room,” Slash gestured down the hall before turning around and walking the other direction. 

Y/n looked down the hall that would lead her to Izzy and back at Slash who was walking further and further away. It was now or never, she thought. Now or never. Taking a deep breath, she turned in the direction of the guitarist. 

“Slash!”

The man turned around just as he was about to place a cigarette in his mouth.

“Wait, wait. Can I talk to you?” she asked, running up to the man.

He shrugged, what could he do to stop her?

Y/n stopped in front of him, taking a deep breath. The man looked down at her, a brow raised.

“Okay, so I know that you probably don’t want to hear this and I probably just gonna ramble on,” she stated, fiddling with her fingers. “Stop me whenever you feel like it. Seriously, there may be no other way to stop the words. But anyway-” She swat at the air with her hand. “-I heard what you and Duff were talking about earlier, and I know I shouldn’t have been eavesdropping, but I don’t know.” She sighed, “I feel like a bitch. I feel horrible-”

“Why do you feel horrible?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “You have no reason to. Turning me down shouldn’t make you feel like a shit person,” he raised his voice, emphasizing that he was the one in pain.

Y/n raised a hand in an attempt to calm him down. “I know, I know. And yeah, I feel like shit for that and you’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do because I kept turning you down because why would you want to go out with me if it weren’t just for sex? I’m the band’s assistant, I’m not some groupie, willing to throw myself at any of. So, yeah, maybe I thought all you wanted from me was sex,” she admitted. “Stupid of me to think so, but most of you guys act the same. And me liking you was something I thought would, you know, go away. You’d probably move on, like Duff said, find someone to take me off your mind. I-I don’t even know where I’m going with this,” she stated, biting her lip. 

She had a point, somewhere at the beginning she had a point.

“You like me?” the man asked, taking the cigarette out of his mouth.

Y/n nodded.

“And you’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t have made a fool of myself rambling on without a point if I wasn’t,” she laughed.

He nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. “Alright, well then how about we catch dinner after the show if you’re serious about this.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile. Once she’d started talking, in the back of her mind, she thought that Slash would just ignore her. Hell, she probably hadn’t made any sense seeing as how she couldn’t remembering what she was getting at. “I’d like that.”

“Alright, well you’ll know where to find me.”

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Well, I gotta go help Izzy, see you later.”

“See ya,” he waved as she walked down the hall. Once she was out of sight a huge grin came over his face. Damn, that felt good, to finally get her to say yes. It felt better than good, it felt fucking amazing! Now, he just had to figure out where they were going to eat.

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ADORE YOU ; KR7

kimi raikkonen x mclaren driver!reader

. . . your relationship with kimi was always civil, not too close like friends, but not too far apart like strangers. somehow you got stuck in a situation leaving both of you confronting your feelings for each other.

amgf still one of the best things i wrote, ever. this is my baby, the time i spent making the radio graphics was all worth it, i love this so much ughh

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

Getting called in for a private meeting with the team principal is always worrying. Usually you’re called for one of two reasons, either you’ve done exceptionally well or if you’ve fucked up. With how things are looking up, you’re clearly called in because you’ve fucked up and one of the sponsors has found something to complain about.

You were used to it, sadly. And despite his constant reassurance, you know Fernando doesn’t have that much power to help you. Paired with his recent win in the driver’s championship you kept your mouth shut from the pressure held on you.

The last thing you want is to take away the spotlight from him, it was his win after all. Despite the number of news outlets questioning his position, and the ambiguity of it all with you in the center of controversy.

All because of some harmless photos with Kimi, one that caught him off guard. Not because he was unknowingly involved, but with the fact that he only knew then just how many people loathe you in the industry who are constantly waiting for you to fuck up.

Breathing out, you shake off the million thoughts running in your head. There’s no use overthinking what has been done, standing in front of the team principal’s door you brace yourself for the worst that could happen.

Thinking to yourself that maybe this is the end of it all, that maybe they’ve finally succeeded in leaving you without a seat for the next season. The worst that could happen is Renault pulling out your contract early, and you were preparing for the worst.

The person out of your equation is Kimi Raikkonen himself- the first person your eyes landed upon entering the room. Looking around your eyes scan the room, your teammate nowhere to be found. It’s just you, Kimi, and your team principal.

“Good Morning.” You’re voice curt and short as you feel the dry scratch at the back of your throat. Sitting beside Kimi you lean towards him whispering, “What are you doing here? Did McLaren form a complaint?”

Next to you, Kimi shrugs his shoulders equally unaware. “I was called in when I arrived earlier, I thought you were the one with the complaint.”

Brows raised, you let out a small sigh in disagreement, “I don’t think I’m in a position to complain, you on the other hand, God knows what people are saying.”

You don’t notice the frown forming on Kimi’s face, his brows furrowed in annoyance, “How are you empathizing with me right now? God knows how much worse you’re having it, and here you are worrying about me. I don’t care what they say about me, as long as they don’t involve you in it.” Kimi scoffs, watching the corners of your lips curl into a small smile.

“You must hate being involved with me that much.” Teasing him, Kimi shakes his head with his eyes rolling back.

A cough breaks your attention away from Kimi, reminding you that you’re here for a serious meeting with your team principal. Turning your head you see him with a big smile on his face.

Huh.

“Do you know why I called you here?” His voice reverberates in the room, leaving your throat dry. Your eyes widen, gulping before attempting to answer.

“No, you don’t have to answer.”

Pressing your lips, you shrink down back in your seat feeling the drops of sweat press against your team shirt. Your eyes widen, avoiding contact, you prepare yourself with the worst anticipating the next words out of his mouth.

“It’s all going well in fact that I’ve decided myself to let you continue with what you two are doing.”

An audible gasp left your lips, “But there’s nothing, we aren’t doing anything,” quickly defending yourself from your team principal’s accusations.

Bewildered, a loud cackle escapes his lips leaving you and Kimi in confusion, “That’s even better. Honestly, you don’t have to date each other, just continue what you’re doing.”

Kimi shakes his head, “Doing what exactly?”

“Listen, all you need to do is be seen in public. Think of it as a fake secret relationship. Just like you said, if there’s nothing going on with you two then there is no need to confirm it. Just to keep the sponsorships happy, and free publicity for both teams.”

You share a look with Kimi, gauging from his reaction he doesn’t seem to mind. Then again it’s not like anything is happening between you two, it’s like hitting multiple birds in one stone. You can keep being friends with Kimi, you keep your seat, and you keep the sponsors happy with the advertisement.

Clearing his throat, Kimi speaks up first, “You know if you don’t want to-”

“I don’t mind.” Giving him a small smile, you assure him of your consent, “I’d rather it be you than someone else, plus we get to hang out more often. Unless you don’t want to, then we don’t have to-”

“I’m okay if you’re okay with it.”

Clasping his hands your team principal is smiling over the moon, at least someone is happy with the situation,

“Well if you have no other questions, you’re free to leave Kimi.” Your team principal dismisses the Fin, leaving an uncomfortable taste in his mouth.

“Why? If you have something to say to Y/N you can say it to me as well. What are you going to scold her for? You should’ve been there to defend her against the comments, I won’t leave. Whatever you say to her, I will be here and listen.”

His sudden outburst caught you off guard, uncharacteristic for Kimi to go over his emotions like that. Though his outbursts are short it’s usually directed out of frustration, but this was out of nowhere. Your eyes dart back and forth Kimi and your team principal with conflicted feelings.

While you feel proud that Kimi defended you, on the other hand you grimace at the sight of your team principal, still and speechless.

“Well, you’re more than welcome to wait for Y/N outside but Fernando is coming along in a while- we’re having a team meeting for the next season.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll guide Kimi on the way out, you know in case he reads any of our world winning strategies.” Standing up swiftly, you pull Kimi’s arm, dragging him away from the office and out to the paddock.

It wasn’t until then you realized the awkward silence looming between you two. Looking up to his eyes, you stare at his blue ones, getting lost into the deep hues akin to a storm. In the silence, a mutual understanding was built.

And unbeknownst to you, it was the beginning of a deeper relationship with Kimi.

You were on your way to Maranello when the announcement of your transfer was released. Sinking in your seat you close your phone, thankful to be on a plane avoiding the constant ping and ringing of your phone.

It was a short-lived moment of relaxation, not long after the seat beside yours was occupied. Observing the person, your eyes squint at the sight of a familiar face.

"Kimi? I didn't know you were on your way to Italy as well."

Turning around, Kimi blinked slowly taking in your presence. "Was staying with me that bad that you need a different vacation?"

Scoffing at him, you shift in your seat facing his, "As much as I want more time for vacations unfortunately I'm going to Italy for work."

Kimi tilts his head, "Didn't know Renault moved to Italy. Are you going over factories?"

You still yourself, contemplating telling him the truth or getting away with a little lie. Not in the mood for conversation, you chose the latter.

"Something like that. They want me to check something personally. My manager arranged it for me so, I really don't have a say."

Kimi nods again leaving you to do your own things, something that you appreciate when you're with him. There's no need for small talk, it's always comfortable silence.

A few people you feel comfortable being with for long periods of time, it's either him or your teammate Alonso. Contrary to popular belief, there's no "feud" between the three of you– more on the two of them, you were somehow stuck in between their "rivalry" and just how the company milked the media for more coverage.

Truthfully faking a secret relationship with Kimi was one of the easiest things you had to do last year, purposefully being seen hanging out, going on "dates" and vacationing together without having to confirm anything, you were winning.

And the end of it all with you getting a seat with Ferrari. It was a whirlwind of emotions, not just for you but for your teammate Alonso who was poached to McLaren.

A secret you had to keep from Kimi while vacationing together. You did carry a smidge of guilt hiding him from his new teammate, but vacation meant time away from work and racing. And one thing you learned about Kimi is that he hates race talk at the dinner table.

You sit in silence catching the last hours of sleep. By the time you wake up, the plane has already landed. You feel the seatbelt around your waist, scouring the area you look for Kimi.

"You were asleep the whole flight, I put on your seatbelt for you." You blink your eyes, in an attempt to keep yourself awake.

"When did we land?" Your voice is croaky and dry, you squirm in your seat yawning and stretching.

A small smile can be seen from Kimi's face as he hands you bottled water. "We just landed, you want to go now or wait for a little while?"

A small pout forms your face as you unbuckle your seatbelt, grabbing the bottled water from his hands you take small sips feeling more awake by the minute.

"I want to go now, I want to change clothes before going to the factory." Grabbing you things you stand up leaving the plane with Kimi beside you.

"Is someone picking you up or do you want me to drive you to your hotel?" Kimi offers, putting his bags at the trunk of a Ferrari 599. The way his arms flex, as he pushes his weight, leaning upon the frame of the trunk.

You shake your head off your thoughts, "You don't have to, someone is picking me up. I guess I'll see you around then." Frankly, you booked a one-way ticket to Emilia-Romagna as soon as your break with Kimi was over.

Spending your vacation with Kimi was one of the best things you've done, but the longer you stayed inside the bubble that is Kimi Raikkonen, the more you realized your conflicting feelings towards him.

And that is something you're not prepared to confront yet.

Nonetheless it seems as though the universe has a way of bringing you together— it comes in the form of sitting beside each other on the plane ride, and now seeing him through the glass window in Ferrari's headquarters.

Kid just wanted to jack off in peace, but his mother had to ruin it and tell him he either had to be the King or die

Darling Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Reader

In which, Viktor has a sweet wife that, weirdly enough, no one really knew about.

a/n: hi divas! Erm this is my first time writing for Viktor so I'm sorry if he sounds out of character.

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"Viktor? What is that on your finger?" Jayce inquired, suddenly appearing behind Viktor and peering curiously over his shoulder. Viktor felt a knot form in his stomach as he glanced down at his hand, where a gleaming wedding band rested snugly on his finger. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had meant to remove it but had completely forgotten in the whirlwind of his work.

"Just a ring," Viktor replied evasively, casting a quick look back at Jayce while clicking his tongue in annoyance. Jayce, however, was undeterred. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms over his chest, a teasing smirk forming on his lips. "Isn’t that the same finger where wedding rings typically go?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "Don’t tell me you actually have a wife?"

Viktor maintained his silence, his heart racing in response to Jayce’s playful interrogation. "Even if I did, I wouldn't share that information with you," he said tersely, redirecting his attention back to the Hextech gemstone in front of him, his mind racing as he tried to refocus on his work.

Jayce, still leaning casually against the desk, raised his eyebrow further, the smirk on his face beginning to fade away. He studied Viktor’s expression closely, a frown of confusion.

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“Viktor has a wife? That’s just absurd,” Mel declared, waving her hand dismissively as if to brush away the very notion. 

“No, I swear! He’s actually wearing a wedding ring. When I asked him about it, he responded with, ‘Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you,’” Jayce insisted, leaning closer to Mel's desk, his hands planted firmly on the surface.

Mel rolled her eyes in disbelief, leaning back in her chair and letting her hands fall into her lap. “Who on Earth would marry Viktor?” she whispered, her curiosity piqued as she leaned forward slightly, her expression a mix of intrigue and skepticism. “No offense, but…” she trailed off, momentarily glancing away, her thoughts clearly racing.

Jayce sighed, exasperated. “I mean, it’s not the best image, is it?” he muttered, shrugging as he contemplated the idea. His mind seemed to wander as he contemplated the strange pairing. “Plus, why do you even care?” Mel asked, raising an eyebrow at him, a hint of playful challenge in her voice. “Because I want to know what she looks like!” he responded with a hint of frustration, glancing off to the side, and groaning.

Mel pondered for a moment, her brow furrowing. “Even if he did have a wife, wouldn’t she be here at the Academia with him?” she pointed out, her curiosity beginning to overshadow her previous skepticism. “That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Jayce exclaimed, running his fingers through his hair in agitation. “It doesn’t add up!”

With a sigh, Mel straightened up, her expression turning serious. “Look, I have much bigger problems to deal with than figuring out who Viktor is married to,” she stated firmly.

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"When do you think he sees his wife?" Mel asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she peeked around the corner of the dimly lit hallway. The soft glow of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting shadows on the walls of the Academia. Jayce followed her gaze, cautiously poking his head out to get a better look.

"Hmm... maybe when he isn’t buried under a mountain of work," Jayce mused, tilting his head and furrowing his brow in thought. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he swept it back with a casual motion. Mel, with an exasperated huff, rolled her eyes dramatically. 

"You should know this! You’re his partner, for crying out loud," she murmured, her tone tinged with disbelief as she crossed her arms. Jayce's expression shifted to one of sheepishness, his cheeks flushing slightly as he glanced away, avoiding her accusatory gaze.

"But I leave before him. I'm already gone by the time he usually starts his day. And when I come back to the lab, it’s always just him—working away, lost in his experiments," Jayce replied, his shoulders lifting in a shrug that conveyed both confusion and resignation. He could sense Mel's frustration, but the truth was, Viktor’s work schedule was a puzzle he had yet to solve.

Mel sighed heavily, her brow knitting together in thought. "How do you not know… never mind," she grumbled, her voice trailing off as she turned her attention back to Viktor, who was at that moment preparing to leave. 

"Shhh!" Jayce hissed urgently, his eyes widening as he quickly placed a hand over Mel's mouth, the sound echoing loudly in the stillness. They both watched in silence as Viktor slowly began to rise, gripping his crutch tightly under his arm while gathering his belongings with meticulous care. He seemed unaware of the two pairs of eyes on him, lost in his own world.

Viktor gripped his documents as he walked down the hallway, his eyes narrowed. He made his way down to the back of the Academia, opening a door. Jayce and Mel looking out the window from the other story. "The hell is he doing?" Jayce muttered under his breath. "Look," Mel said, spotting you not too far in the distance. "Is that his wife?" Jayce whispered.

"Viktor." You spoke up, smiling when you saw him. You stood up from the bench you were sitting at. Viktor eagerly wobbled over to you. "I've been waiting." You teased lightly, taking the documents from his hand and placing them down on the bench. Viktor could only stare at you. He hadn't seen you in a while. But he'd never say that he missed you. "How are you doing?" You asked gently, guiding him to sit down, placing his crutch aside. "I've been...well," Viktor said plainly. "I could be better." He muttered, glancing off to the side. You nodded, sitting beside him. You glanced down at his hand, raising an eyebrow. "You wore your wedding ring?" You asked, a small smile forming on your face. Viktor's cheeks warmed a bit, sighing. "I meant to take it off." He grumbled as his fingers ran over the wedding band. "I'm glad you wore it. It suits you." You giggled lightly, placing your hand over his.

Meanwhile, with Jayce and Mel, they could only stare in shock. "Of course, he has a pretty wife too!" Jayce groaned as he shook his head. "Of course," Mel muttered as she sweat drops. "Who knew she was so darling?"

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐧: The Masterlist

Thomas Shelby x F!Reader

Having a relationship with the leader of the Peaky Blinders was complicated in a world full of business and dark secrets, but that didn't mean the love between you was weak. One night in the Garrison pub, however, everything changes, and the next day Thomas Shelby accuses you of something that will change absolutely everything between you, and the consequences will be so severe that not even in your worst nightmares could you have imagined the betrayal and disappointment you will feel for the man you swore to love forever.

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱: A mini-series full of emotions, anguish, betrayal, weapons, ghosts of the past and broken hearts. Mentions of sensitive topics such as miscarriage, suicide and murder.

Chapter One 3.9k

Chapter Two 3.3k

Chapter Three 2.1k

Chapter Four 4.6k

Last Chapter 3.4k

The Epilogue 5.4k

𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

~Masterlist~

Social media AUs:

F1 Grid

Pure Chaos Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Lando Norris

London Boy

PR Problem

"Slut!"

Hot Laps

Kiss and Makeup

Charles Leclerc

His Loss

Daniel Ricciardo

Guys My Age

One-shots:

Lando Norris

Matchmaker

Fuck It I Love You

Let’s Fall In Love For The Night

Take Me To Church

“There’s no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid.”

R.I.P. Robbie Coltrane (March 30, 1950 - October 14, 2022)

Hai^^ I love your stories so much and I was wondering if you could make one about 80s slash x reader? And how the reader’s parents and slash’s mom were friends and forced them to meet each other?

When the reader sees slash - she kinda into him and the more she stares at him the more attractive gets and slash is a bit older than her and finds her funny and weird as he notices that she’s been staring at him the whole time during dinner.

It isn’t until they’re left alone that they start talking to each other and slash makes playful gestures and teases towards her? With smut and fluff of course :P

I hope that’s not a lot^^ anyways whenever you get the time^^

A/n: I wrote this in class and barely finished so the end is kind of shit

Warnings: smut, arranged marriage trope(ish), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

I think I’ve used this before but no I didn’t bc I said so

Ever since you were young, around twelve, there was always this pressure to be with someone, relatives coming by and asking where your boyfriend was. It was annoying and you couldn’t get away from it.

Your parents only got worse as you got older, inviting friends over with suitors. Annoying old men shoving money and power in your face, none of it was ever for you they just wanted to show you what they had. They didn’t care about you.

This dinner was just like any other, you had to get all dressed up to meet some guy your parents knew. He’d be old, creepy and wasting away, just wanting someone to bed whenever he wanted, someone to beat, who he could show around town as he pleased.

You were in your room, getting ready as per usual. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, pristine and proper, white floral dress and golden makeup. Just once you wanted to do something bigger, something harsher.

The doorbell rang and you were called down to meet the guests. You say yourself at the table, ready to meet the next suitor to leave.

A woman walked through, she was gorgeous and had a beautiful smile, behind her came a man with bigger hair than his mother. He shared those big, dark eyes, full lips, but he didn’t smile. He wasn’t dressed up all fancy, he wore jeans and a leather jacket over a Ramones shirt that was torn up and well loved, to say the least.

You weren’t allowed to listen to the Ramones, devils music you were told. This man was the devil incarnate and you were certain he’d be the one to take you away.

Your mother sat down next to you and placed a hand on your knee, leaning into you. “Don’t you dare go looking at this one all puppy eyed, I gave you good men you will not be falling for this monstrosity.” She said through gritted teeth, but her warning was moot, you’d already made up your mind.

The dinner went as every other did, your mother would ask questions and listen closely to the answers, except she didn’t. She didn’t care what this man, Saul was his name, had to say.

You sat idly by and ate, gaze flickering over to him all too frequently, he was sure to notice but he didn’t bring it up or look back at you.

His voice didn’t match his appearance. He was soft spoken and only spoke when told to, he rarely looked up from his plate and when he did he didn’t make eye contact.

Saul Hudson to be wed, you could see it in the papers now.

“I play guitar in a band.” He said, it broke through your day dreaming haze.

“You-you play..?” Your mother sputtered out, unable to even finish her sentence.

Saul nodded, a wide grin on his face and he looked up at you, still not making eye contact. His gaze flicked from your lips down to your shoulders, you didn’t dare guess where else he was looking. “Big band, Guns N’ Roses.” He clarified. “Playing stadiums now.” His mother smiled proudly over at him.

You wiped your mouth on a napkin and stood, quietly excusing yourself from the table. The food was gone and what was left needed to be packed away now anyway, you were just leaving it for other people.

You went to your room and sat down at your desk once more, staring at yourself in the mirror. Something new filled you, you wanted his attention, all of it. You wanted to run with him, to venture with him. He’d take you all over with his band and he’d love you. He was gentle and he wouldn’t hurt you, he wouldn’t flaunt his money, only buy you jewelry for your birthday and flowers when he loved you, just because.

You dug through your drawers and tried to find something… big, a statement piece for your face. Your attention snapped to the door as it opened and Saul walked in.

He was hesitant at first, staring at you bent over a desk drawer and digging through it like a mad man. He came over and stood just beside you, placing a hand on your lower back as he looked through the drawers for you.

Saul pulled out a deep red lipstick. He brought a finger under your chin and tilted your head for him to see you properly.

You were struck, in your core a pulse came with a heat, a desire, but you snapped out of it quick enough to wipe the gloss you already had off your lips so he’d have a bare canvas to work with.

He smiled down at you and got to work, using the tip yo outline your lips before filling them in.

You looked back at yourself in the mirror, Saul now stood behind you with his hands on your hips. He didn’t look in the mirror, he stared at you in front of him, the side of your face and how pleased you seemed with his work.

You turned back to him. “Do more.” You asked, drawing a chuckle from him and he shook his head, by god you made him laugh and you wanted to hear it again and again for as long as you lived.

“I don’t know anymore.” He said, bringing his hands to your shoulders and turning you around again. He leaned down to you, his lips caressing the shell of your ear. “You do it, you can’t mess up when it’s just gonna be running down your face in a minute anyway.”

You paused a moment and looked back to him. “Why? Will you make me cry?” He nodded confidently, you looked back to the mirror. “Why would you do that? Will you leave?” You asked curiously.

“More than one way to make someone cry.” He said, rubbing your shoulders. He inhaled deeply, taking in your saddened expression, you clearly didn’t get what he was referring to. He’d just have to show you once you looked the part, well enough the part anyway, you didn’t have the clothes.

“Heavier on the eyes.” He said as you tapped on a bright red, something to connect the lipstick while still being different. You picked up your pencil liner but he took it from you and had you turn towards him. “Gimme a second.” He said with a smile, being careful to not poke you in the eye as he worked.

He was giggling when he turned you back to the mirror. You had a leopard print on your eyelids and whiskers on your cheeks. The print on your eyes was pretty, neat and well done, the whiskers were an afterthought he was enjoying much too much.

You stood up and turned to him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “It’s perfect!” You exclaimed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, he couldn’t say no to that.

He wasn’t a gentleman, not by a long shot, he was just sweet. The first chance he got his hands were on your ass, pulling your dress up over your head and not caring if he smudged it, not one bit.

Your arms went around his neck and he lifted you up, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist while he carried you to your bed and laid you down.

He was laying over you, an arm holding him up by your head, his other hand moved down between your legs, rubbing through your folds and catching your clit, feeling how wet you already were for him.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” He asked, already starting to trail kisses up your jaw towards your ear. You hesitated before slowly shook your head, hoping it wouldn’t make him stop. Luckily he didn’t and just sucked his teeth. “Well, I don’t feel like slowing down for you.” He said sitting back up and undo his jeans, pushing them down just enough for his dick to spring free, of course he didn’t wear boxers. “Just tell me if it hurts.” He said as he pushed into you, groaning as he did.

Despite his words he did give you a minute to adjust to him, running his hands up and down yours sides until he felt you were ready and he started moving, slow at first but he couldn’t keep that pace for long.

His hands gripped your hips tighter, tugging you closer to him as his hips slammed into yours, each thrust bringing you closer to an edge you’d never seen before.

He was perfect above you, full lips, bruised just like yours, parted ever so slightly in soft, low grunts and groans. Sweat clung to his curls just around his face, the rest of his mane framing his sharp jaw. His teeth were crooked and he didn’t look right at you, focusing on feeling good, making you feel good.

You didn’t have anything to compare it to, but this was definitely the best you’d ever felt. Free, and it felt so good. You reached down and found your clit, rubbing it in circles.

Saul chuckled over you and nodded in approval. “Just keep doing that, keep doing that.” He said. You could feel him inside you, veins dragging against your gummy walls, cunt pulling him in for more, every time he pulled away you sucked him back in.

You melted into the mattress, vision going white and when you came doing from it you felt something warm spilling out inside you, Saul’s face tucked into you and he kissed over your chest, latching onto your nipple and swirling his tongue around it.

Finally he pulled away and pulled away and sat up, fixing his pants before heading out to your balcony. You saw he was smoking, he just looked so… you couldn’t even describe it.

You got your dress back on and went out to stand with him.

He smiled at you when you came out, he held the cigarette out for you but took it away before you got the chance to get it. “No way in hell am I letting you do that.” He said with a laugh.

You sighed and leaned your head on his shoulder. He glanced down at you as he took a drag from his cigarette. “It’s pretty tonight.” You said.

He nodded, looking out on the cities lights below. Your house was up on a mountain, giving you a good view all around. “I bet it’s a pretty night for you every night.”

You smirked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you live here, you see it every night.” That’s not what you were expecting.

You looked back out to the city. “I want to see more… with you, Saul.”

He let out a heavy sigh, he wanted you with him too. You were intriguing to him, you needed a chance to rebel and he knew you would never stay with him, not after growing up like this, but he could be the one with you to see the world and that was enough. “Slash.” He said. “If you’re coming with me you call me Slash.”

“Slash.” You repeated. “Slash Hudson.” He might regret this, but he didn’t care. In that moment, he didn’t care about anything.

The Sunken City

Chapter 1: The Last Drop

It’s sequel time!!!

This is a sequel story to City of Iron and Glass! This chapter, or the story that will follow sadly won’t make any sense without the context of that story.

As you’ll see, this story will largely follow the events of the show. However, that doesn’t mean everything is staying the same >:)

A tavern. The Last Drop, as the bold lettering on the sign proclaimed. Not just a bar but a sprawling space that seemed to grow the longer you looked. The main hall was vast, with polished wooden counters and sturdy tables scattered about. High above, iron chandeliers hung like industrial constellations. Off to the side, a maze of hidden tunnels promised endless adventure for the children. Behind the tavern lay a house-sized apartment, complete with office space, a workshop for you, and separate rooms for each child. It was more than you’d dared to hope for—in every way but one.

“A bar?” you murmured, unable to hide the apprehension in your voice.

He didn’t falter, his grin softening into something more earnest. “It’s not just a bar, Min. Look closer,” he said, gesturing around the space. “This is more than just a place to drink. It’s a home. It’s a place for the community. For us.”

“I just… I don’t want them to grow up thinking this is all there is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want them to have a chance at something better.”

“And they will,” Vander said, stepping closer and placing a hand on your shoulder. “Because we’ll show them how to build it. Here, where it matters. Where we can make a difference."

Your eyes swept across the room again, taking in the details you’d missed in your initial shock. The sturdy booths in the corner, perfect for quiet conversations. The wide-open space where the kids could run without fear. The private apartment in the back, designed with care and consideration.

His conviction was palpable, and it was hard not to be swept up in it. You sighed, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you said, though the hesitation lingered. “But it’s going to take a lot of work.”

Vander’s grin returned, this time accompanied by a wink. “Good thing we’re not afraid of a little hard work, eh?”

It wasn’t much, but you’d made it your home. Now, the bar—the infamous Last Drop—was the bustling epicenter of the Fissures. Both home and workplace for you and your now-husband. But more than that, it was the closest thing the Undercity had to a town hall and council tower, all rolled into one increasingly grungy building. One of the first things you’d installed was the pool tables, a place for people to hang out and chat. But the booths were for business, like the Undercity’s personal offices.

As he’d promised, The Last Drop wasn’t just a place to grab a drink; it was a lifeline. Deals were struck here, alliances forged, and disputes settled over pints of ale and the steady clack of billiard balls. It had become a refuge for the weary and a stage for the powerful, a space where the lines between home, workplace, and community blurred until they were one and the same. Vander’s vision of a place where the Undercity could gather, plan, and grow had come to life in these walls.

Tonight was a pretty usual night by crowd standards, busy enough to keep you on your toes. Not that you’d ever complain—lord knows you needed the money. Slamming down a crate of booze from the pantry, you wiped the sweat from your brow, flinging your long-grown hair out of your face. Gone were the days of your choppy short haircuts… those were saved for your children these days.

The bar thrummed with life. Regulars occupied their usual stools, their laughter mingling with the occasional outburst of an argument at the card tables. In the back, the booths were full of shadowy figures engaged in low murmurs—business of some kind, though you knew better than to pry. The jukebox—a salvaged relic Vander had restored—crooned a soothing melody that seemed to ground the chaos in a strange harmony. You glanced toward Vander, who was busy pouring drinks and trading hearty laughs with a group of miners fresh off their shift. He looked so at ease, so in his element, and it filled you with a quiet pride. This place, this grungy, vibrant heartbeat of the Undercity, was a testament to everything you’d built together.

Your eyes glanced up at the regular in front of you, and a familiar smile spread across your face. “Sevika!” you exclaimed, quickly getting to work preparing drink orders, your hands moving with the precision of years of practice. “Always a face I like to see. What can I get for you?”

Her muscles heaved as she laid down a pair of rusted mining gauntlets on the bar. The loud ‘thunk’ was enough to catch the attention of a couple of patrons nearby, and you paused for a moment, your eyes scanning the metal in front of you. The gauntlets were in terrible shape, cracked and worn in several places, barely holding together.

“The gauntlets work gave me are shit!” she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket to pull out a cigar. “Look at ‘em! You think I can do any work with these?”

You huffed, frustrated, and placed a glass of ale in front of the man who’d ordered it without so much as a glance. Continuing your well-practiced dance around the bar, you swiped up the heavy gauntlets with one hand, spinning them as you inspected their surface.

Sevika had grown into quite a broad-shouldered woman with sharp, calculating eyes, exuding an air of gruff confidence. Her dark bangs often fell into her face, only to be flicked back with practiced ease. She wore her scars like trophies, a testament to years of fighting and surviving in the Undercity.

“They’re getting sloppy in their neglect,” you agreed, nodding. “I’m gonna have to scrap most of this to get anything even remotely functional. What did you do with the old ones I made for you?”

Sevika rolled her eyes as she lit her cigar, flicking her dark bangs out of her face with practiced ease. “Some bullshit,” she muttered.

You hummed, the sound almost a laugh, then sent the gauntlets flying up to the second floor with a casual toss. “Seems to be a popular excuse for you these days, Sev. I’m gonna run out of cast iron before you give me a proper reason for all the metal I spend on you!”

Before you could complain too much more, she reached into her back pocket and slapped down a bag that jingled with coin. The sound caught your attention, and you gave her a small, approving nod before pocketing it.

“What can I get you to drink, Sev?” you asked, leaning back slightly as you caught your breath.

“The usual,” she replied, taking a long drag from her cigar. Without missing a beat, you reached for the moonshine. As you did, you felt a familiar large, warm hand on the small of your back that immediately drew your attention. As you poured the drink, Vander leaned and whispered into your ear, “Family meeting. Tonight. For now, gonna keep an eye on Huck.”

His tone told you everything you needed to know. Something was up. Ever the telepath, Sevika cocked an eyebrow at your exchange as Vander walked around you to the other side of the bar.

“That about the chaos happening topside?” Sevika asked, blowing a plume of smoke in your face. As you placed your last glass order on the tray, ready to take it out to the tables, you took a moment to lean against the counter across from one of your oldest friends. Even though the days of the fighting pits had long passed following Vander’s retirement, you always appreciated Sevika’s loyalty to the fight, even when she wasn’t beating the living daylights out of you two.

“Something to share with the class?” you asked, extending your hand. She handed you the cigar.

“Big explosion, some kind of fancy lab apparently. It’s got the Academy and the council with their panties in a twist.” You couldn’t help but let out a scoff as you began to breathe in the scorching bitterness of the cigar.

“Academy, huh? One of those fancy-pants students does something stupid and the Enforcers look to blame us somehow, huh?” you asked, the words flowing out of your mouth with a gust of dark smoke.

“That’s just it,” Sevika leaned in closer, “word in the mines is this wasn’t Academy work. And four shabby-looking children were seen running from the scene and across the bridge, giving the Enforcers a run for their money.” There was a familiar troubling glint in her eyes. “Remind you of some young people we know?”

Your blood ran cold, and your hand paused halfway to your lips. Before you could even take the huff, a string of curses in your mother tongue tumbled out from under your breath.

“Thought you’d say that,” she said, skillfully taking the cigar from your fingers. “May want to keep an eye on those kids of yours, Min. They take after you and Vander a little too much, if you ask me.”

“Oh, trust me,” you huffed, grabbing your tray and stepping out from behind the bar. “I’m well aware.”

As you made your rounds, placing drinks to their respective customers, your eyes trailed to the nearby booth where Huck, a small man with big, round, glasses and a newcomer to your ranks, sat alongside two gruff-looking Traders. The conversation seemed to not be going well from Huck’s perspective, the little man sweating bullets and shoving a bag of coin back in the direction of the Traders. 

Then one of them pulled out a dagger. 

Now, weapons weren’t not allowed in your bar, but fighting…that was another story. You were about to jump into action, moving to shelf the tray of drinks, when Vander appeared at the table, almost like clockwork. 

Vander, through your eyes, was a man transformed by the weight of years and the burdens he bore. In your memories of the old days, he was leaner, scrappier—his sharp jawline unmarred by the beard he now wore like a badge of wisdom. His arms, though strong even then, lacked the sheer bulk they carried now, built by years of hard labor and holding the Undercity together. Back then, his eyes burned with reckless defiance, a fire that matched the unruly mop of his hair. Now, that fire had softened into a steady, smoldering warmth, tempered by loss and responsibility.

The Vander of today bore scars he didn’t in those memories, not all of them visible. His frame had grown broader, his hands calloused from years of building, fighting, and protecting. The man who once thrived in chaos had become the embodiment of stability—his wide shoulders seemingly built to carry the weight of the entire Undercity. Yet, in quiet moments, you could still glimpse the younger man you’d fallen for, hiding behind the weathered mask of the protector he’d become.

Your eyes drifted to his forearm, where a worn leather brace held his arm snugly, concealing the scars beneath. The sight sent a pang through your chest—a wound that time had barely managed to dull. Memories of the incident flickered at the edges of your mind, unwelcome but persistent. You swallowed them down and refocused on the present.

The tension in the air crackled, his irritation radiating in waves. The heat of the conversation hadn’t faded from his stance, and the warning glint in his eye showed no signs of dulling. Sensing the moment stretching thin, you adjusted your grip on the tray, shifting its weight to one hand.

“A piece of advice,” your husband said, his tone light but edged with steel. “Don’t threaten the guy that pours the drinks.”

As if rehearsed, your free hand shot out in a fluid motion, fingers catching the hilt of the female trader’s dagger mid-air. The blade never reached its intended target. In the same breath, you sent it spinning from your grasp, its pointed edge embedding with a resounding thud in the wooden wall between her and Huck.

The room stilled, every eye darting toward the dagger quivering in the woodgrain. A beat passed, the Trader’s stunned faces whipping toward you in unison, then taking in the bar as a whole. Everyone was staring back at them, hands on their respective weapons. You responded with a slow, deliberate smile—warm and disarming, as if you hadn’t just neutralized a threat with practiced ease. With that, you turned on your heel, carrying the tray back toward the bar, leaving behind a silence thick and the faint tang of adrenaline in the air.

As you moved back toward the bar, the weight of their stares pressed against your back. It wasn’t unfamiliar—moments like these had become second nature over the years. Vander’s establishment, while a sanctuary for most, sometimes drew the wrong sort of attention. And that’s where you came in.

Vander had long since hung up his gloves, now hanging above the bar like a taxidermied deer head. Trading fists and fury for tankards and quiet resolve. The leader of a movement now settled into the role of a caretaker, he carried the weight of the Underground’s struggles in his steady hands. But peace came at a cost, and while Vander’s reputation kept most trouble at bay, there were always those too young, too reckless, or too arrogant to respect the man behind the bar.

That’s where the partnership worked.

You were the shadow to his steady presence, the sharp edge to his soft diplomacy. Where Vander sought compromise, you delivered consequences—swift and undeniable. He didn’t have to ask; you understood the line he walked, the weight of his need to keep the peace. And he trusted you to ensure that peace held firm, even if it meant taking up the violence he’d sworn to leave behind.

It wasn’t a role you’d ever expected to fill, but somewhere along the way, probably thanks to your history, it had become second nature. Equal partners, but in different ways. He handled the words, the diplomacy, the broader picture, while you handled the moments when words failed.

As you slid the tray back onto the counter, Vander’s gaze met yours from across the room. His brow furrowed in faint concern, a silent question in the tilt of his head. You answered with a subtle nod, a wordless assurance that everything was under control.

He exhaled, a soft sigh of relief, and you knew he trusted you completely. And why wouldn’t he? In this unspoken dance between the two of you, the roles were clear, the balance perfectly struck. He was the anchor, and you were the storm—two halves of the same whole, working to keep their fragile world intact.

Your moment of assurance was pulled away when the doors to the bar opened again. Rather than more patrons, however, in came four little heads, barely visible in the crowd. Vander and Vi locked eyes for a moment, barely a glance, before she lowered her head and hurried her shuffling through the crowd towards the apartment in the back that you all called home.

Well if that wasn’t an admission of guilt…

Your eyes locked with Sevika, who was watching this unhold with a studying gaze.

“Next drink on the house tomorrow if you help us close up for the night?” You asked, a pleading note to your voice.

“Make it three drinks.” She huffed, a cloud of smoke blowing out her nostrils like a dragon.

“Two.”

“Deal.”

***

It took the three of you all of ten minutes to get people paid and packed up. The moment patrons caught sight of the kids lingering near the edges of the room, most had gotten the message, hurriedly downing the rest of their drinks and calling it a night. You offered apologies as you went, though they were met with waves of dismissal. Many of them were parents themselves, quick to understand the situation and gracious in their departure. For that, you were endlessly thankful.

Once the last of the stragglers filtered out into the night, you leaned against the bar with a sigh, sparing a glance at the kids. A familiar warmth tugged at your chest, the kind that only they could inspire. Still, there was a recurring prayer that left your lips often, a silent entreaty to Mikael and your mother—how in the hell had they managed the four of you?

Four kids, each with a wild streak a mile wide. It must have been chaos, pure and unrelenting. And yet here you were, walking the same path they had, the echoes of your own childhood now played out in your day-to-day.

Not that you regretted a single moment of it.

The truth was, you loved your kids more than anything else in this world. From the moment they entered your lives, that love had been as fierce and unwavering as the tides. It was the kind of love that didn’t question, that didn’t hesitate. You would fight for them, bleed for them, die for them—and, if necessary, kill for them—without a second thought.

Parenting, you’d come to realize, was its own kind of adventure. An uncharted journey full of highs and lows, triumphs and mistakes, moments of wonder and sheer exhaustion. Watching them grow into their own people—each developing their own quirks, interests, strengths, and flaws—was unlike anything else you’d ever known.

It was amazing, really, though the word barely scratched the surface. No, it was more than that. It was profound, life-altering. An experience that changed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, leaving you simultaneously humbled and awestruck at the enormity of it all.

And yet, as you watched one of the younger ones stifle a yawn, leaning sleepily against their sibling, you couldn’t help but smile. Parenthood might be chaos, but it was your chaos, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want to kill them sometimes.

As you and Vander crashed through the door to the little apartment that worked as the combination pantry and family gathering room, the room seemed to shake as four pairs of eyes flew up towards you.

"Everyone alright?" Vander’s voice broke through the chaos as you rushed down the stairs, your eyes scanning each of the kids for signs of injury. The familiar, jarring marks of a brawl—bruises, scrapes, and cuts—were written across their faces and limbs. You exhaled, relief coursing through you as you spotted Powder first. She stood trembling in the corner, wide-eyed and small, her messy blue hair sticking out at odd angles. Gone was the infant you had once seen crawl across the floor of her parents' cramped studio apartment. Now she was all elbows and knees, her limbs long and awkward, always in motion. Though her scrappiness was undeniable, you saw the girl who was still very much a child beneath the bravado, and you were thankful she seemed unharmed.

Your gaze shifted quickly, instinctively, to Claggor. The eldest of the group, your unexpected son. After the Bridge incident, when you and Vander had taken Powder and Vi in, Claggor had shown up a few days later, checking in on his cousins. His aunt had been the one caring for him, but a stray piece of shrapnel had torn through her during the conflict. She wasn’t even officially on the front lines. And that had been that—Claggor had joined your makeshift family without question, and though his quiet demeanor often made him seem older than his years, he had fit in seamlessly.

Now, kneeling next to him, you gently pushed his goggles up—once a fixture in your workshop, now more often used as spectacles—to reveal a nasty black eye. "Oh, my darlings," you muttered, your voice thick with concern as you hurried to the icebox to grab an ice pack.

The room around you seemed to sigh with familiarity, the mismatched couches and ragged armchairs arranged haphazardly around a low, battered table—each mark a testimony to the years you’d spent in this space. The dim lighting gave everything a soft, inviting glow, and the flickering shadows whispered of nights just like this one. Every crack in the walls, every corner worn smooth by time, told a story: of laughter, of hardship, of growth. It was small, humble, and perhaps not what you’d ever imagined for yourself, but it was home—your home, and theirs.

"Never better..." Mylo grumbled, sinking deeper into the worn chair beneath him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice was raspy, barely audible over the hum of the room. His deflection was classic Mylo—gruff on the outside, but you knew the layers beneath.

Much like Claggor, Mylo had been an unexpected addition to your family—but his story was... different. More personal.

After the Bridge, when everything had fallen apart, you’d found yourself volunteering at the makeshift hospital Dr. Yan had set up to tend to the wounded. You had been there, sorting through the chaos, offering what help you could, when you met Mylo’s father. A man who reminded you so much of Mikael—gentle, kind, and resilient in the face of the violence surrounding him. The two of you had spent hours talking, bonding over the quiet moments, the kind of shared history that could only be forged in the fires of war. But then, as often happens in places like that, things had gone awry.

An infection, unnoticed and unchecked in the frenzy of the overcrowded infirmary, had spread through him, and despite your best efforts, there was nothing to be done. He was gone too soon, leaving behind a five-year-old boy who had no one.

That had been the hardest part—watching the life drain from a good man, and knowing the ripple effect it would have. It was like losing your own parents all over again, so soon after burying what was left of their remains in the river. But the pain of that loss only deepened when Mylo was left orphaned and alone, with nowhere to turn.

At that point, you and Vander were already stretched thin. The tavern was barely holding together, and the kids were growing, needing more. The Mines were on the verge of losing Vander, too, as the chem-barons started cutting ties. Yet, despite it all, you both knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t turn away a child in need. You couldn’t leave him out there, abandoned and vulnerable, just because life was already hard enough.

So you took him in.

And despite the weight it added to your already full plates, despite the tightness in your chest whenever you saw Mylo’s hollow, haunted eyes, you never once regretted it. He was family. And there was no turning back once you'd made that choice. As you knelt down next to him, spotting some particularly bad bruising on his forearm, he wanked his arm away from you. Ever the drama queen. 

Vander marched down the stairs, his movements deliberate and controlled, his shoulders squared with the kind of resolve that only years of leadership could shape. As he descended, his gaze flicked over each of his children, his eyes narrowing with growing concern. “I don’t suppose you can explain why it is that I’m hearing about an explosion and a foot chase topside? Four children fleeing the scene…” His voice was low, the weight of his disappointment settling in the room. He paused behind Violet, his eldest, almost a grown woman now. She was a tomboy through and through—ripped jeans, scraped knees, and a defiant streak that matched her fiery spirit. The fearless leader of your little band of misfits.

Violet stood out amongst the kids—not just because of her leadership, but because she was the spitting image of her mother. Every day, she was a reminder of the promises you’d made to them long ago, promises that still lived within the depth of your heart.

“What were you thinking?” Vander finally huffed, the words heavy with both concern and frustration, after a long, pregnant pause.

“That we can handle a real job!” Violet exclaimed, her voice thick with frustration as she pulled her knees up to her chest, slumping further into the corner. The fire in her tone made it clear she wasn’t backing down, but the tension in her posture suggested an underlying fear she couldn’t quite shake.

“A real job?” Vander’s eyebrows furrowed, a mix of disbelief and worry flooding his expression.

“We got our own tip, planned a route, nobody even saw!” Violet was quick to explain, her voice rising slightly with the kind of conviction that made you proud but also terrified.

“Well, clearly someone saw.” You tutted, your tone soft yet pointed.

Vander’s sigh was deep, the sound heavy with annoyance and concern. “You blew up a building.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if the severity of her actions should have been obvious.

“That wasn’t—” Violet started, but Vander cut her off, his tone sharp.

“Did you even stop to think about what could have happened to you? Eh?” He motioned to the rest of the kids, his gaze shifting over to Mylo, Claggor, and Powder. “To them?”

Violet straightened her shoulders, the defiance returning as she opened her mouth to retort, eager to defend herself. But then, as if struck by the weight of her father’s words, she hesitated. The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly, her resolve faltering. Slowly, she curled back into herself, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, her fist coming up to her lips as her gaze drifted to the side, avoiding Vander’s piercing eyes. The bravado evaporated, leaving her looking like the young girl she was—vulnerable, conflicted, and unsure of how to reconcile her actions with the love and protection her family offered. Vander massages the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re too young to be working jobs on your own,” you explain, your tone gentle yet firm as you crouch beside Mylo, gently urging him to let you examine his injuries. After several moments of coaxing, he finally allows you to take a look. “You’re not ready for that kind of danger and responsibility.”

Vander watches the interaction closely, his brow furrowed in thought. “Where did you even get this tip?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with concern.

No one answers immediately, the room hanging in tense silence. Then, finally, Powder’s small voice breaks the quiet.

“We just… heard it at Benzo’s shop.”

Benzo, you curse, biting back a roll of your eyes. 

“From?” Vander presses, his tone sharper this time.

Powder swallows hard, her gaze flickering between the two of you and Violet nervously before she speaks. “Little Man…”

Oh good, you think, another child putting themselves in harm’s way. Not that you’d expect anything less from the relentless spitfire that was Little Ekko.

Vander sighs deeply, his disappointment evident, but before he can launch into a lecture, Violet steps forward. She stands tall, her jaw set, and her gaze unwavering as she meets Vander’s gaze head-on. “I took us there,” she says firmly, her voice clear and resolute. “If you wanna be mad, be mad at me! But you're the one who always says we have to earn our place in this world!”

The air between them crackles with tension. Their gazes do not break from one another. Vander’s lips press into a thin line, his frustration evident as he contemplates Violet’s words. Despite his disapproval, he knows she isn’t entirely wrong. The weight of her defiance lingers in the air, but the spark in her eyes—so much like his own—gives him pause. He’s proud of her, even if he’s angry.

“Everyone out.” Vander’s voice is firm, a command more than a suggestion. The younger children, sensing the shift in tone, quickly begin to filter out of the room, their footsteps light but reluctant as they avoid the tension in the air. Powder lingers for a moment, glancing up at her sister, before following the others, leaving you and Vander alone.

You step closer to your husband, the quiet weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. With a soft but purposeful movement, you press your hand gently into his arm. Your gaze meets his, steady and understanding, the silent plea clear between you both. Go easy on her.

Vander’s shoulders tense for a moment, his jaw clenched in the familiar struggle between his protective instincts and the harsh realities of the world. He looks down at you, the storm of emotions in his eyes slowly quieting as he reads the depth of your unspoken words. With a deep, resigned sigh, he lets the tension leave his body, his head dipping slightly.

“I know,” he mutters, his voice softer now. 

You give Vander’s arm one last reassuring squeeze, grounding him for just a moment before you turn and follow the kids out of the room. The hallway feels quieter than usual, but the tension still clings to the air. Claggor slumps down onto the stairs, his tired body heavy as he holds the ice pack to his blackened eye. Mylo flings himself lazily against the wall, his posture exasperated, and Powder stays close to your shadow, her small form seeking comfort in your presence.

You pause for a moment, taking a steadying breath before speaking. "You’re sure you’re all okay?" you ask, one hand lowering to gently ruffle Powder’s messy hair, the action instinctive and soothing.

“We’re fine,” Mylo huffs, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. “Why is Vi getting reamed out? We were all there!”

You let out a quiet sigh, your breath held in the weight of it all as you take a deep breath, trying to keep the peace. You give Powder’s hair another ruffle, offering her some comfort. “Violet’s the oldest, which means she looks after you guys the most. You know that.”

“But it was all our faults,” Claggor agrees, his voice soft but resolute. “She doesn’t deserve to get yelled at just because we follow her.”

You offer a half-smile, looking at them with quiet affection before turning to challenge them. “Who says she’s getting yelled at?”

“Vander seemed really mad…” Powder mutters, her hands stuffed into her pockets as she keeps her eyes on the floor, a little too nervous to meet your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the conversation light despite the weight of it. “Hell,” Mylo interrupts, stepping forward with fire in his eyes, “if anyone should be getting yelled at, it’s her!” He jabs a finger in the direction of the littlest child, and Powder flinches at the sharpness of his words.

“Mylo!” Claggor barks, his voice raising in defense of his younger sister. “Quit it already.”

You feel the tension tightening, the rising conflict, and for a brief moment, everything slows. You look down at Powder, your gaze turning inquisitive as you weigh the situation, your mind quickly working through the pieces of the puzzle. “Woah, woah, what happened?”

The hallway falls into a charged silence after your stern interruption, Mylo glaring down at Powder, his jaw set in frustration. His voice breaks the quiet first.

“She goes off on her own, then a big explosion happens? That’s one hell of a coincidence,” he accuses, his tone sharp. “She’s always messing up jobs, and she never has to face any of the consequences! Then when shit hits the fan, she runs away and loses our haul!”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Powder snaps back, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. “And I told you, I tried to fight back!”

The tension detonates. Mylo raises his voice, Powder yells louder in defense, and Claggor steps in, his own protests escalating until the hallway echoes with their overlapping arguments. The noise grows into chaos, and you’ve had enough.

“Hey!” Your voice cuts through the din like a blade, sharp and commanding. The arguing ceases immediately, and all three children snap their eyes toward you. You stand tall, your arms crossed, your expression steely—a look Vander had once said was the spitting image of your mother’s infamous glare.

“All of you, stop it. This is not how you communicate with people,” you scold, your voice calm but firm. Your gaze settles on Powder first, softening just a touch. “Pow-Pow, I’ll be talking with you separately. Go ahead for now; I’ll find you later.”

Powder hesitates, her blue eyes flicking to her brothers and then back to you. She looks small, fragile in her apprehension, but with a quiet nod, she slips away toward the back door without another word.

Your attention shifts to Mylo, and your stern expression hardens again. You cross your arms tighter over your chest. “You, on the other hand…what the hell, Mylo? She’s a kid. Take it easy on her.”

Mylo scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Everyone always says to take it easy on her just ’cause she’s the baby! She’s not going to learn that way, you know.”

“And she’s not going to learn with you getting on her case every time she messes up,” you counter, your voice unwavering. You motion toward the door Powder just walked through. “I get that you’re angry. We’ve all had jobs go sideways. But dividing your team in a bad moment? That’s going to sow resentment that’ll bite you later. Trust me on that.”

Mylo stands there, his jaw working as he absorbs your words in reluctant silence. Sensing a shift, you uncross your arms and step closer, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t brush it away, though his expression remains stormy.

“You want to know why Vander is talking to Vi separately?” you ask, your tone softening. “It’s because he knows what it’s like to have everyone looking up to him, just like Vi has you guys looking up to her. He’s making sure she knows what she’s doing so none of you get hurt. It’s a big responsibility, Mylo. And it’s not easy. That’s why you’ve got to trust her—and us—to handle things like discipline. You have a problem, bring it up with us. But don’t start lecturing unless you’re ready to take on everything that comes with being a leader. Got it?”

His defiance cracks just a little, his eyes falling to the floor. “Fine…” he mumbles after a long moment.

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling him into a tight hug. At first, he stiffens, his dramatic nature still bristling, but then he slowly relaxes and wraps his arms around you.

Extending one arm, you wave Claggor over, and he joins the hug wordlessly, sinking into the warmth of your embrace. You press a gentle kiss to each of their heads, your heart swelling with affection despite the chaos of the day.

“I’m so proud of you guys for trying to step up, okay?” you murmur, your voice soft but sincere. “Just…maybe talk to us next time before you go remaking our teenage mistakes.”

As the chaos begins to settle, replaced with an uneasy peace, the door behind you creaks open again. Vander steps out, his presence filling the space like a tidal wave, a lumpy burlap sack slung over one broad shoulder. His sharp eyes sweep over the three of you, lingering briefly on each of the children before coming to rest on you.

“Everything alright out here?” he asks, his gravelly voice tinged with an edge of exhaustion.

You let go of the boys with a final squeeze and straighten up, offering him a small, knowing smile. “Peachy,” you reply, brushing off the tension that still clung to the air.

“Good,” Vander says gruffly, though his eyes soften slightly before he turns his attention to Claggor. Without warning, he tosses the sack toward him. “Get ready, Claggor. We’re going out.”

Claggor catches it with a surprised grunt, nearly dropping it before managing to steady the weight in his arms. “Now?” he groans, his voice carrying that distinct teenage whine of someone not quite ready to accept their fate.

Vander doesn’t respond right away, instead stepping toward Mylo and deftly plucking the earhorn from his belt.

“Hey!” Mylo exclaims, his tone indignant as he fumbles to grab it back. “That’s mine!”

Vander doesn’t miss a beat, tossing the horn into the burlap sack with a clatter. His gaze pins Mylo in place, a mix of authority and challenge gleaming in his eyes. “You want to be treated like adults, right?” he asks, his voice measured but firm. “Then you should know better than to come back from a job empty-handed.”

Mylo opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it, crossing his arms with a dramatic huff instead. Beside him, Claggor adjusts his grip on the sack, looking somewhere between resigned and curious.

You raise an eyebrow at Vander, folding your arms as you lean back slightly against the banister. “Benzo’s?” you ask knowingly.

“Yup,” Vander replies with a curt nod, straightening the lapels of his worn jacket as if gearing up for battle. His expression hardens, and there’s a glint of something dangerous in his eyes—protectiveness laced with frustration. He turns back to the boys, his voice dropping to that low, warning tone they all know too well. “I’m gonna have a little word with your informant.”

•·.·''·.·• F1 MASTER LIST •·.·''·.·•

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S E B A S T I A N V E T T E L

•·.·''·.·• A shared History , Part 2 , Part 3•·.·''·.·•

(fluff)

Moments that Sebastian Vettel and Y/N have shared throughout their careers together both on and off track. Sebastian Vettel x fem!driver!reader

•·.·''·.·• Looking at her •·.·''·.·•

(fluff, suggestive at the end)

Reader has grown to love the feeling of Sebastian’s eyes on her but not everyone understands. Sebastian Vettel x shy!girlfriend!reader

•·.·''·.·• Come back to me •·.·''·.·•

(angst, fluff)

Sebastian’s world is turned upside down when he finds out the reason behind the red flag, the aftermath is just as torturous as the moment he got the news.Sebastian Vettel x wife!driver!reader

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K I M I R Ä I K K Ö N E N

•·.·''·.·• The Icebreaker •·.·''·.·•

(fluff)

It never fails to amaze the formula one community just how much of a difference there is in Kimi’s attitude whenever his wife is around. Kimi Räikkönen x Fem!Wife!Reader

•·.·''·.·• Silent Admiration , Part 2 •·.·''·.·•

(Implied age gap, fluff)

Kimi’s got some deep feelings for the reader but plans to do what he does best, keep silent. Until, Sebastian manages to persuade him that maybe melting his icy exterior might work in his favour. Kimi Räikkönen x Fem!Driver!Reader.

•·.·''·.·• Protective Shield •·.·''·.·•

(fluff, mistreatment of women)

You always have a smile on your face, even through the struggles of being the only female driver but when it feels like the entire media is against you it’s hard to keep that smile on your face but Kimi won’t allow it to disappear, he’s always there protecting you. Protective!Kimi x Sunshine!driver!reader

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J E N S O N B U T T O N

Pending….

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M A R K W E B B E R

Pending….

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M A X V E R S T A P P E N

Pending….

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C H A R L E S L E C L E R C

Pending….

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C A R L O S S A I N Z

Pending….

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O S C A R P I A S T R I

Pending….

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L A N D O N O R R I S

Pending….

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F E R N A N D O A L O N S O

Pending….

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G E O R G E R U S S E L L

Pending….

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T O T O W O L F F

•·.·''·.·• No longer his •·.·''·.·•

(angst, heartbreak)

Toto now has to face the consequences of his actions that tore your family apart. Toto Wolff x Ex!wife!reader

•·.·''·.·• Tame the Wolff •·.·''·.·•

(angry Toto)

A few scenarios in which Toto is angry and frustrated and you’re there to calm him down and save his poor team from his wrath. Angry!Toto Wolff x Calm!Wife!reader

•·.·''·.·• Broken Decisions , Part 2 , Part 3•·.·''·.·•

(angst, light smut, heartbreak, pregnancy trope)

The news of Toto Wolff divorcing from Susie has just hit the media and you, Michael Schumacher’s eldest daughter and George Russel’s race engineer, are beyond shocked, even more so as your relationship with your boss begins to evolve. Divorced!Toto Wolff x fem!engineer!Schumacher!reader

•·.·''·.·• Take it easy •·.·''·.·•

(fluff)

Your stubbornness to admit you may be feeling unwell might just be your downfall one day but your husband will always be there to catch you, as will your son. Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

•·.·''·.·• Clingy Boys •·.·''·.·•

(fluff)

It’s both yours and Toto’s day off but both your boys are sick and wanting your attention. Clingy!Sick!Toto Wolff x Wife!reader

•·.·''·.·• Caught In the Act •·.·''·.·•

(fluff, teasing)

The stresses of work have your mind running a million miles an hour but your husband knows how to slow it down.

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