Little Leclerc Series

✶ Gen Z Driver ✶

hi and welcome to the genz!driver masterlist :)

please ignore the timeline, it doesn’t make sense, okay? it’s not really a series, but it does kind of connect to all of the stories together, but still, some stuff my be different from other… sorry :)

this series is inspired by the lovely @sebscore, i try not to write the same stuff, if there are too many similarities, please contact me

masterlist / taglist

about the oc

getting to know the oc :: a short summary about the favourite driver of the grid

characterisation or cv :: it’s like a cv for a new job application or a wikipedia entry of the oc

headcanons :: some headcanons about the genz!driver

introduction :: the first time the genz!driver meets the grid

stories

learning how to drive - sv5 :: you may have your super license to drive your f1 car, but driving outside the paddock? not really your thing

learning how to drive smau - sv5 :: the social media au to the actual story

enjoy the butterflies - dr3 :: daniel explaining a young female driver that winning isn't always the most important thing

life goes on :: due to some mechanical issues the car crashed, now everyone is worried

tiktoks and paddocks :: tiktoks about the paddock are fun

happy birthday! :: it’s the genz!driver‘s birthday!

imessage :: our favourite princess can’t sleep, so she texts her favs on the paddock

imessage pt. 2 :: the morning after

imessages pt. 3

imessage pt. 4

imessage pt. 5

anesthesia :: the genz!driver gets her wisdom teeth removed

bereal au :: in where we see a bit of the genz!drivers life

you’re gonna go far :: an anxiety attack during the pre-race interview leads the genz!driver to some eventful hours

vacation insta au :: the 23!grid enjoy a trip to the maldives together

team radio messages :: some radio messages of our beloved driver

a random day in my life in f1 :: a vlog about our beloved genz!drivers day in the paddock

best friends in every universe :: a little drabble about the tiktok trend

the boyfriend :: the grid find out about a secret boyfriend

secret santa (coming soon) :: secret santa is always a highlight for the genz!driver

underwear (coming soon) :: do you know the problem, when you wear the wrong pair of underpants and they get stuck somewhere, yeah… that happened to the genz!driver

please wake up ; h.h.

𓂃 ⋆ 𓈒 masterlist

summary. instead of stoick dying after toothless is under the bewilderbeasts control, you, hiccup's younger sister, are almost hit, resulting in tears and desperation.

pairing. hiccup haddock x sister!reader

genre. angst, hurt/comfort, platonic.

word count. 2.8k

warnings. for plot reasons, valka was taken by cloudjumper when hiccup was 4 and you were a baby, near death experiences, violence, lots of angst.

✐ i couldn’t find the original post for the gif (i found it on pinterest, reposted), but the username is in the top left corner of the gif ^^

The amount of fear that ran through Hiccup when Drago yelled out his bone chilling scream, waving his staff around in the air… it was immeasurable. The aggression that the throaty sound held in it sent a chill down Hiccup’s spine. He knew at that moment, that he was in serious trouble.

The ground shook with each step that the bewilderbeast took towards them, and rather than the calm awe and serenity that Hiccup felt when he met his mothers bewilderbeast, looking into the eyes of this one made him feel a fear that he couldn’t get rid of.

“No dragon can resist the alpha’s command.” Drago said lowly, his voice scratching its way out of his throat. “So, he who controls the alpha, controls them all.”

A hint of rage settled in Hiccups veins as Drago spoke, pointing his staff towards Toothless.

The rage nearly dissipated, a low sound emitting throughout snow and ice covered land. The sound came from the bewilderbeast, it’s pupils narrowed at Toothless. Toothless began shaking his head, making a noise of discomfort. “Toothless?” Hiccup said worriedly.

Toothless continued to whimper, shaking his head around. “T-toothless, you okay, bud? What’s going on?” But all of the words leaving Hiccups mouth did nothing.

Drago’s voice sounded again. “Witness true strength. The strength of will over others.” Drago was holding up his staff again, the pointed end pointing to Toothless, who suddenly rose, ever so still. “In the face of it… you are nothing.”

When Hiccup realized he was now looking at the end of the staff, it being pointed directly at his chest, he knew that trouble was arising. Toothless slowly turned towards him, pupils as narrow as the bewilderbeast’s were. “Uh,” Hiccup slowly backed away from his dragon, “What did he just tell you?”

Toothless got low to the ground, snarling as he slowly crept over towards his rider, who kept backing away. “Toothless, come on. What’s the matter with you?” He felt the desperation begin to tear at his heart, knowing that there was almost nothing he could do. And sudden moves or sounds could result in the controlled Toothless to pounce on him, resulting in his demise. Even if Hiccup could get a hit in, how much would that break his heart? Would he be able to hurt his best friend?

“No, no, no, no. Come on. What are you doing? Knock it off.” Hiccup knew he was being backed up into ice, and soon he would have no where to go. “Stop!” He yelled out, “snap out of it!” But the attempt was useless, as Toothless kept his slow, creeping pace.

The world around his became almost meaningless. It was just him, Toothless, and mountains of ice trapping him in. “Toothless, no! Toothless.”

Toothless hissed, preparing to launch a heated breath of fire at him, and he felt his heart drop. “Don’t!”

He almost didn’t hear the broken cry of his name being shouted, his eyes remaining on Toothless’ sharp ones. “Stop!”

“Hiccup!” The voice shouted again, and with wide eyes, he looked, and his heart sunk further. You were running right towards him, determination and fear in your eyes. The painful realization of what you were doing came all too quick, and his fear that was once reserved for himself was now almost entirely for you. “Y/n! No!”

But it was too late, you were right next to him, and then crashing into him. Hiccup slid across the snow covered ground, gasping in fear of what he’d see when he looked at you.

He looked just in time to see the blast of fire miss you—just in time to see it hit the ice behind you, breaking a peace of it off as it came crashing down onto you.

“No!”

He startled himself with the cry that left his lips. The world around him faded out again. It was only you, him, and his shallow breaths. “No…” He said again, the disbelief strong in his tone. This couldn’t be happening.

He ran over to you, feeling like he was going to collapse. He was by your side in seconds—he was by your side and there you were, covered in shards of teal-blue ice. Your eyes were shut; your breathing was barely there. He feared every one of your breaths would be your last.

He groaned as he pushed the ice off of you, piece by piece. As each shard slid off, an already growing bruise was left in its wake wherever your skin was visible.

The despair was crushing him; engulfing him; making a home into his heart that was sinking even further as it buried itself into the ever so cold snow beneath him. He grabbed and pulled at your left arm, pulling you off of your side and onto your back. “Y/n!”

Hiccup hardly paid attention to his mother dropping by his side, and his father close behind her. Your breaths were still so shallow.

“Y/n… Oh, my Gods.” His breath caught in his throat, and he faintly felt his mothers hand rest on his shoulder. For the better of his own sanity, he pressed to fingers to your neck, sighing in relief at the slow and weak feeling of your heartbeat beneath his fingers. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Wake up… please wake up.” He ignored every sound around him, including the sound of his friends arriving to the scene. He couldn’t help but to wrap his arms around you, being ever so careful and gentle with your injured form. He felt like he had already lost you, the thought making tears roll down his face. He couldn’t believe that you had gotten hurt instead of him: the target.

You—the younger sister who came into his life when he was just 4 years old. The sister who listened to him when everyone turned a blind eye and pretended like he didn’t exist. You were always there, and as he held you close, he couldn’t get rid of the fear that soon you would be here no longer.

All of his attention was on you, until he heard a low coo from his very own dragon: the dragon who did this.

As Toothless’ snout brushed up against your hand, he couldn’t help the anger that enveloped him. Deep down he knew it wasn’t Toothless’ fault, but something else told him he needed something to be angry at. After seeing the way Toothless’ had unknowingly injured you, his emotions got the best of him. “No! Get away from her!” Hiccup harshly shoved Toothless away, feeling guilt at the way his dragon whined in response, but Hiccup was spiralling.

He stood to his feet, looking down at Toothless. “Go on! Get out of here!”

Toothless took a small step forward, his eyes holding sadness at being shouted at, but Hiccup shouted again. “Get away!”

Hiccup was a mix of emotions as Toothless coward away and ran off.

“It’s not his fault.” Valka said softly, her sadness making her voice wobble only slightly. “You know that.”

And Hiccup did know that. He fell to his knees again, fresh tears rolling down his face as he looked at you. Your eyes were still closed.

The bewilderbeast roared out, but Hiccup almost didn’t hear it as his mother spoke. “Good dragons under the control of bad people… do bad things.”

“Come on!” Hiccup heard someone shout, along with the sound of Toothless whimpering. He looked up, and Drago was riding a once again controlled Toothless, leading him away. “Gather the men and meet me at Berk!”

Hiccup felt an urgency rush through him, and he jumped up onto his feet. “Toothless!” He cried out to him, but Valka held him back. He felt useless as the alpha roared out, and Drago’s men prepared to leave the island.

He couldn’t help but to continue to cry. He just lost his best friend, and he looked down at you, worried that he would lose another. He dropped down beside you again, feeling like the entire world was against him. He felt lost and scared. He couldn’t lose you. He doesn’t know what he’d do without you.

“Hiccup…” Stoick said from behind him. Hiccup could already picture the look on his face based of the sadness in his voice.

“No, Dad.” Why were they acting like you were already dead? You just had to wake up.

As the tears kept falling down his cheeks, his friends backed away and watched from a good distance, as he needed his space. His parents stayed close behind him.

“We have to— we have to do something. Why isn’t anyone doing anything? My sister is dying and you’re all just standing around waiting for—“ Waiting for her to die.

“Hiccup,” Gobber said softly, a pained sigh leaving the man’s lips, “there’s not much we can do, right now. Not here. Back home, maybe things would be better. But we don’t have our dragons to get there, Hiccup.”

Hiccup remained looking at you, still. “So, why are you all acting like you don’t care?” Maybe that was harsh, but he was still spiralling.

“Hiccup, of course we care.” When Astrid spoke, Hiccup looked at her and found a world of sadness in her eyes. Maybe she was worried for you; maybe she felt guilt and pity for him; maybe it was both. The the look in her eyes made him feel less alone.

Hiccup was silent for a few moments, and then, “There’s nothing we can do?” He chose to ignore the way his voice cracked with emotion.

His father sighed, and removed his helmet, holding it to his chest. “Nothing we can do but pray that she wakes up.”

Hiccup inhaled deeply. “I need a second alone with her.”

He didn’t receive a response, he only heard the sound of footsteps slowly backing away.

With a shaking hand, he took your hand into his, watching a teardrop fall down and land on your fingertip. The desperation in him had been making a slow incline, and he wasn’t sure how much of this he could take.

“You have to wake up.” He whispered, falling back down to wrap an arm around you. “Come on. Wake up.”

But as your breathing remained slow, he felt the tears roll down a little faster, and he couldn’t help the sob that slipped past his lips. “Wake up. Come on, what are you doing? Get up…”

A hitch in your breath.

As the sound reaches his ears, and he feels the pattern of your breath change for only a moment, his head snaps up. Your face is neutral, a scrape and bruise on your right cheekbone.

“Y/n?…”

He’s filled with a sense of hope, and just as it feels like it was a trick of his mind, your breath catches again, and your brows move the smallest amount.

“Oh, my Gods.” Hiccup breathes out. “Y/n? Hey… wake up, come on.”

Your eyes began to flutter open and it’s like Hiccup and finally breathe again. He leans forward so that you see him, and your eyes meet his. “Hiccup?”

Hiccup laughs, light and airy, and nods. “Yeah, I’m here. You’re okay.

Your face scrunches up a little as you become aware of the pain running across your skin. Hiccup notices and a slight frown lands on his face.

Your hand squeezes his, “I’m glad you’re okay, Hiccup.”

Hiccup can’t help the shock that runs through him. “You’re glad I’m okay? I’m glad you’re okay…” he then sighs, thinking about how he nearly lost you. The ache in his heart was still there, like a poison latching onto him, killing him slowly. He couldn’t believe how close to death you had gotten. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

And then he was hugging you again, being as gentle as possible. He felt you wrap an arm around his back, but he could tell that by the way your arm was shaking, it was taking more of a toll on you than you’d like to admit. Hiccup pulled back. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Your eyes were still only about half open and he wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out soon. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

But his words could only be heard so clearly as the world began to fade once again. It had taken so much of your energy to stay conscious as long as you did.

“No, no, no. Keep your eyes open, okay? Stay awake, stay awake— Dad!”

The last thing you saw was your brother and parents hovering over you, and then you were welcomed into a deep sleep once again.

⿻

The rest of the day went by so fast, yet so slow. Hiccup felt pride for him and Toothless—who he had since forgiven and apologized to—for being able to fight against Drago and the alpha. After this, it was clear that Toothless had earned his place as the alpha. However, as all of this had been happening, you were the only thing on Hiccup’s mind. He was fighting for everyone, and most importantly to avenge you. This was Drago’s fault—all of this. Hiccup had to do something about it, and he did.

It was likely clear how much he was worrying for you, because not long after the bewilderbeast had dove into the water, taking Drago with him, his mother was at his side. He knew from the look on her face alone that she was saying he should go to you. He didn’t waste a second.

He ran up to his house, passing by people cheering and shouting out of glee, and he pushed open his front door and ran straight to your room. There you were, under the care of Gothi, tucked into your bed and bandaged wherever needed. It was honestly a wonder that they were even able to get you to Berk while you were unconscious, but they managed. Hiccup was just glad to see you now, alive and breathing.

Gothi nodded at him, making her way out of the room. Hiccup remained still for a moment, looking down at you. It pained him to see you like this.

Eventually he sat on the edge of the bed, and looked down at his hands. He felt so guilty about you getting hurt. It felt like it was his fault, somehow. You had jumped to save him, and this is where it brought the both of you. Surely, he was partially at fault for this outcome.

“You’re not blamin’ yourself, are you?”

At the sound of your voice, Hiccup whipped his head around, eyes wide and burning with tears that haven’t even quite built up yet. “You’re awake.”

You nodded lightly, looking down at your bandaged and bruised body. You didn’t regret a thing you did.

“Why… did you do that?” Hiccup started slowly. He didn’t expect this to be what he decided to talk about, but he got to thinking and his mouth was moving before he even realized it. “I mean… save me—“ He took a deep breath, brows furrowing at the topic at hand.

“What else did you want me to do?” You said. You sounded determined, strangely enough.

“I—“

“I couldn’t just… stand there.”

“I wanted you to.”

You sighed this time. “And what? Watch you die? You could’ve.”

Hiccup saw tears begin to form in your own eyes, and he somewhat felt bad for bringing this up right now. “You could’ve, too.”

“I know.” You stated. There was a brief pause as you both collected your thoughts. You didn’t want to argue about this. Neither of you wanted to make anger out of grieving for someone who hadn’t even died. “I care about you, Hiccup. You looked just as scared as I felt. Even if you don’t want to admit it. I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself if you got hurt, or worse. I love you, but I’m not sorry for what I did. I’d rather be hurt than you be hurt instead.”

Hiccup gazed down at you and realized in that moment that you were just like any other Haddock—stubborn as hell. Hiccup and his father were some of the most stubborn people on Berk, if not the most stubborn, and he wouldn’t be surprised that if he got to know his mother a little more, she would turn out to be the same.

Having such a quality can be unbearable at times, but it made for some pretty promising trust with the people you love.

“Well,” Hiccup broke into a smile, chuckling lightly. “I would do the same for you.”

You laughed softly. “I’d hope so.”

Hiccup was shocked when you started pushing yourself up on the bed all of a sudden. “Hey, woah, woah, woah. What are you doing?”

“Relax. I know my limits.” You snickered, and then winced. All of a sudden your arms were around Hiccup and Hiccup wasn’t sure if it was the stupidest or sweetest thing you’ve ever done. Probably both.

Hiccup hugged you back, his eyes closing as it felt like the day was finally calming down. “Don’t ever do anything like that again.”

An amused scoff, and then, “no promises.”

Definitely a Haddock.

@ sakufilms

formula 1 masterlist

y/n x grid:

The Day the Music Died

Defying the Odds

Dear Spa

Do it All

Nothing is Easy

Coraline

Reality

The Scare

Grill the Kid

Under the Weather

Expectations

max verstappen:

Red Bull Family

Overdue

charles leclerc:

Mockingbird

Sunshine

lando norris:

Pay Attention

Where trust meets fear- Jude Bellingham

Content: Jude x fem!reader, slight mature language, not fully proof read, Angst!

w.c : 2.2k

summary: You struggle with insecurities and self-destructive behavior in your relationship with Jude. After a painful argument fueled by jealousy and past fears, you find it hard to accept Jude’s constant support.

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

Staring at the cellular device for the umpteenth time that night, the thought of smashing the screen against the marble floors crossed your fragmented focus.

Your thoughts drifted back to the slow-witted argument you had with your boyfriend earlier this morning, over a stupid blog post about his new companion for this month.

You knew Jude wasn’t the type to cheat—he did everything to make you feel secure in your relationship. But being an overthinker, you couldn’t quiet your restless mind. You dissected everything: the tone of his texts, why he chose you over the women he was often linked to.

His wild past wasn’t a secret, filled with women who matched his fast-paced world, while you were nothing like them. It made you uneasy, and you resented the constant questioning of his motives, knowing it wasn’t fair to either of you.

Harsh words slipped from your mouth, cutting deeper than you intended, as you watched the hurt ripple across your boyfriend's face. You said things you didn’t mean, questioning his integrity, throwing accusations that didn’t even make sense. The moment replayed in your mind—Jude reaching out, trying to comfort you, before you pushed him away, building a wall between you two.

the same wall he had worked so hard to break down, and despite everything, he had succeeded.

He left shortly after, leaving you wracked with guilt. — reminding you that he wasn’t the one walking away, it was you who was pushing him away.

Your self-destructive tendencies resurfaced in full force, catching you off guard. You thought you had dealt with them, convinced you had outgrown that sorrowful habit.

Mid-thought you hear the front door open, your clearly exhausted 6'1 athletic boyfriend walks in, tossing his training bag onto the counter avoiding your gaze. You walked up to him pulling him to face you which left you even more shattered as you gazed into his exhausted, hurt eyes, what hurt even more was knowing that you were responsible for inflicting that pain on him

"I'm so sorry for everything I've said." you started

"Baby-"

"No, Jude, I really mean it. I hate this—I hate that no matter how hard you try to make me feel safe, I always end up ruining it." You cut him off, your eyes brimming with tears as you refused to meet his gaze. He placed his large palm against your jaw, gently urging you to look at him, but you couldn’t. You felt unworthy of his attention, of his care, of him.

"Look at me," he said firmly, and you complied, locking your gaze with his. A wave of fear washed over you, the unsettling thought that you had finally pushed him to his breaking point, That this time, he might choose not to break down the walls you had already begun to build.

"Hey… hey, stop that," he added, using his fingertip to wipe away the glistening pearls from your cheeks.

The sentimental gesture only confused you more. You questioned why he was being so gentle when frustration radiated from him. It was evident in the way his eyebrows furrowed, and how his eyes darted back and forth across your face, yet he still managed to prioritize your feelings above his own once again.

"You’re doing it again. I can practically sense the thoughts swirling in that head of yours." He attempts to lighten up the mood, as a way to calm you down once again.

"Please, don’t be gentle with me, Jude. I said some messed-up things."

He brushed a strand of hair away from your tear-streaked face, his eyes seeing right through your bullshit. Deep down, he understood—you hadn’t signed up for his lifestyle. He knew this was your first time loving someone with that kind of intensity, and that kind of love made you do things you never thought you would. It pushed you to act out of character, to question everything. And despite your words, he secretly empathized with the weight you were carrying.

"I get it," he said gently. "I know you’re scared of losing us, so you push me away, thinking I’ll leave. But I won’t. You have to accept that I’m not going anywhere" he firmly stated

"I love you, Jude" you replied. Your chest tightened with the weight of the argument looming between you, and he looked at you with a mix of worry, fear, and disappointment in his eyes.

"And I love you, but you won’t let me." He whispered softly as he hesitated, finally letting go of your face. A breath escaped him, one he hadn’t realized he was holding.

The silence was deafening, every unspoken word hanging heavy between you both. You felt like the elephant in the room, foolish for letting things unravel with the one person who truly cared for you, who knew you inside and out. Once again, the realization hit—you didn’t deserve him. And yet somehow, letting him go seemed easier than admitting the depth of your feelings.

"I wish you could let me in, I wish you could just let me love you the way you deserve to be loved, But your fear is greater than what we have and that's something you need to figure out"

"Jude please-" You plead selfishly, knowing that this repeated pattern of you pushing him away and him chasing after you had finally reached the finish line.

His attempt to reach out to you is returned by you taking a step back, further proving his point

“You’re pushing me away when all I want to do is hold you. How long are you going to keep this up?” he replies frustrated with how you keep getting in your own way.

You felt like you were being examined under a microscope, your thoughts laid bare. The silence between you only intensified his frustration, pushing him to dig deeper with more questions in search of clarity.

"You still haven't forgiven me for my past," he states.

“Don’t -” you say, but he interrupts pressing further into your vulnerability.

"The women I've been with—part of you still believes that part of my life is attached to me." He delivers this like a fact, another unpleasant reminder that he knows you better than you know yourself.

He waits patiently for your reaction to his truth bomb, knowing that he is treading on thin ice and that his words aren’t kind. Still, he can’t bring himself to acknowledge how you feel at that moment—not when he constantly puts up with your antics and guards your feelings over his. He knows that this is something you need to hear. You know that too.

“It’s not that simple,” you reply, “You don’t understand what it’s like to constantly compete with ghosts. Knowing I have nothing in common with your lifestyle or the fact that I look nothing like them. How do you expect me to just let that go when that's the bane of my existence Jude"

He sighs, the disappointment evident in his eyes.

"I never asked you to be like them. I'm asking you to trust that I am here, I'm asking you to believe that you are more than enough for me - that I won't leave you."

You turn away, frustration boiling inside you. “How can I do that when it feels like I’m always one step behind, waiting for you to slip back into that life.”

“You’re not behind,” he counters, stepping closer, his tone urgent. ignoring the last sentence you blurted knowing that your vulnerability made you say shit that was insubstantial.

“You’re with me. But you have to let me in. You have to let go of the pain.”

“...And you need to stop feeling so goddamn sorry for yourself,” he said, tone sharp, words piercing through your fog of confusion, challenging you to confront the emotions you’d been avoiding.

He employed the same tactics as on the football field, assessing your vulnerabilities and strategizing. This time, it wasn’t about rivalry or hostility. He was in the same match, but instead of defending against you, he was charging into your thoughts, eager to show he was equally afraid of losing you just as much. To him, you being off the field of his life just wasn’t an option he was settling for.

Your lips trembled as you absorbed his words, your fingers gripping the thin fabric of Jude's shirt. His scent wrapped around you, offering a sense of comfort amid the chaos of the moment.

“I wish I could,” you whisper, tears clouding your vision. “But I’m scared...Scared that I’m not enough for you”

He reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek with the gentleness you so desperately crave. “You are enough. You don’t have to be perfect. Just be honest with me. Let me help you through this.”

His eyes dart all over your face attempting to decipher your thoughts secretly hoping that you don't push him away; hoping that you'd comfort him.

"I need you to meet me halfway on this; Please, just allow someone to be there for you—for once in your life."

His fingers gently brush against your face, gliding back and forth across your cheek, silently urging for a response. He tilts your face upward, guiding your gaze to meet his, the intensity in his eyes pressing you to say something—anything.

It feels like an eternity since you’ve spoken, the silence between you heavy and suffocating. The tension hangs thick in the air, punctuated only by the faint, steady ticking of the clock bolted to the wall, each sound a reminder of how much time has slipped by without a word.

"Please don't give me space, that's the last thing I want with you." you finally respond

He lets out a sigh of relief, his eyes filled with gratitude. You’re still here, still willing to wait for him, to fight for him with the same intensity he’s fought for you. Without hesitation, he pulls you flush against him, holding you tight as though you were slipping away like quicksand, desperate to keep you grounded in his arms.

But as he holds you, something unsettles him. Your body feels rigid, like you’re pulling away, even though you’re standing in his arms. He brushes his hand gently down your back, tension slightly easing but not fully fading. It lingers, heavy and unspoken - Just like where the both of you stood —on edge

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

Thought daughters unite!

This is my first fic in a very long time, so please be kind lol

I love angst so much and I overthink a lottttt hence this fic!!!, so please lmk what you guys would like to read next, my inbox/ asks are open <3

this fic is gravely inspired by Silver Springs - Fleetwood Mac. I’ve had that song stuck in my head for days!!

Huge thanks to @urfriendlywriter for the apology prompt, It truly resonated with this story

Hello, again, I was wondering if you could write about how either Charles or Lando (I don’t mind) give the reader water reminders through out the day because they care. Hopefully this makes sense, I don’t know I’m tired ahah.

Hope you have a good rest of your day/evening!

H2O - LN

This is so cute, I need a boyfriend who does this bc my chronic dehydration is definitely causing some damage to internal organs ngl.

Summary: A sequence of events when Lando reminds his girlfriend to drink.

Warnings: Slightly aggressive and sometimes accidental injury due to extreme love and care.

"Oooh, you're dressed up. Have the two of you just got back from a date?" Max asks before y/n appears in the stream and Lando stands up.

"Drink, baby-actually I'll get it." Lando states not giving Max or y/n a chance to talk before he's walking out the room.

"Anyway...how was your date? The chat wants to know." Max smiles, though he wants to know too. He is the biggest fan of Lando and y/n, mainly because he loves seeing his best friend so happy and caring towards someone.

"It was good. Thought, Lando should not be allowed in a pottery studio again. Just wait till you see the mug he made. Diabolical." Y/n sighs shaking her head before Lando appears cracking open a bottle of water, handing it to her.

"What's diabolical?" Lando asks with a grin.

"Your pottery skills." Max states but Lando's already ignoring him, noticing that y/n has been too caught up in the conversation to have taken a drink.

"Baby, please." Lando murmurs making her look at him before smiling and taking a mouthful.

"You two are making the chat go insane. Again." Max sighs noticing the chat flood in with users comments gushing over the two.

"More." Lando commands making her take another mouthful before he turns and addresses the camera. "This is not cute, guys. This is my girlfriend being so chronically dehydrated that the doctor told her off-no. No. Do not say that you guys are the same."

"It's not that bad." Y/n argues before earning a look.

"Did the doctor tell you off?" Lando questions earning a small nervous laugh. "That's a yes, for everyone watching. Now, if you'll excuse us. We have a date night to finish."

"Oh no, non PG stuff." Max grimaces then being swatted by y/n making her boyfriend laugh.

"We're making you food for when you're done streaming, you muppet." Y/n states immediately watching Max turn and smile gratefully at her. "Well I'm making food, Lando is probably going to watch and shout at me to drink every few minutes."

-

Lando left y/n for a matter of hours and it was no surprise when he returned to her and discovered she is chatting with Oscar's girlfriend, Lily. The two of them sometimes even team up sometimes to pick on Lando and Oscar when they look a little too alike.

Now usually he'd say something before getting her something to drink. But for some reason he decides to challenge her.

"Baby, catch!" Lando exclaims throwing a water bottle at her.

Unlike Lando and the other F1 drivers, she does not have quick reflexes and the bottle smacks her straight in the face.

"Ah, fuck." Lando exclaims jumping over to see her before she even really has a chance to react beyond covering her face. "I'm so sorry, baby. I thought you'd catch."

"You hit my nose." Y/n whispers, eyes watering from a combination of pain and shock. "Ow."

Lando pulls her hands away kissing around her face while trying to inspect the damage.

"Ok, alright. I'm fine." Y/n states though her red nose nd tears escaping would beg to differ.

"I feel so bad." Lando groans scooping her up onto his lap to just completely surround her in his body. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd catch it."

Lando keeps kissing her temple, then reaching for the water bottle and opening for it.

"Can you still drink something for me please?" Lando asks softly holding the bottle to her lips making her lean forward to accept the drink, though he tips it for her. "I'll never do it again."

"It's ok." Y/n murmurs then sighing as she looks at him before he tips the bottle again to get her to drink some more.

Lando kisses her once more with a heavy sigh.

-

Ending a race Lando is still in the cockpit, heading towards the top three spots when he opens up his radio again.

"Can you tell y/n to drink please?" Lando requests hearing his engineer chuckle.

"Yeah, I'll get the message passed on. She's already waiting for you by the barriers, mate. But someone is getting the message to her."

Lando pulls up and is looking for y/n before anyone else as he gets weighed, he bounces over to her. She's wrapped in his jacket, presumable as a last minute to show her McLaren support.

"I'm so proud of you." Y/n yells into his helmet knowing his hearing is compromised.

"Drink." Lando exclaims earning a very visible eye roll which is definitely caught on camera for the broadcast. "Baby, I wanna see you drink."

Y/n opens the bottle taking a mouthful as he begins to pull off his helmet and once she's swallowed some of the water, Lando kisses her quickly. Moving to celebrate with the team then heading over for the post-race interviews.

Though his gaze continuously flicking back to y/n leads her to making the effort to finish the whole bottle of water by the time he gets up on the podium.

By the time he gets down and has wrapped up all the media. The moment Lando is in his driver's room he's kissing y/n properly, always eagerly making up for time lost between them in the race.

"You need to drink more baby." Y/n whispers breaking a kiss watching him burst into laughter then picking her up and spinning her around till they're closer to the fridge.

He gets out a drink for both of them, opening one bottle before he hands one off to her.

Hello!! I was wondering if you could please write a redbull driver with multiple wdc x platonic grid

But the older drivers like max Charles Lewis lando etc get jealous of her constantly being with the younger ones like franco kimi and Ollie all fluff n funny n fans going crazy bout their jealousy

Thank you

Rivals of the Track

{Reader's POV}

It was the Azerbaijan GP, Kevin wouldn't be racing so Ollie had replaced him for the race. He was this tall lanky British teen who rightfully corrected me saying that he was an adult now, he was funny. Ollie was with his best friend Kimi, who had come to support him for the race. I found their friendship endearing and reminded me of my best friend who would try to come to as many races as she could. The other drivers would argue about who my best friend was, but I knew who my best friend was and it was Y/BFF/N.

"Y/N, did you colour your hair?" Kimi asked. "You can tell?" I asked slightly shocked, "I just went for a lighter shade of burgundy than the last time" I elaborated. "Yeah, you look prettier" Ollie chimed. "Thank you. You boys are so sweet, unlike some people I know" I said looking at the other drivers who were stood a few feet away who were very confused when I asked them if anything was different about me. "You're always pretty" Franco added. "Okay, okay, flattery will only get you so far" I laughed. "We're being honest. Having some one as talented and beautiful on the grid that we can learn from is an honour" Kimi said solemnly. "Okay, is there a body you boys wanna hide?" I asked laughing. They laughed back.

"Can you introduce us to Lewis?" Franco whispered while we were stood there waiting for the media interviews. "Sure" I said. "He's so cool and we aren't sure if he'll talk to us" The other two boys added. "Oh, no, my babies, he's a sweetheart. You could just walk up to him and start talking. I was scared of him when I first joined too but we're pretty good friends" I explained. The 3 boys smiled at me, nodding in agreement.

Every time I would be talking to these 3, trying to make them feel at home like all the times the others did, I could feel eyes on me. I wasn't sure why they were all glaring at me.

I was doing my post quali media after qualifying P4. "So, what a race? Are you expecting a win or a podium?" The interviewer asked. "Obviously going to go for the win, podium isn't too far away either, let's see, I have a Ferrari and a McLaren to fight off though" I laughed. "We've seen you hanging around with the younger drivers, do they remind you of your rookie days?" she asked. "Yes, they are so nervous and scared but full of energy. They are fun to hang out with too" I said. "Does this mean you find the older drivers boring?" she prodded. "Never said that" I tsked. "I'm just trying to make them feel at home" I said. "Well, the fans are eating your interactions up. They find it so cute, you're like the mother duck and they are your ducklings" she said. "I wouldn't say that they are wrong" I chuckled. "I interviewed your teammate Max a while back and he didn't seem too pleased with your blossoming friendship. Why is that so?" the interviewer pointed out. "We're all competitive. I guess they are competitive about friends too" I shrugged. "It was nice talking to you, can't wait to watch you on the podium" she stated. I smiled and talked away.

I met the others in my drivers room. "I think this is a confidentiality breech to have all the other teams here" I laughed. "We're staging an intervention" Max stated. "For what? I don't have an addiction" I pointed out. "Since we're losing our bestie" Lando said. I couldn't help but laugh, "Who?" I asked. "You, you dumbass" Charles said. I sat on the chair that was unoccupied. "What's up my fellow drivers?" I asked. "We aren't only your fellow drivers, we're best friends" Lewis said. "Arguable but okay" I shrugged. "Are we not best friends?" Daniel fake cried. "My best friend is Y/BFF/n. You guys, I tolerate at best" I laughed. I could see all them visibly pout. "We don't like it" they said in unison. "What do you not like?" I asked. "You hanging out with the younger drivers or that we aren't best friends. Are we too old for you?" Carlos asked. "I'm as old as you guys. They just remind me of my siblings, they are like my ducklings and I'm their mother duck" I chuckled reminded of the analogy. "So, you aren't replacing us?" Oscar quipped. "Obviously not, they are my children. You guys are my friends" I said face palming myself. "Group hug?" Yuki asked and then we all huddled together. "What about us being best friends?" Max asked. "Still Y/BFF/N. I don't feel like a girl when I'm around you guys, she reminds me. We all have something special, we're competitors and friends" I said. They all seemed to nod in agreement.

After an abysmal race, I was laying in my hotel room going through twitter when I saw people talking about how I had taken the younger drivers under my wing and how they would follow me around like lost puppies while you could see the others stare daggers at them. At some point in the weekend, Max did almost carry me away from them, out of jealousy it seems and the gif was circulating all over the internet. I laughed at the tweets, my friends can get jealous, they would be jealous when I hang out with Y/BFF/N but I do need a get away from all the testosterone, but they are nice people, just bad at communicating.

Early Risers vs. Night Owls

(A/N): Special thank yous to @foreveralbon and @disneyprincemuke for helping me choose which drivers are morning people and which are more of night owls.

Summary: Some people are night owls, others are morning people. But there is another sort that some drivers learn to fear: Morning Monsters (it's the reader)

Pairings: (All platonic) daniel ricciardo x driver!reader, charles leclerc x driver!reader, carlos sainz x driver!reader, oscar piastry x driver!reader (max and lando get a guest starring)

Word count: 1.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎

________________________

It’s difficult, being a night person in a day people’s world. It really is. Especially when you are around morning loving human beings.

“Oh, don’t you look happy?” Carlos comments, when (Y/N) steps into the breakfast room. Coincidentally, several teams are accommodated in the same hotel during this race weekend.

As she lets herself fall in a seat at his table, the young female whispers an annoyed “Don’t”. “I wasn’t saying anything mean?” He genuinely questions. Is his English failing him again?

“Please, just stop talking. It’s only the ass crack of dawn, how can someone be so chatty?” (Y/N) puts her head onto the table, effectively stopping any further conversation with the Spaniard. He looks a little bit lost into his fruit bowl, not sure how to handle this situation adequately. 

“Top of the morning, my sunshines,” a smiling Daniel Ricciardo strolls into the room. The happiness radiating from him reaches (Y/N) even through her closed eyes.

Just as Daniel arrives at their table, she gets up with the most sluggish motions a sober person can muster. “Coffee” is the only thing mumbled, answering to the confused looks around her.

Shortly after, she sits down again with a cup in her hands, not even bothering to try to follow the chatting between Daniel and Carlos. (Y/N) just stares into space, wondering where she went wrong in her life to have to sit in between two morning people. Surely, this is a punishment of some kind.

“Ok, what is up with you? You look like you are about to murder everyone in this room if someone just dares to breathe in the wrong direction,” Daniel observes. (Y/N) takes another sip from her coffee. “Because it’s true.”

Carlos can’t wrap his head around it. “But what happened to the sunshine-in-person-(Y/N)?” “How am I supposed to be a sunshine, when I’m barely a person at this moment?” Well, that is not a lie. She does look pretty rough. Not everyone can wake up and look perfect like Florence Pugh. Some people have to look more like Merida herself in the mornings.

“Why are you talking to this woman during the early hours?” Charles, who just entered the breakfast hall, fears for their lives. “Because this is what people do? They talk when they sit together?” Daniel is confused. What is so bad about making conversations?

Charles steps closer to their table and (Y/N) immediately latches onto him, burying her face into his stomach.

“Don’t you value your life? A tired (Y/N) in the morning needs quiet and some hugs.” The young woman mumbles something, making the Monegasque laugh. “Yes, and coffee. This is the recipe to get the sunshine person you know and love.”

Confused, the other two drivers blink. Did they miss the manual that came with the rookie?

“And you know all of this, because?” Carlos asks the question that popped up in both their heads. “Because (Y/N) and Arthur were together in F2 and he had been ‘chewed out by her like a pack of gum by a class of elementary schoolers’, his words, not mine. She is not all bark and no bite, isn’t that right?” (Y/N) nods, her head still buried into his front.

“Do you want to catch a ride to the paddock with me? I plan on leaving in five minutes.” (Y/N) nods again and quickly gathers her things before waving the other drivers goodbye.

The ride is filled with silence, Charles even leaves the radio turned off. This lets the female drive in and out of a state of half-asleep until they arrive at their destination. At the same time a certain papaya wearing aussie his own car not far away from Charles’ Ferrari.

“Oh, is it still too early?” He asks her with a small smile. Just like Arthur, Oscar is aware how much of a night owl (Y/N) is, having witnessed her outbursts first hand several times during his own career in F2.

The driver nods as she throws herself into his embrace. A tired (Y/N) turns into the most cuddly person. “Let’s get you a cup of coffee, can’t have you go around screaming at people. You will scare everyone off.”

Oscar is pretty much the only smiling person she tolerates in the morning. Whenever another human being dares just grinning in her direction during her own waking up phase, she is ready to jump their throats. But Oscar is different. He doesn't do it out of mocking or pitiness. He is genuinely happy and wants to show and share it. Also, he radiates a nice calm aura, which is the complete opposite to what she experiences during the days of a race weekend.

When Carlos passes (Y/N) by later, he walks up to her with caution, keeping his teammates' warning in mind, “Hey Carlos, have you heard the rumors about the newest Taylor Swift album? Do you think it will feature a song about Nando?”

The woman in front of him has nothing in common with the one he interacted with just an hour ago. She somehow even looks completely different from her. It’s the kind of freshness that doesn’t come with a shower.

“Uhm, no I did not. Are you ok? You seemed… a bit out of it this morning.” There is a hesitation in his voice, not wanting to accidentally offset her.

But (Y/N) just laughs it off. “Oh yeah, that. I’m sorry for being a grump back there. Just like Charlie said, I’m absolutely not a morning person. During the first hour of being awake I’m an absolute monster. Just, don’t talk to me or only when it’s absolutely necessary during that time. I apologize for my behavior, it wasn’t nice. Today was particularly bad, because I do my best work at night and I have been pouring over some data until 2 am. I’ll try to give you a warning next time!”

With that she is off, looking for her partner in crime aka her teammate to start some kind of mischief with the social media team.

Carlos is just flabbergasted. The duality of some people and how a small cup of caffeine can bring that out of them is astonishing.

Just remember to never fuck with night owls during the early hours of the morning.

Bonus Scene

During a free week some drivers set a date to play a private paddle tournament together in Monaco. Daniel enters the court with a big smile. After all, it is a fresh, sunny morning. This day is a promise of having a good time with his friends and colleagues, playing their favorite game and having lunch plans together.

What sets the Australian off are the three frowning faces, sitting on a bench nursing each a can of Red Bull solemnly. “What happened to you?”

Max answers his question first with a grumpy voice. “I had to leave my cats cuddled up in my bed alone.” “My alarm woke me up while the first number on the clock was still a single digit.” Landoo sounds about as tired as (Y/N) next to him looks like.

“Life”, Daniel answers for the young woman already, who just nods and pulls the strings of her hood closed, hindering someone else to make more conversations with her until the caffeine has kicked in.

Desperate times call for desperate measures after all.

Hi hello it's me again I have another cute scenario

Imagine gekko little buddies keep following the reader like for example gekko is telling them to do something and the moment they see the reader they start coming to them and want there attention

Lmao.

I just love your writing, so feel free to skip if you like :)

OMGGG BRO THATS SO SWEET, thank you!! it means so much to me 💚 Also hi again! Sorry if this took long.:"c

I love his little baby's they make me so happy 😭

♡♡LITTLE CREW♡♡

Gekko (Mateo) x GN!Reader

Cw: Nothing rlly! Just little babys being little babys!! Also the reader and gekko are just friends, feelings are kind of inplied! ♡

Song: On & On - Piri & Tommy

Enjoy!!

Your morning routine was always the same, but everything changed when Gekko came along, not because of him barging in your room at 9 to ask if you wanted to go out for breakfast some days of the week, not because of his beautiful smile making your entire day, surprisingly, it wasn't him.

It was the little gurgling sounds coming from underneath your bed at 6 am waking you up. You recognized these sounds now, but looking under your bed, you couldn't find anything aside from some dust and a singular sock you've been missing for a week.

You brushed it off as a dream you were having, deciding to get up and start your day.

Heading to the kitchen you could of swore you heard tiny footsteps behind you, looking around, again, you didn't find anything, thinking it was your own footsteps being too loud, you tried walking as slow as possible, not trying to wake anyone at the protocol. You shuddered thinking of the earful you would get from a certain elderly man.

You started cooking something simple, pancakes. You were in the middle of cracking an egg when suddenly, you feel something clashing with your heel, repeatedly.

You almost screamed at the sudden touch, but fortunately for you, you catch yourself on the act.

Putting the spatula on the counter, you turn around and look down to find a little yellow blob trying his best to hug your leg before he was rudely interrupted, looking at you with a sad expression, tears prickling his eyes.

"OH, oh my god, Wingman!" You exclaimed, picking the little guy up by his... waist? The anatomy of these babys was odd. "Are you the one that woke me up?" He shook his head up and down, clinging to your right hand for some support, like his owner, he wasn't a fan of heights. You relocated the little blob on top of the counter. "Did you want some company, budd? You could of just..." You trailed off, seeing Dizzy and Thrash hiding in the shadows. "Asked."

You went to pick them both up, bringing them to Wingman's side "Why are all of you here? where is Mosh?" They tried their best to communicate with you, but you really couldn't understand them at all, so instead of asking them to repeat themselves, you opted to make a deal with them.

"Okay, how about this" You grabbed the egg you were about to break and gave it to wingman. "You guys help me cook myself some breakfast..." Trash made a excited sound. "Quietly... AND I don't get kicked for disturbing the peace"

You quickly pet Dizzy and soon after, pick up the spatula. "Deal?" The little creatures cheered and agreed to help you.

For what feelt like a good chunk of time, the four of you kept trying your best to make this setup work, these little guys were good at fights, yes, but they weren't 5 stars chefs, either way, the pancakes where finally done, they were nothing near perfect, but yall had fun in the process.

You sat down with too many pancakes on your plate and a bunch of happy, cheering friends at your side, giving some to all of the members of the current squad for them to devour.

After that, you cleaned your plates, put the remaining pancakes on the fridge and went back to your room, with all the little creatures following close behind you.

"Damn" You layed on your bed with the little critters on your abdomen and chest. "You guys don't mind if i steal you a little longer, right?" To your surprise, no one protested. They just snuggled closer to you and you all went back to sleep.

Thank you for reading!! ♡♡♡ Also, i didn't include Mosh because it seems like he can't be outside without Mateo, or without being like, held by someone? AND YOU ARE NOT COOKING ONE HANDED, FIRE HAZARD!!!

Drunk Shakespeare

Summary: It’s Summer 1925 in the Little Lady Blinderverse. Isiah and Clara decide to end their work day early to escape the heat of the betting shop, but find the heat in the air between them is harder to escape than they thought.

Characters: Clara Shelby x Isiah Jesus, Finn Shelby pops in for a moment.

Prompt: Almost caught

Content Warnings: Just vibes and a little kissing.

Tell me what y'all think! Reviews and comments are always appreciated. 😌❤️

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

Peaky Blinders (Non-Shelby!Sister) Masterlist

Clara watched the long hand of her brother's old pocket watch as it moved around the clock face, the quiet ticks and tocks seeming to mock her as they seemed to slow and delay in her mind.

After what had seemed like an eternity squashed into a mere morning and early afternoon, she was basically caught up on the books. Or at least, if she wasn't precisely caught up, Clara wasn't feeling particularly motivated to keep working on them. Not that she'd been doing anything that could really be considered ‘work’ for the last hour and a half.

Shoving the pocketwatch away, she glanced at Isiah. He was across the room in Finn’s office, twirling a pencil in his fingers. Clara wasn't sure what he was meant to be ‘working’ on in her brother's office, but she assumed pencil twirling wasn't it. 

It had been a slow afternoon. No one had been keen on laying bets or working, so the shop had emptied early. Everyone had finished up their day's work and gone home.

In this heat, Clara didn't blame them. Despite the mound of work she had to complete for her brother, she didn't want to be here either.

Clara had already shed her sweater. She couldn't respectably lose any more layers or she'd be left in just her slip, but she longed for it. She longed for a breeze or dip in one of the ponds on the grounds of Arrow House. She longed for a chunk of ice from the ice box in the kitchen. She longed for the end of this Friday afternoon, the end to this stale, sticky existence.

Clara pushed herself back from the desk—Tommy's desk, though he never used it anymore. The chair was more hers than his these days. Tommy had once said it could be Clara’s one day—the boss's chair—but even though it was her who sat in it more than him, Clara wasn't the boss. Today, she felt no better than any other working person staring at the clock and waiting for the end of their shift. It seemed that was all she’d done all day.

She'd have to come back and finish what she hadn’t accomplished before the end of the month—over the weekend or early before she was due at the Jamaica Row office on Monday morning. It wasn't smart putting it off, but Clara didn't care. The heat had zapped any sense of caring from her system, leeching all of the diligent conscientiousness she was known for straight out of her. 

"What are the odds we get caught out if we lock up early?” 

Isiah's foot fell off the desk and slammed against the floor, Clara's sudden presence in the room startling him more than it should have considering a wall of windows lined the office and he’d faced that way, his glossy gaze set out toward the empty shop she crossed over on her way to get to him.

"Christ, Clara—Trying to stop my fucking heart, eh?"

Clara sighed, rolling her eyes at Isiah’s dramatics out of nothing more than habit. The whole bit was familiar. He usually would have wrapped her head in an arm, ruffling her hair as retribution, but today he barely moved, barely even allowed the muscles of his mouth to pull into a smirk. 

Clara was glad for it because if Isiah laid a hand on her, Clara thought she might scream. The idea of him coming anywhere near her in this heat, of his warm hand in her already frizzy hair…she felt warmer just thinking about it.

"The only thing I'm trying to do is stop working."

"You're finished?”

Clara shrugged. She didn't have it in her to lie, but she didn’t quite want to admit she’d been doing close to nothing all day either. "Are you?'

"I've been done for hours." 

"What are you sitting in here for, then?"

She could see that she wasn't the only warm one. Isiah had rolled his shirt sleeves. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he looked at her with a raised eyebrow. She couldn't imagine why he'd choose to sit here when he could be anywhere else.

Isiah raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?" 

"Fucking hell. You’re babysitting. Tommy's such a—" 

“Finn," Isiah interrupted.

"What?"

"It was Finn’s idea. Said 'I've got a meeting across town. Keep an eye on her.’ Not Tom."

Clara hummed, filing that annoying development away to complain about later. For today it was an order from Finn’s mouth, but before Finn, it had been John, and before that, she knew the order had originated with Tommy and Arthur. Tommy, who Isiah no routinely called 'Tom' and defended, as if they were friends. On the same side of things. Clara let the thought go, too hot for the annoyance that came with thinking too hard on her brothers.

"Where'd Finn go, anyway?'

"Meeting across town," Isiah answered, repeating the words with a smirk. 

Clara breathed deeply, stifling the urge to hit him. She could imagine herself doing it, the satisfaction of her open palm—all clammy and swollen with the heavy moisture of the air—smacking against Isiah’s stupid, sweaty forehead. 

“I just said.” Isiah added, stupid grin still on his face. “The heat getting to you, there, Miss Shelby?” 

It was hotter in Finn's office than it was in Tommy's. There were no windows to the outside here, no airflow. Clara pulled at her dress, the fabric sticking to her collarbone as she tried to catch some relief.

“I meant who’s he with?” 

Isiah shrugged. “Afraid that's above my pay grade. Can’t be asking after the boss’s whereabouts now, can I, love?” 

Clara rolled her eyes. Finn wasn’t any sort of boss, not really, even if he was acting like it lately. And the amount of things that fell above Isiah's pay grade had dwindled over the last few years. She was nearly certain Isiah knew exactly who Finn was meeting with and what it was about, but she let it go, figuring that if it was important or relevant to her, he'd have just told her. The fact that he was playing with her told her it wasn't either of those things.

“Fine. Tell me, love, does the 'boss' have anything good in that drawer there?” Clara nodded toward the desk and Isiah shook his head, chuckling. 

“What are you shaking your head for? What’s he going to do?” she asked. “Fire us for borrowing his whiskey and skiving off?” 

“Tom—”

“I don’t care what Tommy or Arthur or John or Finn has said. It’s hot and there’s no reason for us to be cooped up here. I’ll take my chances with the lot of them.” Clara reached down, pulling out the bottle of whiskey. She opened it and took a slug before she handed the bottle to Isiah. After he drank, Clara held a hand out to him. 

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the hand they both knew was clammy and damp with sweat. Clara ran her hand down the side of her dress before presenting it again. 

Isiah rolled his eyes as he slipped his hand into hers and Clara groaned, dropping his slicked hand in an instant. Isiah smirked as he ran his hand down the side of her skirts same as Clara had just done. No other man would’ve dared to slide his hand down Clara Shelby’s side like that, but this was Isiah and they were alone in the shop—no prying eyes to watch over them for a change.

“You’re insufferable.”

Isiah chuckled. “You’ve said so plenty enough.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Well, between you and me, it’s mutual.”

Clara yanked his hand then, pulling him out of the chair and to his feet. Isiah stumbled for her benefit. 

“You’re testy today.”

“I’m hot,” Clara answered, walking towards the staircase. She tugged Isiah along up the first few steps, her arm straining as Isiah stopped on the third step from the bottom.

“And we’re going to the second floor to cool off?” 

Clara took a deep breath before stopping and turning back to Isiah. 

“We’re all locked up?”

Isiah nodded. He'd gone around to check all of the doors after Finn headed out. “Have been for hours.” 

“Good, now shut up and do what you're told.” 

Isiah snorted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Clara smirked at that. At least someone respected her. Even if it was just Isiah, and even if he was only playing, the telltale smile tugging at his lips, a bit of glee right there dancing in his eyes. Because even with those things present, Clara knew some part of it was genuine. Isiah respected her more than most people in her life. Believed in her more than most, too. And he had always offered up a bit of his power in the context of their relationship, allowing her to win on most things. 

Not every single thing, but most. 

Enough of the time that Clara knew when he was doing it. 

As they moved up the stairs, the heat wrapped around them like a blanket. Someone had shut all of the windows, the air up there even more stale than it had been down in the shop. 

Clara had a moment of doubt while the stifling heat grew, smothering them both and challenging Clara's breathing. Sweat collected on her back and chest under her clothes. She cursed in her head that maybe Isiah was right. Maybe there was no relief to be found on this Friday afternoon, not unless she wanted to give in and head out to her brother's house. 

But Clara didn’t want to. If she did, Tommy would have questions about the books and whether or not she’d caught up yet. She didn’t have it in her to try to lie to him. If she was being honest, she didn’t have it in her for much of anything except simply being. 

Walking the stairs of her childhood home with Isiah’s hand growing sweaty in hers, Clara was reminded of simpler days. Of times when she’d been just allowed to be. Even then, she’d been an anxious child. Overwhelmed and feeling like she was pulled in a million different ways, but looking back on it now, Clara was nostalgic for a certain freedom inherent to childhood. A certain freedom that came with not fully understanding the actions and motivations of the adults surrounding her. 

She had always sought to understand, had always wanted to be a part of things, and now that she was—now that she and Isiah both were thoroughly integrated parts of the things they’d once begged to be included in—Clara would give anything for the two of them to go back to before. 

To be reading together from a book, or pretending to be Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. To be just two kids in their own little bubble, just the two of them against the world. It was a lovely thought, accompanied by a lovely feeling of nostalgia and as they stepped onto the second floor—just the two of them there within the walls of number 6 Watery Lane—Clara thought maybe it could still be the case.

The times were less frequent these days, but there were still moments when Clara would catch Isiah's gaze across the room, the two of them immediately caught up in some secret conversation that no one else even knew was taking place. 

And sometimes, the two of them would dance, and as Isiah spun Clara around, she could’ve sworn there was no one else in the world. On those occasions, it was as if the music played of its own accord, no one needed to pull the strings or croon the melodies, the two of them feeling anonymous and alone even though they were surrounded by other couples. 

“Come on, Siah,” Clara said as she tugged Isiah’s hand, some part of her certain that she could reach out and grasp that feeling, as if it was something she could trap and hold onto, keeping it close to her heart. 

Isiah smiled at Clara’s impatience, his body so near to hers that he could feel the heat radiating off her back, a warmth separate from that of the air around them, almost pulsing between them. 

Clara dropped his hand as she stepped into her bedroom, still neat and tidy and kept as if the 12-year-old girl she once was still lived there. As she moved toward the window, Clara pressed the whiskey bottle into Isiah’s hand, not bothering to look back to confirm it was within his grasp before she let go. 

Isiah leaned against her dresser, watching as she struggled with the window, the wooden frame stiff and swollen and thoroughly stuck from the heat and years of disuse. 

As he watched, Isiah wondered...when was the last time Clara Shelby had climbed out through her bedroom window? When was the last time Isiah Jesus had climbed out with her? 

Neither of them could remember, and it seemed like the room had forgotten as well, the window remaining belligerently shut even as Clara dug in her heels and leveraged all of her strength in trying to raise the pane, a new layer of sweat gleaming at her hairline as she struggled. 

“Alright,” Isiah started as he eased off the dresser, the whiskey bottle set aside. “Let me—”

“No!” Clara answered, her voice booming with the strength of her struggle as she kicked a leg out in Isiah’s general direction to keep him back. “I’ll get it. You choose a book.”

Clara sent her foot out again, this time directing it toward the other side of the room, and Isiah turned to follow the direction of her kick, straight to the chair beside her bed where a stack of books sat piled dangerously high. 

The pile was a mix of old and new, a selection of books from her childhood and few of her more recent favorites interspersed with a few of the books Isiah remembered as coming from Tommy’s shelf. Those books had once been forbidden to Clara, but Isiah supposed they were far beyond forbidden books at this stage. And Tommy Shelby had far bigger concerns than what types of books his sister was reading. 

Isiah fished a book out of the pile before returning his attention to Clara. He was about to sit down on her bed to watch the show of her struggle when the window flew open, the sudden movement accompanied by a rush of air and a celebratory shout from Clara. 

“I told you I would get it,” she said, wiping the sweat from her brow as she turned to him.

Isiah rolled his eyes fondly and crossed the room to grab the whiskey, a swallowed comment on the tip of his tongue because even though Isiah and Clara usually passed quips back and forth, he was more interested in getting out on the roof, more interested in the reprieve of fresh air. Isiah pressed the book and bottle into Clara's hands before swinging himself out through the window. 

Isiah was through in a small span of seconds, but it was certainly a more difficult maneuver than he remembered now that his body was all long limbs and the window seemed infinitely smaller than it once was. 

Reaching back through the frame, he took the book and the bottle Clara handed off. Isiah set them both aside before holding his hand out back through the open window.

“I can—”

“Just let me help, won’t you?” Isiah interrupted. He wiped his hand down the front of his pants before holding it out again. “Gotta fight me about everything.” 

“I’m not—” Clara grasped his hand, allowing Isiah to tug her through, and letting go once she was steady on her feet. “—fighting. I just—”

“Can do it yourself,” Isiah answered. “I know. Doesn’t mean you should always have to.” 

Clara huffed even though a part of her appreciated the sentiment. She tried to be independent. She tried to do everything for herself. She tried to prove how smart and strong and capable she was to just about everyone, but she didn’t have to prove any of that to Isiah. 

Clara unbuttoned the top of her dress, gently fanning herself with the loose fabric as she looked over the courtyard. She took a deep breath, grateful for the grey and cloudy Birmingham skies that shielded them from the heady rays of sun she usually craved.

The roof outside of her bedroom wasn’t exactly the reprieve she had imagined, but it was marginally better than the dense staleness of the shop and her bedroom. 

“Romeo and Juliet?” Clara asked as she lowered herself to the roof and reached for the book. “Really, Isiah?” 

While Clara enjoyed her Shakespeare, the play hadn’t exactly been her favorite, and her memories of the piece were tainted by the fact that she’d first read it at school, with Juliet’s role going to a girl she wasn’t particularly fond of. Clara would’ve preferred to revisit Sherlock Holmes or one of Tommy’s old books. 

Isiah shrugged and sat down beside her, reaching for the bottle. “Reminded me of when you tried stepping out with that Italian kid.” 

He said it as if he didn’t remember the name of the ‘Italian kid.' As if it had been nothing but a blip. As if her social connections hadn’t gotten her into nothing but trouble that year and been the source of arguments between her and her family, and her and Isiah.

Clara shoved Isiah’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t stepping out with anyone.”

It had been a friendship. Maybe with a hint of a crush, but there had been no stepping out. Nothing close. Her brothers' reputation had seen to that.

“And anyway, it’s more like when you were stepping out with that Cheapie girl.” 

Isiah raised an eyebrow. “What are you on about?” 

“Ruth,” Clara answered. “Practically Wally Bartow in a dress.” 

He snorted. “It was one dance, Clara. Didn’t even know her name. Had no clue she was a Bartow.”

Clara shrugged. “You looked awfully cozy if I remember properly.” 

“Well, that’s just how I dance, love.” Isiah winked at her before taking a swig from the bottle. “You know that better than anyone.

“And I'm sorry to inform you, but if either of us is destined to have a love life like these two—” Isiah nodded towards the book. “—it’s you. No matter who you end up with, it’ll be like Montagues and Capulets. Shelbys against whatever poor sap you choose.” 

Isiah knocked her shoulder, the touch telling her it was only a joke. Clara stayed leaning against him as long as she could manage in the heat before prying the bottle from his fingers to take a sip.

“Ada says us Shelby girls are cursed that way.” 

Isiah reached for the book, thumbing through the pages rather than answering. He had an idea about that particular curse. He had been old enough to remember how Ada’s marriage had been handled, and even if he hadn’t been, Isiah knew how Clara was being managed. 

How they both had been managed for years now. 

Isiah reached out for the bottle, taking another swig before he started reading.

“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene…”

They passed a few hours reading and talking and sipping from the bottle, the pair moving on to gentle conversation interspersed with quotes from Shakespeare’s catalog once the pages became too difficult to read in the dimming light. Lost in the throes of conversation, easy laughter and the cooling night breeze, Isiah and Clara were suspended in what felt like a world that was just their own, their sense of time and place and awareness pushed aside.

Clara was giggling at some obscure quote Isiah had pulled seemingly out of nowhere when Isiah sensed suddenly that the world was no longer theirs alone, his attention gone to the far end of the shared courtyard, a familiar chorus of boisterous laughter reaching his ear from across the space. 

Isiah was faintly aware of Clara naming the play he’d quoted before she shared her next quote, a gentle laughter lacing her words as she spoke, but the awareness of his heart pounding against his chest was stronger, a sudden urge to quiet her—to shield their presence there on the roof—taking over.

Overcome with that urge, Isiah could’ve shushed her or set his hand over her mouth to stifle the words.

Or he could've taken a breath and calmed himself and simply let her finish. 

It wasn't as if they were doing anything wrong. There was no reason to hide.

Isiah could have let Clara tell him, ‘I do desire we may be better strangers,’ before dissolving into giggles. He could’ve then told her the quote was from ‘As You Like It,’ a quote which he was intimately familiar with because Clara had directed it at him and Finn a number of times before, sometimes in jest, sometimes because she wished to hurt them. 

No one would question Isiah and Clara being out on the roof with a book and a bottle of whiskey, least of all Finn. People were plenty used to their antics, but something felt different tonight so Isiah only let Clara get half a sentence out before he placed his hand at the back of her head, drawing her in close and pressing his lips to hers in the dark, catching her words and quieting her so efficiently that it was nearly silent on the roof as Finn and the junior Peaky Boys passed over the back threshold of no. 6. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but Isiah felt Clara’s whole body relax within his touch. She leaned into the hand he cradled behind her head, allowing him to deepen the kiss he hadn’t intended on giving in the first place, her hands reaching out for him, her fingernails grazing his scalp in a way that sent shivers down his spine. 

Isiah pulled away, but even so, for a moment, he forgot where he was. He forgot why he’d kissed her, or at least he’d forgotten whatever justification he’d initially provided himself for pressing his lips to hers. He forgot about Finn and the boys. He forgot about Shakespeare and feuds and consequences. With his warm hand still on the back of Clara’s sweaty neck, barely able to see the details of her now flushed face, it was once again just the two of them there in the world. 

With their faces still so close that Clara could feel Isiah’s warm whiskey-tinged breath on her face, her eyes shifted to his lips. She couldn’t remember what they were talking about before. She didn’t know why he’d kissed her. She had heard the back door slam, some part of her aware of her twin's proximity, an awareness Aunt Polly had always tol her was part of her gifts, but as Clara pulled Isiah's lips back to hers, she found she didn’t care to remember there was more to the world than the two of them and this. 

She didn’t want to question it, and yet, Clara was first to pull away this time, her ears far more sensitive to the familiar sound of someone turning the handle of her childhood bedroom’s door than Isiah was. With a sudden swiftness, she removed herself from Isiah’s hold and pushed him back against the roof as she extended her hand up to the sky. 

“There you are,” Finn said, sticking his head out the open window to see what Clara was pointing at. "What are the two of you out here for?"

Clara tilted her head back to her brother. “Constellations and Shakespeare. Would you like to join us?” she asked, the words feeling odd to her as they passed through her swollen lips.

“No,” Finn snorted. “It's payday. We’re heading to the Garrison, and then maybe to a few other—” 

“No, thank you. I'm staying here,” Clara answered, even though it wasn’t exactly an invite Finn had extended, but more of a declaration. An order.

A flash of something passed over Finn’s face. Clara could barely see it in the dark, but she figured it was a bit of annoyance, maybe, or a touch of shock at being refused. It seemed like more and more, Finn was coming to expect the same sort of compliance from Clara that the others did, forgetting that it was mere minutes that separated their births rather than years.

“It’s too hot, Finn,” Clara added, her tone a bit softer. “I have no desire to be holed up in the snug, squashed between you lot.”

“Alright, then. Isiah?” Finn tried.

“She’s got a point, mate.” 

Clara heard someone shouting from the floor below, the details muffled by the shut door, but Finn seemed to recognize their meaning well enough. 

"Are you sure?" Clara sensed the question was for Isiah even though they could barely see each other's faces in the growing dark. "Drinks are on Shelby Company Ltd. tonight," Finn added, as if Isiah's drinks weren't usually on the house, anyway.

"It's alright. You go ahead with the boys," Isiah offered. "I'll keep an eye on Clara."

Clara's elbow twitched, the desire to ram it into Isiah's ribcage surging as she caught the hint of a smirk on Isiah's face, but Clara stopped herself knowing that it had been the right thing to say.

Finn nodded his understanding in the dark, his attention pulled to the stairs once again by a sudden noise.

"Don't fall asleep out there, Clara."

Clara heaved a breath to stop herself from telling him he had no business telling her where she could or couldn't fall asleep, but Isiah beat her to it, telling Finn he would handle it.

No matter that Finn would likely be the one who needed assistance finding his bed before the night was through...

"Have a good night," Finn said as he stepped away from the window, leaving Isiah and Clara alone. They leaned back against the roof, the two of them staring at the sky in silence as they listened to the sounds of Finn and the boys heading out through the back door, their shouting and laughter echoing as they traversed the shared courtyard. 

When the echoes died away, Clara stretched out her fingers, seeking the familiar roughness of Isiah’s palm. 

“That was bad,” Isiah said, his fingers closing around hers. “Close...we almost got caught.”  

Clara heaved a breath before turning to face him. “There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” 

Isiah snorted. He glanced briefly to his right to meet Clara's gaze in the dark before tipping his head back to the sky.

"Hamlet," Isiah answered softly, squeezing her hand gently before releasing her fingers.

They had been through this time and time again, the two of them dancing around the label of what they were. Friends. Best friends. Something more. They had settled on friends as far as most of the world was concerned, but that didn’t mean the lines weren’t still blurry at times, their belligerent feelings tangled and confused and persistent. For years now, they had maintained a mostly unspoken agreement that they’d keep anything beyond friendship hidden—from themselves, from one another, from everyone else. 

Most especially from everyone else. 

They'd learned early on that it wasn't worth the strife. It wasn't worth the fight. Any resistance had been squashed down time and again. Somehow, this felt easier. Less painful.

If it was up to the two of them, perhaps things would be different. Perhaps they’d have tried at love and failed, and moved on by now. Or perhaps they would have tried and it would have been easy. Smooth.

Perhaps there would be no confusion or jealousy or hiding. No dismissing their closeness as nothing more than echo of a childhood friendship, no stinging comments on who the other had stepped out with—the slights used both as a weapon and a protection to guard their tender hearts. 

But as it was, Clara and Isiah had never been given a proper chance at something more. A boundary had been set for them at the outset, a series of orders they’d both been too young to fight at the time. They’d been at the mercy of the powers that be, and even though they were older now, they were still at the mercy of that power.

Or maybe they still danced around the boundary because it felt easier, somehow safer for them both to keep that prescribed distance between them. 

“Perhaps I am destined for tragedy, Isiah.” Clara mused. “Or simply to be alone. Unloved for eternity.” 

“You’re not alone, love.” Isiah reached for the hand he’d dropped only moments before. “I’m right here.” 

“And you know I love you," he added as Clara curled toward him, resting her head against his chest. 

Clara sighed and nodded. 

“I love you, too,” she added, and Isiah’s chest fell with the breath he’d been holding. 

“Can we not just pretend that’s enough?” Clara asked. “Just for tonight?”

They were dangerous questions and Clara asked them without turning to observe Isiah’s face. She could feel the tenseness of his body beneath her, the fear her questions provoked.

“Like it’s just us in the world and no one else?” she tried, a question and a wish because the house was empty and the roof was dark and it was unlikely they’d be caught. 

Isiah feared that a little, but more than he feared getting caught—for they’d successfully explained away so much over the years and he had no doubt they could manage it again—Isiah feared the two of them getting caught up in things. He feared getting caught up in the true feelings between them, the ones they’d so carefully worked to keep a hold on all of these years, a carefully manicured relationship that allowed them to be close, but not so close that they fell over the edge. 

For even though Isiah dated other girls, and even though Clara insisted that Isiah Jesus was just a friend, they both knew there was something more between them. A magnetic pull, something in their hearts that they both knew to be true love. 

In the moments when the two of them could be honest with each other, when the rest of the world fell away...on nights like tonight, it wasn’t especially unusual for their lips to meet. It wasn’t unusual for Clara’s hopelessly romantic naïveté to make a showing. For some part of her to feel that it could be easy. That it could work.

And it wasn’t unusual for Isiah to agree. For every part of him to want the very thing they spent the bulk of their days denying and shutting down.

They were both craving it now though, both barely able to remember why they ever did hold back. It was just the two of them there on the roof beneath a blanket of smog-covered stars, both of them still hazy around the edges due to the whiskey and the heat and the memory of their kiss, the memory of his hands on the back of her neck. 

Those things made it easy to hope. They made it easy to forget.

Because if they were surrounded by friends at the Garrison or out at Arrow House or under the watchful eye of a Blinder, Clara and Isiah wouldn’t even entertain the thought that they could be more than friends. Under those circumstances, they’d be easily convinced that regardless of the feelings between them, it was much too complicated, much too difficult. 

“Maybe we should just run away. Find a place in the world where there are stars in the sky and no Shelbys.”

Isiah snorted. “Not even you?”

“Well, just me,” Clara amended. “Just me and you and no one else we've ever met. It could be easy.”  

“Maybe,” Isiah hummed, his hand tilting Clara’s face up to his as he spoke. “but the course of true love never did run smooth, Clara Shelby” 

“A Midsummer Night’s—” Clara started, only for the rest of the play’s title to be caught up by Isiah’s lips. 

They both knew it wasn’t a good idea, dabbling in love when neither was ready to commit to the war it would be. Neither was quite ready for the consequences of them moving beyond friendship, moving against her family’s wishes and decrees, but they let it happen anyway, some piece of their hearts holding on to the hope that someday they wouldn’t be hiding on a rooftop, stealing hungry kisses in the dark.

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

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A/n-  Most recent one shots are at the top, happy reading! :)

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