Hiii , how about a fic with Oscar or Max (your choice) where reader is a driver for either Redbull, Mercedes or Ferrari and she wins her first championship, they lit it slip that they are together afterwards and it becomes kind of a thing? Idk just an idea do what u want with it!or not lol I would just read anything with a driver reader lol
yoooo!!!! first attempt at some smaus as well just for fun. what a way to start of the new year xx
this is my first full year of posting fics, from january to december. here are my stats:
i have posted 54 fics in total
i have gained 327 followers, from 276 last year to 603 this year (insane!)
i have also posted two fanfics on wattpad, one that spans over 80k words and is still ongoing.
i'm very appreciative of everyone who stuck by me this year. starting university and moving away from home for the first time has been a journey and i'm so grateful that even when i'm not posting fics, i still have engagement and support when i return xx
my five favourite fics from this year, in order:
big wolf, little puppy (guard!au) series - nikolai lantsov x reader
forbidden is just a word series - benedict bridgerton x male!reader
change the dream series - feyd-rautha harkonnen x reader
stained flagstones - leto atreides x reader
a different version - seth clearwater x reader
a huge thank you to everyone who has sent in requests this year, and feel free to send in some more, i've got the remaining requested fics lined up to post in the next couple days!
no fic this week? you just usually post on a friday... not to pressure you or anything but noticed a glaring absence of you on my dash 🥰🥰
awwwww
I've been celebrating a friend's 18th with a concert and full on party so haven't written anything for a couple days. There's a couple of requests I'm working on rn that might be posted out of schedule pretty soon to make up for missing friday xx
summary: you only mean to escape for a moment before dawn, but as the dawn rises on you, being caught could be the best thing that’s happened in a while || warnings: arguing, being stressed, worry, anxiety || word count: 2078 || masterlist
taglist: @eywas-heir
It was just a ride out into the night. It calmed you like nothing else, the sound of pure nature while the rest of the world slept. When the air was whistling past your ears and the ground flying under you, it felt like you could do anything. There was no expectation upon you, no society watching your every move. There was only the sounds of birds as they woke and the gentle glow of a soon-to-be rising sun.
Only on this morning, when you'd returned your horse to its stable and creeped back inside, the house wasn't entirely asleep.
"Where have you been?" Your eldest brother, still in his night shirt, is staring at you from the upstairs balcony. His voice is hushed but it carries.
You can't hope that he doesn't notice your riding attire, of the mud brushed across the bottom of your hem, or the fact that you're holding your riding boots behind you. "Just went for a stroll, in the garden..."
"That's rather a lot of mud for the garden." He had seen through her lie in an instant. "My study, now."
You walk to his study, frustration leaching into your steps. There will be no escaping this lecture. You don’t meet Anthony’s eyes as you take your seat opposite him, keeping your eyes on his desk.
“Do you realise how irresponsible you are?” Anthony began, “What is something happened to you?”
He’s pacing, too wound up to sit but also fighting off the exhaustion of early morning. His hands are on his hips, then running through his hair, then one resting on the desk as the other points at you.
“You disppear before dawn even breaks, no note, no escort.” His voice isn;t raised, just worried and that’s worse. “I wake up and you’re just coming home, what if everyone else woke up and you were gone?”
There’s no right way to respond to this so you just stay silent. The weight of Anthony’s disapproval settles heavily around the room.
“Look at me.”
You finally glance up, seeing the heavy set exhaustion in his eyes.
“I know this family can be a lot but we worry about you. You are not alone in this family. And you are not-“
“Sometimes I need space Anthony.” You interrupt him, your voice sharp as you have to force the words out. “Sometimes I just need to get away from everything and when I’m out riding, there’s nothing and no one there to tell me what I can do. Is that so difficult to understand?”
Anthony was back to combing through his hair, pulling at the strands. “You could’ve gotten hurt, or worse. What would I have to say to Mother?”
“I’m not a child.”
“You’re acting like it.” He pressed. “Adults talk to each other about their feelings, they sort it out logically, not by avoiding everything.”
The silence carries across the room as your eyes fall back to the desk, tears springing. You hadn’t thought what would happen if something went wrong, you just needed to get away for a brief moment. But then there’s a burning embarrassment that threatens to redden your cheeks and reveal itself.
“Are you angry about me going out riding?” You ask carefully, meeting his gaze. “Or are you angry because you didn’t notice?”
His jaw tightens. “Now that’s unfair. If you weren’t being a child before-“
“But it’s true. It’s something you’re not in control of.” Your voice is steady, calm.
Anthony’s hands fall to his sides. His voice, when he finally speaks, is soft. Tired. “You think I enjoy this? Being the one who always worries. Who’s always bracing for something to go wrong?”
“No,” you say, gentler now. “But you don’t get to be angry at me for needing a moment of peace when you give us no room to breathe.”
You both stand there for a moment, two sides of the same coin. Finally, Anthony sighs. “You could’ve told me.”
“I will next time.”
Anthony resigns and nods slowly. It’s a truce, but not quite a full solution. As he watches you leave, he knows there’s only one person who will fully make you see the sense he’s trying to impose: your mother.
Later that afternoon, you join Violet in the drawing room, her stitching lying limp in her lap. She seems very distracted when you walk in but as she meets your gaze, with measured calmness and knowing, you know she knows.
“Come sit.” She pats the seat beside her and your heart skips a beat, it’s not really a request.
She doesn’t speak right away, watching the sun bask the plants outside the window in golden rays.
“You went out riding this morning.” She slowly said, voice soft. “Not for the first time?”
You sigh, “Anthony told you? Of course he did.”
She reaches a hand to your arm. “He was worried about you.”
“He’s overreacting.” You mutter. “I’ll tell him the next time I go out…”
Violet turns to you then, her gaze sharper than her tone. “Was he? Or is that what you tell yourself so you don’t have to think about why you needed to ride out alone in the first place?”
You blink, caught off guard by the quiet precision of her words.
“I’m not angry,” she continues, voice dropping even lower. “But I am… concerned. You don’t slip away like that unless something is aching inside you.”
Your eyes fall down to your twisting hands, a movement getting all too familiar. “I just needed a bit of peace, a but of quiet. Somewhere I don’t have to justify my every action or have every action be watched.”
Violet reaches over and takes your hand, warm and light. “You are part of a very large, very loud family, my darling. I understand the need for solitude. I understand it more than you know.” Her thumb brushes over your knuckles. “But when your father died, all of you became my heartbeat. Every single one. And I dread the day one of those disappears.”
“I’m not trying to frighten anyone.” Your reply, shrinking in your seat.
“I know,” she reassures. “You do not need to earn your space in this family by being perfect. Or helpful. Or quiet. You already belong.”
That’s what finally cracks something in your chest. Not a sob. Just a small exhale, shaky at the edges.
Violet kisses your temple and pulls you in, just enough, not too tight. “Next time, maybe take someone with you? You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to ride side by side but just to have someone there to make sure you come home?”
Your eyes fall nod into her shoulder. “I will Mama, I promise.”
You find Eloise sitting cross-legged on the library floor, surrounded by a chaotic sprawl of books she probably pulled off the shelves five minutes ago and hasn’t actually opened.
She doesn’t look up as you enter. Just flips a page in the book resting on her knee and says, coolly,“So. You’ve joined the club.”
You blink. “What club?”
“The ‘I Can’t Breathe In This House So I Fled Into the Night’ club,” she says, waving a hand dramatically. “Membership: me. Formerly just me.”
You sigh and move to sit in the armchair across from her. “You heard.”
“I have ears. And a very loud brother. And a mother who made tea like someone had died.”
You chuckle despite yourself, and Eloise finally glances up, narrowing her eyes. “So what was it? Crushing weight of societal expectation? Anthony being Anthony? Existential dread?”
“All of the above.”
She hums. “Fair.”
You know, when I used to sneak out, it was different,” she says. “Everyone expected it. I’m the difficult one, the odd one. But you're the dependable one. So no one ever thinks to ask if you’re suffocating.”
You glance at her, startled by how close she’s come to the truth.
“I hated it, when I realized that,” Eloise says. “That you were disappearing in plain sight and no one noticed. Not even me.”
“It’s not your job to notice,” you say quietly.
“Maybe not. But you notice me. Every time. Every mess I make. Every letter I’m afraid to send. Every stupid little spiral I think I’m hiding well.” She pauses. “You’ve always been… safe. And I hate that we’ve made that your job.”
You open your mouth probably to deny it, or joke, or shrug it off but she cuts you off with a look.
“Don’t,” she says, sharper now. “Don’t do that. Don’t make this easier for me.”
You sit back, stunned into silence.
Then she adds, “I think we all forget that you're a person. Not just… the glue.”
You blink fast. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I didn’t either,” she admits. “But if you’re not there one morning-“
“Thanks for the guilt Eloise, gosh.”
A long pause stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.
Finally, she clears her throat. “So. Next time you’re planning a midnight gallop of self-preservation… can I come?”
You blink. “You want to ride at dawn?”
“I’ll bring biscuits. You bring the existential despair.”
You laugh, and it feels like breathing again.
“Deal.”
It’s the next day when Benedict finds out, sitting in the drawing room, staring out the window at some half-dead grass. The book resting in your lap hasn’t been touched in half an hour.
Benedict doesn’t announce himself. He just walks in, calm and quiet, holding a small wooden case in one hand and a rolled-up piece of linen canvas in the other.
He stops beside you. “You look bored.”
You glance up at him, arching an eyebrow. “That’s a bold accusation.”
“It’s not an accusation,” he says easily, settling beside you on the bench. “It’s an observation. And I’d like to help.”
You eye the items in his hands. “Unless that’s a bottle of gin, I’m not sure how.”
He smirks. “Better. Paint.”
You blink. “You want me to paint?”
“No,” he says, then reconsiders. “Yes. But not in a ‘you must express your inner turmoil’ sort of way. Just… I thought you might want to try something different. Something no one else in this house expects from you.”
“Oh great, did Eloise tell you about our ‘inner turmoil’ talk? Can nothing stay a secret in this family?”
He grins. “No.”
You hesitate to even reach for his supplies. “I’ve never really painted before.”
“Even better,” he grins. “No pressure to be brilliant. Just messy.”
“You think it’ll help?”
He glances over, offering a softer smile now. “It’s not about skill. It’s about the space it gives me to be… unpolished. I thought maybe you could use a little of that too. Besides, if you get paint on the table and cry a little while pretending it’s about colour theory, no one will question you. Which is more than I can say for disappearing on horseback at dawn.”
You make a single streak across the canvas. It’s too dark, a little uneven. But something about it feels good. Tangible. Benedict doesn’t say anything more. He just picks up his own brush, and paints beside you, quiet and content, without expectation.
It’s late. The kind of late where the house has stilled, the hearths are dying down, and even the night has softened into hush. You’re still there, brush in hand, stained with colour.
Benedict’s gone to bed, but he left the supplies—didn’t pack them away, didn’t ask for the space back. He knew you’d return. The canvas in front of you is no longer blank.
It’s not a masterpiece. The colours clash in places. A few brushstrokes are too heavy, others too light. But it’s yours. And for once, it doesn’t matter what it looks like. It matters that it exists. There’s a smudge of green on your wrist. A streak of ochre under your thumbnail.
You stare at the painting—this strange, chaotic thing—and feel something unfamiliar settle in your chest.
Not peace. Not quite. But… stillness. And that’s new.
Painting might not be the god given solace that Benedict believes it is, but it could be the gateway to finding what yours will be.
Silence. Just the rustle of leaves against the glass, the soft tick of the old clock.
You exhale.
And then, without overthinking, you dip your brush into a warm shade of gold and drag your paintbrush across the canvas, adding to the chaos once more.
Hi! I have a request. Can you please write something Leto Atreides x reader casual and intimate in their bed chambers. It's their early years of marriage, Paul is not born yet. They are trying to get used to each other.
