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theemporium · 11 months ago

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[13.2k] the chalet was your home away from home in the festive season. but this year it may become the place you fall in love with the last person you expected. ft my very limited knowledge on how skiing works. (very lazy smut included)

Your family had always gone to The Chalet with the Montgomery’s for as long as you could remember.

One spontaneous ski trip decades ago led your parents to start a tradition that would last through the generations. Every year, both families would fly out to the mountains of France to enjoy the festive season in the homely ski resort called The Chalet. Owned and ran by an elderly couple, it was the kind of place you would see in hallmark movies, or maybe even in a snowglobe. It was a place beyond your greatest winter wonderland dreams and imagination. The Chalet didn’t feel like a real place, and that was why the getaway every Christmas made the holiday so magical.

It was your home away from home, a safe haven. It was the one place in the world where you could disappear from reality and embrace the isolation from society.

At least, that was what the three weeks in the ski resort usually felt like.

And after a year of moving away from home, starting a new job at the bottom of the food chain and dealing with more social circle drama than you ever intended to deal with, you craved nothing more than the simplicity and enjoyment The Chalet had to offer. You needed the break away from your life, a break away from the life you weren’t totally sure you had under control.

You just wanted your home away from home, and instead when the families arrived at the resort, you were met with crowds of strangers swarming the place like a colony of buzzing, irritating bees.

“What the hell?” You muttered once you had stepped out of the car, looking at the throng of people lingering outside the main entrance to the resort.

“Apparently the place is booked out,” your mother noted from somewhere behind you as they began to unpack the bags from the boot of the car. “Madame Blanchet reserved our usual rooms when she started getting more and more bookings.”

“Since when was this place overbooked?” You commented, a little blunter than intended. But it was hard to mask your surprise. A part of The Chalet’s charm was that it was a small, unknown ski resort hidden amongst the many that were established in the French Mountains. For as long as you could remember—hell, even before that—there hadn’t been more than ten or so families staying at the resort over the Christmas period.

“Maybe Madame Blanchet finally learnt how to make a website,” a voice remarked from beside you, sounding quite amused by the mass of people, which shouldn’t have really surprised you.

And just like you expected, you turned your head to find Harper Montgomery grinning widely at the crazy crowd like she was expecting it. She stood beside you with her hands on her hips, something about the bright ski suit looking so out of place, not that she acted as much. Every year, you swore The Chalet wasn’t ready for her and every year you were proven correct.

“Considering the woman still has a dial phone, I am going to doubt the sudden online advertisement,” you snorted, shaking your head.

“Maybe this will be the Christmas we make new friends,” Harper noted, her head tilted to the side and her dark eyes scanning the crowd. “I am pretty sick of Mrs Hartford beating me at scrabble.”

Your lips twitched upwards. “Maybe you should stop challenging her then.”

Harper’s eyes narrowed. “Never.”

“I still don’t get why so many people are waiting outside,” you grumbled as your eyes fell back to the crowd, noticing the way they were buzzing with some sort of excitement. “I don’t even think the lodge has enough rooms for this many people.”

Harper hummed. “Maybe—”

“OH MY GOD!”

Your eyes widened in alarm as you turned your head, seeing Evan standing a few feet away from you and Harper. The older Montgomery was gripping his phone, eyes full of adoration and awe as he grinned at his screen like a madman. He let out a high-pitched squeak, catching the attention of both families as they looked at him with varying looks of concern.

The blond finally lifted his head, oblivious to the worried looks as his grin seemingly widened. He thrusted a phone towards you and Harper, almost buzzing in his spot. “He’s here!”

Your brows furrowed together. “What?”

“He’s here!” Evan repeated, just as enthusiastic as the first time. “He is in our ski lodge! He’s here!”

You still looked equally confused. “Who?”

“His little man-crush,” Harper noted as she glanced down at his screen.

“Charles Leclerc!” Evan sighed, almost dreamily as he hugged his phone to his chest. “We are spending Christmas with Charles Leclerc!”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, pushing past the boy to grab your suitcase so you could finally go check in. “For fuck’s sake, not your little driving guy.”

“Hey,” Evan frowned. “He’s more than that.”

“I have to listen to you talk about him for nine months of the year,” you remarked, though even that felt like an understatement. “Christmas is meant to be my free time from your little obsession. We made a deal.”

Evan blanched. “That was before I knew he was here!”

“And now he’s ruining Christmas,” you grumbled bitterly, letting out a wince when you felt a pinch to your side.

“Don’t be such a grinch,” Harper teased. “Let him be a fanboy and spend his days on the slopes hunting the guy down. Don’t let it ruin your holiday.”

You snorted. “That will be hard when he is talking our ears off about Charles’ pretty green eyes or the way his hair looks after a race.”

“It’s fluffy!” Evan defended. “It’s unreal after a two hour race in a helmet!”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you patted the boy on the chest as you moved past him. “You have him all to yourself, you won’t see me complaining about it.”

Evan puffed his chest out. “You just can’t appreciate greatness.”

“Blah, blah, blah,” you waved him off. “I’m here to ski and relax. As long as this Charles guy keeps you and his little fanbase far away from me, I don’t care what he does.” There was a pause and Harper gave you a questioning look when she saw the glint in your eyes. “Even if he is overrated.”

Evan’s jaw dropped. “You did not just—”

“Last one in is a rotten egg!” You called out behind you as you grabbed Harper’s hand, dragging her towards the main entrance with you and letting your laughs echo through the reception as the boy swore up and down behind you.

…

You could have said that your resentment towards the Ferrari driver was purely based on how much Evan spoke about him during the racing season, but that would be a lie.

It had started off that way when the boy finally made it into Formula One. Evan had been a motorsport fanatic from a young age, always eager to ramble away to you and Harper on various championships and seasons neither of you particularly cared about. As you got older, you learned to become more accepting and tolerant of the fact your Sundays would always be hijacked by whatever grand prix was occurring that weekend.

However, when a young hot shot joined the sport that Evan had been following through the lower leagues, you didn’t realise just how quickly that tolerance would disappear until he was yapping your ear off after every single race.

And truthfully? You didn’t get it. You didn’t get the sport in general, you didn’t understand what made a driver good or bad, and you didn’t understand the world’s obsession with Charles Leclerc as the years passed. To you, he just seemed like a pretty boy who enjoyed the spotlight of being the face of the sport. To you, he seemed like nothing more than a show pony.

And no amount of debates and rants from Evan would change that.

You wouldn’t have gone out of your way to say you hate Charles Leclerc, but you would say you were coming pretty damn close since you arrived at The Chalet.

The Chalet was bustling from the moment you opened your eyes to the moment you fell asleep. Wherever you went, it felt like you were pushing through a crowd to get from point A to point B. And the amount of times you had fans gripping your arm as you walked past, asking you if you had seen the Monegasque driver was starting to make you want to rip your own hair out.

Yet, despite the buzz around the driver being in the lodge and the amount of fans circling the place through various hours of the day, you had yet to see the boy himself and that was something you were perfectly content with.

You had managed two blissful days before you crossed paths with Charles Leclerc.

You had been taking too long to get ready so you assured Harper and Evan you would meet them at the slopes, insisting there was no need for them to wait for you. Both Montgomery’s—stubborn as ever—scoffed and told you they would be waiting for you in the lobby instead.

You had been in a rushed state when you made your way towards the equipment valet, eager to just quickly hand your locker number over and collect your equipment. However, your path seemed to be blocked by a man standing in front of you, nose buried in his phone as he muttered in a language you didn’t quite understand.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I just—”

“Fucking hell,” the man swore, causing you to pause and frown at his back.

You were taken aback, not expecting that response or the scoff that left his lips afterwards. And when he turned around, you were even more shocked when you realised you knew exactly who the rude man was—none other than Charles Leclerc.

“Look, I appreciate that you are a devoted fan and I am grateful for the support, but I really don’t have time for pictures right now,” Charles continued and, to his credit, did look a little empathetic. Though, that didn’t take away from the underlying hostility in his words. “I am just here to enjoy my break. Please let me do so in peace.”

You blinked, absolutely flabbergasted by his assumption. “Huh?”

The smile he gave you was almost condescending. “As a fan, I am sure you��d understand that I’d want a few days just free from the media and—”

And it seemed like only then did your brain catch up with the situation.

“Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, I am not a fan,” you stated as bluntly as you could, watching the boy’s face morph into something quite like confusion. As though he genuinely couldn’t compute the fact somebody wasn’t a fan of him.

“What?”

“I was just trying to get my skis and you were standing in my way like a douche,” you said simply, watching as his brows furrowed closer together. “Which I would have felt bad for calling you before I realised who you were.”

“Who I was,” Charles repeated, still baffled as you pushed past him to do just as you said.

“Hot shot who thinks everybody who breathes near him cares about who he is,” you supplied, a sickly sweet smile on your face as you now stood before him with your skis in hand. “Have a great day, Charles Leclerc.”

And the boy didn’t get a chance to say anything as you walked away, your mood positively ruined by the time you reached Evan and Harper in the lobby. They took one look at your sour mood and raised their brows in question, but you simply grumbled and waved them off, in no mood to repeat your interaction to Charles’ biggest sympathiser.

Fortunately for the Montgomery siblings, your mood eased up by lunchtime and you were (mostly) over the whole interaction.

…

Or at least, you were over the interaction until dinner came around.

Dinner at The Chalet was like one massive family meal. With a large hall dedicated as the dining area, the Blanchet’s had set it up quite like a buffet system. There were tables of food bordering the room with tables dotted through the middle. Everyone sat on the round tables, in their little families and looking like a picture perfect scene for the final meal of the day.

So of course your final meal of the day had to be ruined by an arrogant Monegasque who grinned at you like you two were old friends.

“Ah, you! I’ve been looking for you.”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have even realised he was talking to you if it weren’t for the fact the boy had stopped right beside you, practically looming over your shoulder as you tried to help yourself to some macaroni cheese.

You raised your brows, giving the boy a once-over before returning your attention to your plate.

“Uh, hello,” Charles tried again, his brows furrowing together a little at the cold shoulder you gave him.

“Hi,” you stated simply, not wanting to spend any more moments with the Monegasque than you had to.

“I wanted to apologise for earlier,” Charles continued, seeing your response as an open invite to a conversation.

“Do you now?”

“Yeah,” Charles nodded, a smile making its way onto his face as your sarcastic tone went completely over his head. “Listen, I really didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just—this is my holiday and I had no intention of my location being leaked. I just wanted a break from everything, you know? And I guess the frustrations of being bombarded for the last few days just got to me.”

And truthfully speaking, a part of you sympathised with the boy. Though his fame reached levels you would never understand, The Chalet was your haven away from everything. It was a place where reality never seemed to touch, a place to escape. You could understand better than anyone what it was like to crave that feeling in your life.

But just as you opened your mouth to say as much, Charles seemed to remind you exactly why you disliked him in the first place.

“And I just wanted to clear things up with you before the media found out and—”

“So, you’re only apologising because you don’t want me running to journalists and ruining your image?” You interrupted, catching the boy off-guard as he gaped at you for a few seconds.

“Well, yes, it wouldn’t look good if I was harassing fans,” Charles said.

“But I’m not a fan,” you corrected him, gripping your plate in your hands. “And I certainly don’t care about shattering someone’s image for fifteen seconds of fame, no matter how much of a douche they are.”

Charles frowned. “I—”

“You can take your apology and shove it up your ass, Charles,” you said, that sickly sweet smile on your face once again as you turned around to find whichever table your family were sitting at. But a hand reached out to softly grip your elbow and you turned to find Charles looking at you with a helpless expression.

“I am sorry,” Charles said to you, something in his voice that you didn’t really understand. “But I also care about my image. Surely you can understand that.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you retorted as you tried to tug yourself free from his hold.

Charles opened his mouth to reply, but a louder voice caught the attention of both of you.

“STORMY! OVER HERE!”

You felt your face heat up as you glanced over your shoulder, finding Evan sat amongst your family and his own as he waved you down. He had a shit-eating grin on his face (most likely from the fact he used the one nickname that he knew pissed you off more than anything else in front of everyone) and looked like he was about to do more when his gaze shifted to the man beside you. His jaw dropped, a comical expression on his face as he looked between you and Charles Leclerc.

“Stormy?” Charles repeated, looking over at you.

You ignored his questioning gaze, instead narrowing your eyes at the hand still gripping your elbow. “Can you let me go now or is there more to your shitty apology?”

Charles opened his mouth once again, yet another person interrupted him before he got a chance.

“Charles? What’s taking you so long?”

Your eyes wandered to the girl who saddled up beside him, her expression light until she turned to look at you. Her gaze was calculated, her blue eyes seeming to size you up and something about the all white attire made you wonder if she was really playing into the Ice Queen vibes.

“Another fan?” She sighed, as though your presence was the biggest inconvenience to her. “Honey, he can take pictures with you after dinner—”

“That’s fine, we’re done here,” you quickly corrected, ignoring the patronising tone in her voice or the way that Charles still looked like he had more to say. “I won’t be bothering either of you anytime soon.”

You turned on your heels before either one of them had a chance to drag out the interaction any longer than it needed it to be. You weaved through the tables before making your way towards the table your family had chosen, settling yourself in the free seat beside Evan.

“That was Charles Leclerc!”

You hummed, grabbing your fork as you began to dig in. “Unfortunately so.”

“Dude, what the hell!” Evan hissed, pinching your side until you let out a small squeak and turned to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

You frowned. “I don’t.”

“You were talking to him for ages!” Evan countered.

“He was just being a dick,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “Plus, that was probably the last time I’ll ever talk to him.”

Harper snorted. “And you didn’t even get him an autograph.”

“Not that I would ask,” you prefaced before shaking your head. “But I doubt he would have given me one anyways. We…got off on the wrong foot.”

“It’s Charles Leclerc,” Evan scoffed. “There is no wrong foot.”

“Keep it in your pants, dickhead,” you teased, lightly pinching his side back in retaliation. “Even if I did get you an autograph, I would have shredded it after the Stormy stunt you just pulled.”

“But that’s your name,” Evan grinned.

“No, it’s what you called me for seven years because you couldn’t remember my name,” you retorted.

“No, he remembered,” Harper piped in, a grin on her face that scarily matched her brother’s. “But with a temper like yours, Stormy just fits so much better.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. You both suck and so does Charles Leclerc.”

“At least wait until dessert before you start insulting Evan’s boyfriend in front of him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend!”

…

You had expected that was the last time your path would ever cross with Charles Leclerc and, for the most part, it was.

A few days passed and other than some awkward shared glances in the dining hall, you hadn’t found yourself caught in a conversation with the Ferrari driver after his attempted apology and you were intending to keep it that way until the end of your trip. You were happy to continue on with your holiday, even if you swore you could feel a pair of eyes watching you sometimes.

However, it seemed like the universe was on a mission to get your hopes up before crumbling them back down again—and this time, it was in the form of another involuntary meeting with the Monegasque.

You hadn’t even noticed the boy standing a few feet away from you with a group of his friends. You were stood next to Harper, listening to her ramble away as you waited in line for the ski lift to take you to the top of the mountain. It was fairly early, most of the resort residents still enjoying their breakfast inside which meant the queue wasn’t very long. You had been eager to get out on the snow early after being one of the last in the passing days.

However, whilst you failed to notice the driver, it seemed like Harper had.

She watched the boy continuously glance over at you, like he was eager to catch your eye. She watched as he slowly shuffled closer, like he was trying to gain the confidence to jump into the conversation. She watched Charles Leclerc act like a hopeless fool, and it was somewhat endearing to witness.

And maybe—just maybe—she was in the mood for some drama that the vacation in the ski resort very rarely gave her.

You were already settled in your spot when you felt someone shuffling in the seat next to you. You felt the comfort bar come down and you turned with a smile, ready to continue your conversation with your best friend when you realised your best friend was not the person sitting next to you.

No, it was Charles Leclerc.

Your head whirled around, finding Harper standing in the queue with a grin on her face. You shot her a look, one that spoke more than a thousand words on just how you felt about her betrayal. However, the girl just laughed and waved you off as the lift began moving and it was far too late to get off.

Your attention shifted to the boy beside you again, noticing the sheepish expression on his face and you let out a sigh.

It was fine. Totally fine. The ski lift took around ten minutes to get to the top of the mountain. That was hardly anything, practically a blink of an eye if you were being honest. It would be a quick ride up, you wouldn’t even have to talk to him and you could easily ignore him by the time you made your way back down the mountain. It was all going to be so, so fine.

“So, uh, how are you this morning?”

And suddenly, even a second felt like ten years passing.

You kept your head facing forward, hoping the boy would catch the hint that you weren’t interested in small talk and would also remain silent. Though, considering the fact he was fidgeting in his seat, you doubted the boy could keep quiet for longer than thirty seconds.

“The weather is great, right?”

Your brows furrowed together. The weather? Really?

“The pancakes were also really good at breakfast this morning. Did you have any?” He continued, only pausing for a moment when he realised you were making a point of not answering him. “Stormy?”

One simple word and that was enough for you to break your silence.

“Don’t call me that,” you snapped, a little harsher than you truly intended but the sentiment remained.

Charles blinked. “You don’t want me to call you your name?”

“It’s not my name,” you replied.

He blinked again. “But in the dining hall—”

“It’s a nickname—one that Evan likes to wind me up with because he thinks I’m moody,” you explained before realising the boy didn’t really deserve an explanation. Not when you were adamant to keep this conversation short. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Well, I can see where he gets it from,” Charles said with a small snort.

You frowned. “Excuse me?”

Seeming to realise what he said and just how it sounded out loud, it was almost comical to watch Charles’ lips part before he awkwardly gaped at his previous comment. “Not like that! I just meant—”

“Whatever,” you muttered as you turned to face forwards again, pleading for the lift to somehow reach the top of the mountain already.

“Look, I’m sorry. This wasn’t how I intended this to go,” Charles admitted, almost sounding a bit pained when he said it, as though he wasn’t used to admitting he was wrong. “I wanted to properly apologise. I shouldn’t have been so rude to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brushed it off as anything except how you felt.”

You paused, brows furrowing together as you turned to face him with a curious expression.

Charles blinked. “What?”

“I was just waiting to see if there was a ‘but’ coming,” you confessed.

“No buts,” he assured, pausing for a moment before his cheeks burned pink. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. That’s it.”

You let out a sigh, wishing that some part of you was suspicious about his apology but you weren’t. He sounded genuine, and as much as you wanted to—and still partially did—believe he was a bit of a pompous prick, you couldn’t fault that his apology seemed sincere.

“I accept your apology,” you said, your voice a little strained before you continued. “And I’m also sorry for being a bit of a bitch.”

Charles’ lips parted. “Oh no, you weren’t—”

“I was a little,” you said, your lips twitching upwards as the boy gave you a nervous smile. “I can assure you I won’t be telling any gossip pages about what an asshole Charles Leclerc is.”

He actually laughed in response, despite the fact that alone would probably make his PR team bury him six feet under before the next season started. “I appreciate that, Stormy.”

You glowered at the nickname, but it only seemed to make the Monegasque laugh harder.

…

Despite the exchange of apologies on the ski lift, you expected that to be your last proper interaction with Charles.

You were also quickly realising that every time—so far—you had assumed as much, you would find yourself face to face with the driver once again. And this time was no different, except it came much earlier than a few days. It happened later that very same day.

You had made your way into the dining hall, grabbing a plate and beginning to survey the large buffet when you felt the warmth of another person standing beside you. You felt a hand brush your arm and turned to find Charles smiling at you.

“Bonjour, mon ami.”

You blinked. “What?”

His smile widened. “It means—”

“No, I know what it means,” you quickly corrected, shaking your head a little. “I just…didn’t realise we were friends.”

Charles’ brows furrowed together. “Why wouldn’t we be? I thought we had made up on the ski lift.”

“Yes but, other than that, we are strangers,” you said to him like it was obvious—and to you, it was. Beyond a few misunderstandings and awkward apologies, the man in front of you was as much a friend to you as any of the other guests in the lodge.

“Well, we can change that now!” He said, and that smile returned to his face. “Turn over a new book or whatever the saying is.”

Much to your own surprise, you found yourself laughing a little at his response. “Charles, I—”

“STORMY, HURRY UP OR I AM DRINKING YOUR WINE!”

Both your and Charles’ head snapped over to Evan who was holding a wine glass in each hand, a large smile plastered on his face and a twinkle in his eyes that promised mischief. His hair was still wet from the shower he took before dinner, meaning it was slick back and giving him an almost wannabe Bond villain look.

You laughed, shaking your head as you turned back to look at the driver. Only you found Charles still looking in Evan’s direction, something contemplative and almost begrudging in his gaze.

“You okay?”

Charles turned to face you, and it took a mere second for the glare to disappear and be replaced with his bright smile once again. “Yeah, of course. It seems like you’re wanted elsewhere though.”

“He’s a menace,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes but the fondness was clear in your voice. “I love him even if he’s a pain in the ass.”

Charles only let out a contemplative hum as a goodbye as you headed towards the table where your family and the Montgomery’s were sitting. And maybe if you looked over at him as much as he did with you over the course of the dinner, you would have seen Charles looking a little too bitter every time your eyes were on Evan instead of him.

…

A week had passed in the resort and the Christmas spirit was starting to truly spread as the festive holiday quickly approached.

Your parents and the Montgomery parents had decided to pass on the slopes, instead choosing to visit infamous glacier caves that had been advertised and talked about by some locals in the lodge. You, Harper and Evan had declined the offer to join them, though the excitement of no parents being around—despite the fact all three of you were firmly in your twenties—seemed to spark a shift in energy in Evan that could only be described as childlike.

“I have a proposition.”

Harper already let out a groan, tilting her head back as she did. You couldn’t see her eyes beneath her goggles, but you imagined she was rolling them. “God, no.”

Evan frowned. “You haven’t even heard it yet.”

“Your ideas are shit,” Harper said to her brother. “And usually dangerous.”

“No, they aren’t,” Evan scoffed.

You shrugged. “You don’t have a great track record, if we are being honest.”

“Whatever,” Evan grumbled before grinning at the two of you. “First two to reach the bottom wins. Sabotaging each other’s run is allowed. Loser has to do the forfeit.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What’s the forfeit?”

“Loser has to streak in the snow,” he grinned.

“I am not streaking in the snow,” Harper scoffed.

“Then, you better hope you win,” the older Montgomery countered with a grin.

And begrudgingly, you and Harper agreed to his childish idea.

It wasn’t the first time a silly competition between the three of you got out of hand, and you truly doubted it would be the last. With no rules set and no parents to even try to intervene, it didn’t take very long before the competition got dirty and the run down the slopes became more chaotic.

You had been running behind Harper, secure in second place and watching her movements closely to look for any weakness that you could exploit. However, you had failed to realise that Evan—who had been running behind after he almost skied into a group of people—was quickly catching up on you.

You didn't realise until it was too late.

You let out a noise of surprise when you found the boy right by your side, one that quickly became a series of curses when you realised what he was doing. You tried to move away when you noticed him turning into you, but you were too slow and it only put you in a worse position when his pole lodged itself between your skis.

He was long gone by the time you tumbled into the snow, cackling loudly as he went. You let out a groan of frustration as you turned until you were lying on your back. You winced a little as you tried to awkwardly scramble up onto your feet in hopes of catching up with the Montgomery siblings, but the second a bit of pressure was placed on your ankle, you were crying out in pain and your ass hit the snow once again.

“Shit,” you whispered to yourself as you sat in the snow, tears welling in your lash line at the shot of pain up your leg.

“Cherie!”

You lifted your head when you noticed someone skidding to a stop beside you. You blinked at them in a moment of confusion, but the second they removed their goggles and pulled down their mask, you found Charles—or at least, a very worried and concerned version of him—looking down at you.

He took you in, noticing the glossy sheen to your eyes before he turned back to look over his shoulder, letting out a string of curse words that you were certain were not in English before his attention returned to you.

“Are you okay? What hurts? Is something broken? Should I call for them to send a helicopter—”

“Charles,” you quickly interrupted the rambling boy. “I’m fine. I’ve probably just sprained my ankle.”

“Yeah, because of him,” Charles grumbled, mostly under his breath like he had no real intention for you to hear the snide remark.

“It was a joke,” you waved him off, but that only seemed to upset the boy further.

“A joke?” He repeated, his eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurt. It’s hardly a funny joke.”

“Charles, calm down.”

The boy just scoffed, shaking his head before he lodged his poles into the snow, keeping them off the main trail before he turned to you and offered his hand.

You looked at him expectantly.

“Let me help you get down to the lodge,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage.

“Charles—” You began, but he wasn’t having it.

“No, cherie, I am not going to leave you here when you’re injured and alone,” he said, emphasising the last word in particular as he glanced around, almost like he had to remind you that Harper and Evan were most likely at the bottom of the slope by now.

“Fine,” you said with a sigh, taking his gloved hand in yours as you allowed him to pull you up, keeping your weight on him with ease. “This doesn’t mean we are friends though, Charles.”

He only grinned at you, the first time he seemed a little more like himself since he stopped to check on you.

“Whatever you want to say, Stormy.”

…

As expected, you had sprained your ankle and were advised to take it easy for the next few days.

And you were banned from hitting the slopes in fear of making the sprain worse.

You wanted to be annoyed about the situation—and a small part of you was—but honestly, a few days in the lodge with some peace and quiet seemed like a dream. As much as you loved your family and the Montgomery’s, you needed a break from how loud and giddy and excited they were.

And as the days quickly approached Christmas, it felt like a nice relief to have some time to yourself before the festivities truly took over.

You had waved them off after breakfast with a smile, teasing them not to miss you too much as they headed towards the slopes. Evan had offered to stay inside with you, even just for today, because of the guilt that he was the one to put you in the position. But you just rolled your eyes, assuring him you were more than happy to sit by the fireplace by the foyer and enjoy a day where you didn’t have to fall flat on your ass in the snow.

You had been a few chapters into your book, curled up on the couch with your ankle elevated on a pillow with a blanket thrown over you when Charles and his friends made their way downstairs, prepped and ready with the intentions of heading out to the slopes.

But the boy spotted you and found his feet moving in a different direction.

“Stormy!”

You lifted your head, unable to even find it in yourself to be annoyed by his constant use of the nickname when he had a pretty smile on his face whenever he said it. He was bundled up in layers, probably on his way to the equipment kiosk before he headed for the lift. He looked comical next to the fire.

“My knight in shining armour,” you greeted, a teasing tilt in your voice but the boy missed it as he took in your appearance. “You look warm.”

“You’re staying in today?”

You nodded. “Doc’s orders.”

“Alone?”

You nodded once again. “I told the others they could—”

“I’ll stay with you!”

He said it so quickly that it took you a few seconds before you realised just what he had said. You blinked, your brows furrowing in confusion. “You’re at a ski resort and you don’t want to go skiing?”

“I’ve been skiing every day since I got here,” he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. “I can handle not skiing for a day.”

You flashed him a smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to—”

“But I want to,” he countered, the words passing his lips with ease.

You hated the way your chest tightened a little at his words. “Oh.”

Charles smiled at your response.

“Charles, hurry up!”

You missed the way his brows furrowed together at the voice when you turned to look at the woman standing a few feet away, looking impatient and slightly annoyed. It was the same woman from the other week, the one that looked a little too much like the cold weather personified. You had learnt over the passing days her name was Melanie, but that was about as far as your knowledge on the woman went, other than her clear attitude.

Charles let out a sigh before he replied, a slightly more strained smile on his face. “Go on without me. I’m gonna stay in the lodge today.”

Melanie frowned. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Charles stated simply, and the repeated words made your chest feel funny again.

Melanie glanced over at you and then Charles, and then back to you again. Her eyes were narrowed and her glare felt icy, but before she could even think of saying anything, a friend from the group was calling out to her and she had no choice but to join them.

Charles turned back to you, an easy smile on his lips once again. “So…what’s the plan?”

You snorted. “To sit here because I’m practically bedbound, unless I want to hobble somewhere.”

Charles pressed his lips together. “Well, sitting by the fire with no hot chocolate is sacrilege.”

Your nose scrunched up. “But I don’t have cookies. Hot chocolate by itself isn’t fun without homemade Christmas cookies.”

“Then we will make them,” Charles said.

You rolled your eyes. “And where are we making them? In our rooms with a kettle, tap water and no other ingredients?”

“Please,” Charles said with a scoff, a glint in his eyes as he looked down at you with a proud glint in his eyes. “I am Charles Leclerc. I have my ways.”

You weren’t sure what strings he pulled, who he bribed or just what he blackmailed the lodge owners with, but you were filled with a sort of unease when Charles returned twenty minutes later. He had changed out of his heavy ski gear into a pair of jeans and a sweater that looked insanely cosy. And he had told you that he needed you to close your eyes, to trust him enough to carry you to the destination with a promise that all the drama would be worth it.

He looked so damn proud when he brought you to the lodge’s kitchen with bowls and whisks and ingredients sprawled across the counter—it made that funny feeling in your chest return.

“How did you manage this?” You asked, an incredulous laugh leaving your lips when he sat you on the counter.

“I’m Charles Leclerc, I can get anything I want,” he said, and once upon a time, you would have rolled your eyes and thought he was a pompous dick. You still thought he was a little cocky, but it was an endearing trait now.

You raised your brows. “Do you, Charles Leclerc, know how to bake?”

“Nope,” he said honestly but he was still smiling. “But I am sure I can make something edible with you guiding me.”

“Smooth,” you snorted. “Don’t blame me if they taste like shit.”

As it would turn out, Charles had an overbearing need to be in control of everything. You guessed it came with the lifestyle, the fact his life is always in the palm of his own hands whenever he sat in a car that raced hundreds of miles an hour. However, it seemed like it also extended to the Monegasque ignoring your very clear and correct instructions to do something he insisted was the right way.

“In what fucking world do you need that much sugar?” You remarked, lips parted in shock as you watched the boy add more.

“They are sugar cookies, cherie, it’s in the name,” Charles retorted.

“That doesn’t mean the batter should be seventy-five percent sugar!” You huffed as you reached over to try and grab the bag of sugar from him. “You are going to make us both diabetic with one of those damn cookies. Don’t you have a diet you are meant to be following?”

Charles only grinned, a little mischievous. “Yeah but it’s Christmas.”

You shook your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re bossy,” he countered.

“And I’m right,” you insisted as you frowned at the batter, wondering if it would be easier to just toss it out and start again. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the ego to handle it.”

“Or your ego can’t handle the challenge,” Charles said, something shining in his eyes like his words had a hidden meaning you couldn’t quite understand. “Tell me you don’t like it.”

You tilted your head a little. “You think you’re the only man to talk back to me, Leclerc?”

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I would like to think I’m the best.”

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes darkened, the way it seemed to surge some sort of competition inside him. You couldn’t help but want to play on his fragile male ego a little more.

“And if I said you weren’t?” You questioned, pressing your lips together in a poor attempt to hide your smirk.

Charles breathed out of his nose, his jaw clenching a little before he replied. “Then I would say Evan is a lucky man to have you.”

And just like that, your smirk dropped.

“What?”

Charles frowned a little. “I would say Evan is a lucky man,” he repeated, the words sounding a little forced as they left his lips. “You two seem like…a great match even if he does leave you abandoned on a ski slope after—”

“Oh my god, no!” You blanched, your shoulders hunching up to your ears as you shook your head. “Ew, no! Absolutely not!”

Charles blinked. “Huh?”

“Me and Evan—” You swallowed hard, unable to even get the words out. “It’s not like that between us. I have known him forever, he’s like a brother to me.”

“Oh,” Charles murmured, taking a few seconds before he grinned. “Oh!”

“Yeah, oh,” you grumbled.

Charles couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. “So, you aren’t—”

“Nope.”

“With Evan or anyone?”

“No one.”

“Good.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes at the giddiness written across his face. If someone told you it was Christmas morning, you would have believed them. “Subtle, Charles.”

“Subtle is my middle name.”

…

The next day, you met Charles by the foyer fireplace, but this time he was prepared with his own book.

The day after, he was there again but both your books were quickly abandoned as you chatted away.

The day after that, neither of you bothered to bring your books down.

Despite your insistence that he should be out on the slopes enjoying his vacation and the downtime he had in between seasons, Charles was adamant that he was doing exactly what he deemed relaxing. And just like he said earlier, Charles Leclerc gets what he wants—and it seemed he wanted to spend his days huddled in the lodge with you.

Everyone noticed the budding relationship between you and Charles, but nobody said a word. Well, your family and the Montgomery parents didn’t say a word. Harper and Evan on the other hand? They wouldn’t leave you alone.

Harper was cackling at the irony. She was throwing your words back in your face, teasing the way seemed to switch your opinion on the Monegasque driver in the span of a week and looked down right smitten for the boy. She teased you over the fact it took you almost two months before you went on a date with your ex-boyfriend, and here you were having daily fireplace dates with the boy you called an asshole less than a week ago. She was embracing her full right as your best friend to annoy the fuck out of you.

Evan was a whole other story. The boy looked like a kicked puppy every time you came back from hanging out with Charles, only to tell him you didn’t get him an autograph nor did you bring into the conversation how cool he was or how amazing he was or how he and Charles would totally get on if you introduced them. You didn’t have the heart to tell the boy that up until seventy-two hours ago, Charles didn’t like him through a bizarre assumption.

It had been constant and annoying, but in a way that made your heart feel full because you knew no matter what, at least those two would support every decision you made. Even if they got unbearable during the meal times where Charles would find any excuse to come talk to you.

Tonight was no different as he approached you with a smile spread across his face and something dangerous and promising shining in his eyes. You were sitting at the table alone whilst everyone else headed towards the tables to fill their plates—yours in Harper’s hand—and you were grateful for the small moment of peace as he leaned down.

“Missing me already?” You teased.

He shrugged, though he didn’t disagree. “I have a very important message for you.”

You raised your brows in question. “Oh?”

Instead of saying anything, the boy just grinned wider and handed you a small piece of paper. You frowned a little at it, looking up at him in confusion but the boy was already taking a few steps away from your table.

“Charles—”

But the boy just winked before turning on his heel, heading back to the table the rest of his friends were sitting at, where they were probably watching the whole interaction even if they tried to make it seem like they weren’t.

You glanced down at the note in your hand, lips turned downwards as you opened the folded paper. It baffled you that he couldn’t just say what he had written down, but another part of you warmed a little at the idea that he had taken the time to write the note and go through with it—regardless of it being a bit silly.

You couldn’t bite back your smile when you read the note.

meet me @ midnight. my room number is 161. wear something cosy :)

You snorted, shaking your head as every cell in your body thrummed in excitement to meet the boy you once hated later that night.

…

“The note was cute, but I still don’t understand why you couldn’t just ask me to hang out.”

“Because that’s not fun.”

“You just handed me the note, that’s hardly any different.”

“It was like a real life text, cherie. It’s how they used to do it back in the day.”

You snorted in response.

You had listened to his advice, deciding that a hoodie and pyjama bottoms were the way to go as you snuck up to the floor he was staying at. Your knuckles had barely grazed the door before it was yanked open, a grinning boy on the other side. He was dressed in a baggy hoodie and grey sweatpants, his hair pushed back with a bandana and a pair of glasses sat on his nose.

He didn’t even give you a chance to say anything before he was dragging you inside.

It should have been obvious that Charles Leclerc of all people would have a suite but truthfully, you hadn’t even realised the lodge had master suites as big as this one. But it did. And it was huge. And you expected nothing less for the Monegasque.

There were multiple different rooms that veered off the large living room: one that was furnished with a massive tv, soft plush sofas and a large fireplace that looked like it was straight out the front of a Christmas card. Surprisingly, it was decorated for the festive season with even a tree settled in the corner between the armchairs. It felt homely. It felt perfect for this midnight meeting.

However, you didn’t get much of a chance to look around before he was dragging you out onto the balcony. There was a loveseat set up with pillows and blankets, and a small table set with hot chocolate and a plate of cookies (ones he assured you he had the chef make fresh).

“I never took you to be so traditional,” you teased, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders as a light breeze hit you. “But I guess you have to make do since you haven’t even asked for my number.”

Charles raised his brows. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and ask for it?”

“Subtle is my middle name,” you retorted, his own repeated words thrown back in his face but they seemed to light a spark inside him.

Charles’ eyes dropped to your lips for a few passing beats before they returned to your eyes, and you saw everything written in them. This was different to the days you had spent down in the foyer. Everyone could see you both. You could see everyone. It was public and out in the open and exposed.

But here?

It was just you and him and the pretty night sky that shone and glittered with stars. You were away from the world, from reality. You were away from your family and friends. You were away from peering eyes and judgemental looks. You were in a bubble you never wanted to leave, huddled in thick wool blankets and desperately hoping he would close the minimal distance between you both.

His lips were a hairbreadth away from brushing against yours when another breeze caressed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine that momentarily jolted you away from him.

“You’re cold,” he noted, though it was pretty obvious when you two were both outside in minimal layers. “Let’s get inside. We can warm up by the fire.”

And a part of you wanted to scream off the balcony into the French Mountains when he stood up, when the moment broke and his lips weren’t against yours. But as angry as you wanted to be, you were grateful when he guided you to sit in front of the fire as he added more wood to the dying embers.

His thigh was brushing against yours when he settled into the spot beside you on the floor, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold as he grinned at you before holding his hands out to the fire. You laughed, following suit and the conversation from moments before the almost-kiss returned.

However, minutes passed and your body was still racked with small shivers that Charles quickly picked up on.

“C’mere,” he murmured as he lifted his arm, giving you little time to dispute (not that you were going to) as he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you into his side.

You didn’t think about it too much as you buried yourself into his embrace, as you pressed your cheek into his hoodie and enjoyed the way his hand seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever he touched.

“If I get hypothermia and die, I’m coming back to haunt you and your sugar cookies,” you grumbled, though it was lighthearted as you pressed your nose further into the fabric of his hoodie.

His chest shook underneath you as he laughed and tightened his hold on you. “I would never let anything happen to you, Stormy.”

“You and that stupid nickname,” you said as you let out a long sigh. “You know my actual name now. You have no excuse to use it.”

“Yeah, but it suits you,” Charles retorted, letting out a small noise of surprise when your cold fingers pinched his side. “Plus, you get this…uh, what’s the word…cute look on your face when you’re angry.”

Your head snapped up to glare at him. “I don’t look cute when I’m angry.”

His face brightened. “Yes! That face! C’est mignon!"

Your eyes narrowed further. “Don’t pull the cute French card, it’s not gonna help you.”

“You think my French is cute?” Charles replied, his laugh echoing through the suite as you rolled your eyes.

“You drivers and your egos,” you grumbled.

“Have a lot of experience with drivers?” Charles questioned, a hint of something unreadable in his voice.

You snorted, both of you knowing the answer to that question but you played along. “Maybe I do.”

His eyes darkened slightly. “What about kissing them?”

And just like that, Charles Leclerc had left you speechless for what felt like the millionth time since you met him.

His gaze was locked on your lips, the crackling of the fire felt like it was booming through the silent room and you were truly wondering if your heart was going to burst through your chest and splat on the floor in front of you both.

“I can’t say I have much experience in that department,” you admitted once you managed to choke your words out.

His lips twitched upwards. “Would you like some experience, Stormy?”

You didn’t know if you nodded or if he just took the signs of your flustered, stuttering mess and took mercy on you. You didn’t know if his hand reached to cup your face first or if it was your hand on the nape of his neck instead. You didn’t know if it was you moaning lowly into the kiss when his tongue darted out or if it was him.

Kissing Charles Leclerc was overwhelming and world-altering and, truthfully, you didn’t think you could even utter your own name if someone asked you at that moment.

“Merde,” he groaned before he kissed you harder, faster, more passionately. His other hand reached for your waist, those muscles hidden under his baggy hoodie put to good use as he hauled you onto his lap.

Your knees sat on either side of his hips, your ass firmly planted on his lap as the new position allowed you to fully wrap your arms around his neck. The boy’s hands dropped to your waist, squeezing and guiding as your hips shifted in his lap as his kisses left you seeking anything he would give you.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted when he had to pull away, when his lungs were burning for air. But you still wanted more, you sought out to keep hearing those pretty noises he made as your lips trailed down his neck. “So fucking long.”

“You took your time,” you muttered between open-mouthed kisses when his hold tightened as your lips passed a particularly sensitive spot just below his ear.

“You hated me for a majority of the time we’ve known each other,” he managed to utter out, his head falling back as your teeth lightly grazed his skin.

“Does it look like I hate you now?” You retorted, something about the back and forth feeling as thrilling and exciting as his fingers fiddling with the hem of your hoodie.

Charles’ eyes caught yours as you lifted your head from his neck, lips red and swollen and fuck, he wanted to kiss you again. “I think I need a little more convincing.”

“Yeah?” You watched as he nodded, a little too eager but it made your stomach twist in the best way possible. “Well, you did promise to keep me warm.”

“I did,” he murmured, his voice a little rough and husky.

“Warm me up, Leclerc,” you whispered as you leaned down to kiss him again, his hands squeezing your waist before your lips even touched. “And then I’ll decide if I hate you still.”

A choked noise of surprise left your lips when Charles suddenly moved. You were no longer sitting on his lap, but instead had been laid back on the floor with the boy now hovering over you. He flashed you a smile, one twisted with promises that made your chest feel tight.

You waited for him to lean down and kiss you again. You waited to feel his heated touch on your body. You waited for him to finally slide his hands under the fabric of your hoodie, to feel his fingers along your bare skin.

But instead, he just looked at you with so much fondness in his eyes.

“What?” You questioned, and suddenly the idea of being naked underneath him was no longer the most exposed you felt.

“Nothing,” he said simply as he shook his head. “Just…wanted to make sure.”

Your brows furrowed together. “Of what?”

“That you’re okay with this,” Charles said as he finally lifted his hand, as he let his fingers brush across the apple of your cheek. You could feel your skin heating up underneath his touch. “I want you to know that I’m happy to just talk. I don’t want you to think I just invited you here to—”

“Charles,” you interrupted, and the boy fell quiet as his cheeks flushed pink. “I want to.”

He tried to bite back his smile. “Yeah?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah.”

And despite the reassurance and despite the heat in your body that just wanted to throw your legs over the boy and ride him until the sun came up, Charles Leclerc was nothing, if not a gentleman. And something about that made it so much hotter.

His touch was always so confident but gentle. The way his lips pressed against yours, the way his tongue caressed yours as his fingers slowly peeled away the layers of clothes between the two of you. The way he paused to set down pillows and a blanket to make it comfier for you before his fingers hooked on the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and discarding them someplace else.

The way you reached down to cup his bulge in his boxers, prepared to slip your hand beneath the elastic of his boxers and stroke the length of him—only to have your hands batted away. You barely got a chance to question him before his kisses silenced you, before they began moving south and you felt his lips on every inch of your exposed skin that he could reach.

You felt breathless by the time he was between your legs. You felt like your head was spinning with pleasure as he hooked his arms around your thighs and happily settled between them. You felt like you were in some sugar cookie induced dream as you glanced down, catching his eager eyes watching every little move and reaction you made.

The fire was roaring a few feet away, loud and proud and yet, it was his touch and whispered words that made your whole body feel like lava was coursing through your veins. It was the way his tongue swiped and licked your needy pussy, the way his lips wrapped around your clit until your back was arching off the ground. It was the way Charles murmured soft praises as his hands reached out for yours, as he intertwined your fingers and softly squeezed as you came on his tongue once, twice until you felt like a pile of bones.

It was the way he smiled down at you like his face wasn’t glistening with your release. The way he leaned down to kiss you with the taste of yourself still on his tongue. It was the way he was fully prepared to leave it there, let you rest, spend the rest of the night listening to the random rants he could coax out of you.

Charles only let out a surprised noise when you pushed him onto his back, as you straddled him like you fantasised about earlier and reached between your bodies to squeeze his aching cock.

You knew Charles Leclerc was pretty, even in the days where you thought you despised the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was easy on the eyes, that he was gorgeous, that he had one of those faces that didn’t make him feel like he was a real human.

But he was undoubtedly prettier when you were sinking down on his cock, walls squeezing him as his lips parted to let out a string of curse words in a handful of languages you didn’t speak.

His hands were all over you, his lips never stopped moving and all it took was a slight lapse in your tempo as you rocked back and forth for the boy to grip your hips, hold you up with ease and fuck up into you.

You were a puddle on his chest, his lips right beside your ear as he whispered filthy words to you. His hands and kisses were gentle when it felt like you could feel his cock in your throat from how deep inside he was. Charles Leclerc was a fucking enigma that you didn’t ever want to work out.

And even after he did most of the work, even after he was breathless and flushed and fucked out, you were still the first thing on his mind. Your comfort, your pleasure, just you.

“Cherie,” he murmured softly, the accent seeming a little thicker as he spoke. “We should move to the bed.”

“No,” your words muffled as you nuzzled yourself further into his chest, content where you were with your legs tangled together and your naked bodies pressed together. “I’m comfy here. Beside you.”

“Okay,” was all he said in response as he pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head and pulled the blanket over the both of you before holding you closer—if that was even possible.

…

The first thing you noted when you woke up was how comfortable the ground felt beneath you.

The second thing was that you were no longer on the floor, but on a very comfy bed with a mattress that felt like it was a cloud.

Your hand blindly reached out to your side, expecting to feel a solid, warm body and probably a disgruntled curse from a certain Monegasque, but it never came. Your brows furrowed together, your hand continuing to pat the bed but it felt cold under your touch.

For a short moment, you wondered if you had dreamt it all. You wondered if it was just a hyper-realistic dream where you swore you could still feel his touch on you, if it was all a part of your imagination.

And then, from the other side of the door, you heard a voice.

Your lips unknowingly tilted upwards as you sat up in bed, the sheet falling to your waist as you did. You stretched out your limbs, moving with no real rush as you grabbed the first piece of clothing you could find—a shirt of Charles’ that rested at your thighs—before making your way towards the door.

You pushed the door open, expecting to find him lounging on the couch as he talked away to whoever he was on the phone with, but he wasn’t. You leaned your head out, peeking around to instead finding him on the balcony, the door still open to let his voice and a chilly breeze carry through into the suite.

You contemplated bracing the cold and making your way towards the balcony, to wrap your arms around his waist and settle into the warmth of him as he finished his call. Your hand moved to pull the door open wider, but then the muffled voice became actual words and you froze.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. She never has. Why should I care now?”

You frowned a little.

“I was doing her a favour, for no other reason.”

Your stomach churned, but you tried to ease your thoughts that were threatening to spiral.

“I’m not going to ever see her again after this trip, what’s the big deal anyways?”

But that? That was your final straw.

You felt sick to your stomach as you rushed around the room, staying as silent as you could as you redressed yourself. Your head felt like it was spinning, like you couldn’t even keep up with your own thoughts. You wanted to feel angry and spiteful, and maybe you did.

But most of all, you just felt disappointed.

In yourself. In the situation. In the man you thought Charles Leclerc was.

You were fighting down the bile that felt like it was rising up your throat when you finally slipped out of his suite. He was still on the phone, still on the balcony when you left. And he probably wouldn’t even realise you were gone until you were safely back in your own room, where you could let everything hit you at once and let the tears threatening to spill finally fall.

You didn’t want to believe it. You didn’t want to believe he was that kind of guy, another asshole that you had laid yourself out in front of, only for it to be thrown back in your face. You wanted to believe he was the gentleman you saw, touched and kissed last night.

But the truth of the matter was that Charles Leclerc was just another name on your list of men who disappointed you, and you didn’t want to see his stupid, perfect face ever again.

…

Charles was absolutely fucking baffled.

He felt like he was missing a key bit of information in his own life, and no matter how many times he replayed the last week or so in his head, he couldn’t work out what he was doing wrong.

After a season of disappointing races and a team that played with his strategy like a fucking water balloon being thrown around by a group of toddlers, Charles wanted an escape. He wanted a place away from journalists and fans and everyone who even knew who he was. He just wanted a break from his own life.

The vacation at The Chalet was meant to just be that, but it became so much more.

For the first time in a long time, Charles felt like himself again. He felt happy. He was excited for the new year, he was excited for the future, he was excited for what possibly lay ahead of him. He felt like he was in some dream, but it wasn’t a dream. It was his reality and he woke up every day eager to know what amazing thing would happen to him—to know what amazing day he would have with you.

But that dream seemed to crumble into pieces when he realised you were ignoring him.

He didn’t try to take it too personally when he headed back into the bedroom that morning, his cheeks tinted pink from the cold weather but eager to spend a few lazy hours with you in between the sheets. He was eager to make you smile and maybe kiss you, maybe do something more.

But disappointment hit his chest when he saw the empty room.

He just assured himself that you probably had to head back to your room before your family and friends woke up, or maybe you wanted to freshen up. He assured himself he would see you at breakfast and everything would be fine.

But it wasn’t fine because you weren’t at breakfast. He waited in case you came at the end, but you didn’t.

He waited for you at the usual spot in the foyer, but you never came.

He waited for you at lunch and dinner too, but you never came.

The next day, he almost expected the same and was preparing himself to ask one of your friends if you were okay, but he was shocked to find you sitting in your usual place at breakfast. He smiled at you, something in his chest easing as he made a step in your direction, but the dirty glare you sent his way was enough to make him stop in his tracks.

You didn’t turn up to the foyer that day either but between the dirty looks from you and the fact he was pretty sure Harper tried to trip him up at the coffee stand, he knew something was wrong.

He just didn’t know what.

And every time he tried to get near you, tried to talk to you, it was a pathetically failed attempt that left that competitive streak inside his chest blaring with annoyance.

You were ignoring him and he didn’t know why.

And then he saw it, three days after you started ignoring him. He was making his way into the dining hall, having just showered after a day in the slopes his friends dragged him out for, when he saw you and Evan by the buffet.

Your eyes found his and something in his chest sparked.

And then his eyes fell to the way your hand rested on Evan’s arm, the way you leaned into him as you laughed, the way Evan’s arm was thrown over your shoulder as you both walked back to your table. He watched as you both sat next to each other, so close your thighs were probably pressed together under the table and something bitter settled in his stomach.

He knew he had no real reason to be jealous. Especially between the fact that you yourself had assured him everything between you and Evan was platonic (if not familial) and the fact there was no real talk of anything being between you and himself other than a shitload of chemistry.

But even logic didn’t stop the jealousy he felt.

His appetite was gone after that, as he turned around and headed back to his suite that felt a little bittersweet after the amazing night and shit morning he had with you. But he wasn’t in the mood to eat or pine for you from a distance.

Charles was sick and tired of you ignoring him, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

And the first step in his plan had everything to do with the blond you were currently laughing and touching. He just needed to get Evan alone.

…

It was Christmas Eve when Charles’ plan finally reached its final step—to finally talk to you.

It felt like an odd sense of deja vu when you woke up that morning, making your way down for breakfast before you got ready for the slopes that day. You thought nothing off the weird looks Evan was giving you or the way he seemed giddier than usual, because truthfully it was no different to how Evan usually was on Christmas Eve.

You put down his eagerness to head towards the slopes under the assumption he probably had some weird challenge for you and Harper at the top. You just hoped this one wouldn’t result in another sprained ankle.

“I’m riding with you today, Stormy,” Evan said as the three of you headed towards the ski lift.

“Uh, get in line, loser,” Harper spoke up as she stood on the other side of you. “I called dibs.”

Evan narrowed his eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I did just now,” Harper retorted.

“Does it really matter?” You questioned, amused as you glanced between the two of them.

“Yes!”

“No!”

Harper and Evan turned to glare at each other, confusion from one of them and insistence from the other. However, you just laughed and shook your head.

“Fine, first one to the lift wins!”

You were already settled in the lift as you heard the two of them bickering to each other. You waited to see which one would win, to see who would settle in the spot next to you. However, what you failed to notice was the way Evan all but threw himself on top of his sister so she couldn’t reach the lift before someone else did.

You turned, a smile on your face as you waited to greet the winning Montgomery, but instead you found yourself staring at a painfully familiar set of green eyes.

And in an instant, your smile dropped at the sight of Charles Leclerc sitting next to you.

But before you could even think about jumping off the lift and taking the next seat, the lift was already too high up for you to do anything about it.

“You’ve been ignoring me,” he said to break the silence.

But you didn’t respond.

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me but at least hear me out,” Charles continued, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

You kept your gaze facing forward.

“Evan told me what you thought happened that morning.”

And just like that, your head snapped around to stare at him, a mix of emotions going through you right now—though the biggest was possibly Evan’s betrayal.

“You weren’t lying when you said he was a big fan,” he said with a nervous laugh. “It didn’t actually take much for him to tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.”

“You used my friend?” You questioned, the bitterness and coldness in your voice evident.

“I asked and he gave me information,” Charles corrected before his shoulders sagged a bit. “Look, don’t blame him. He heard what I had to say and—”

“And I don’t care what you have to say so go talk to Evan about it,” you spat back at him, watching the way he winced at your words.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Stormy—”

“And definitely don’t call me that.”

“Please,” Charles pleaded as he looked at you with wide eyes, ones that held so many emotions you did not want to see. “That phone call was not what you think.”

You looked away at the mention of the phone call, something quite like anger and disgust bubbling inside you at the mere reminder of the words you heard that morning. “Just…stop it, Charles. I don’t care, okay? You go about your life and I’ll go about mine.”

“No,” he stated simply.

You scoffed. “What? You need another girl in another city to have fawning over you? The hundreds of others not enough?”

“No, because I am not interested in my life not having you in it. I am not interested in a hundred other girls.” The words were stated like they were facts. “Stormy, I just want you.”

You scoffed again but a hand tugging yours made you look over at Charles, fully prepared to pull your hand away.

“I wasn’t talking about you on the phone that morning,” Charles quickly blurted out before you had a chance to say anything. “Everything you heard on the phone that morning, it wasn’t about you.”

You blinked.

“It was about Melanie.”

Your brows furrowed together, a crease forming between them that Charles had the urge to smooth out with his thumb, but he resisted.

“What?”

“She—” Charles paused for a moment, like he was trying to gather the correct words. “She’s not my friend, not really.”

You blinked again. “She’s not? But she acts—”

“She acts like we are, yes. She’s a friend of a friend, and that’s about all there is to her. She’s…uh, how do you say? She seems to have gained a crush on me? Or maybe it’s some weird obsession. I’m not quite sure,” Charles admitted with a frown. “She asked me out once, almost a year ago and I declined. But she has latched onto the group ever since and I couldn’t quite shake her off.”

You didn’t say anything, instead letting him continue.

“She wasn’t even meant to be on this trip,” Charles confessed. “But she said to our mutual friend that she was alone this Christmas and…I just couldn’t say no, right? But she’s spent the last year acting like I didn’t reject her and I didn’t like the idea of being trapped up here with her. But even with all our other friends, she was always beside me. She was always there. And when she started to throw tantrums to our friends and make up stories after I started spending time with you, I had enough.”

Your lips parted slightly in shock.

“Turns out she told all our friends that we were together,” Charles said with a grimace. “That we wanted to keep it a secret from the media, and that meant I wanted to keep it from everyone. She tried to make it out like I was a monster to our friends when I started spending days with you. Thankfully, none of them believed a word she said but…it was just too much.”

“Oh.”

“That’s why you heard me ranting on the phone about not seeing her after this trip because I have no plans to be around her ever again and I made that clear to my friends. You can even ask them if you don’t believe me,” Charles said as he finally let out a long breath. He looked at you, an almost pained expression on his face. “I would never say those things about you. Not when you might just be the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Charles—”

“I know you feel it too,” he continued, and that desperate note to his voice returned. “I know you’ve felt it all week. I know you felt it that night. I know you feel like this—us—could be something.”

“I’m such an idiot,” you muttered, closing your eyes as you realised the agonsing and the pain and the ignoring over the last few days could have been avoided if you stayed in the bedroom a little longer that morning. Or if you had just spoken to him instead of letting the pettiness take over.

“You had no reason to think otherwise about me, cherie, and I get that,” Charles said as he squeezed your hand, almost like a tester to see if you would pull away or not. But you didn’t. “But I want to change that. I want to explore this. I want to show you that I would never do that to you. I want to give you reasons to trust me.”

“I would like that,” you murmured in a soft voice, but Charles heard you loud and clear as he grinned at you.

“Yeah? You don’t hate me still?” He questioned.

You laughed, shaking your head as you did. “I don’t think I ever hated you, Charles.”

“Good, it makes this easier then,” he said before he leaned in, his slightly chapped lips pressed against yours—and something about it felt like coming home.

You sunk into his embrace, your hand coming up to cup his cheek like you needed to believe he was really there (even if the gloves made it a little awkward). But feeling him smile against your lips was assurance enough.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Charles.”

“Merry Christmas Eve, Stormy. I hope it’s one of many with you.”

And maybe Charles Leclerc became another one of the many reasons you loved The Chalet.

1K notes · View notes

beiasluv · 1 year ago

Text

arrow and papaya | o. piastri (81)

a/n: this series performed a LOT better than I expected lmaooo thank you. Enjoyy

yn.png

liked by landonorris, daniel3.jpg and 9 others

yn.png my boy graduated kinda vibe. proud of youu

view all 13 comments

oscarpiastri you did not just give me an earring (love you)

yn.png i did 😙 you looked good (ilym)

oscarpiastri thank YOU 😎

yn.png also. did you see what happened with lance??

oscarpiastri tell me 😧

yn.png dm.

landonorris TELL ME

logansargeant oscarsplaining??

yn.png better than logansplaining ✊

logansargeant freedom of speech, yn

yn.png tell me. what’s a kilometer, logan

georgerussell63 who gave you the power to run from mercedes to mclaren paddock after every race?

yn.png only god knows (OSCAR JACK PIASTRIII)

liked by oscarpiastri

yn.png

liked by aussiegrit, carlossainz55 and 8 others

yn.png he is sad because mark couldn’t make it. crying, throwing up, ripping my hair off.

view all 9 comments

aussiegrit Looking forward to seeing you guys at the next Grand Prix! Don’t pull your hair off, please.

yn.png Markkkkkk come back soon!

oscarpiastri I’m pretty sure I was sad because you didn’t buy me the orange juice but okay.

landonorris you miss mark webba, oscar?

oscarpiastri i do not sound like that

yn.png don’t bully my aussies 🤨 (yes, you sound like dat)

daniel3.jpg one aussie protector spotted!!

yn.png thank! you! can i have tim tams??

oscarpiastri my suitcase is open for you for the next visit

yn.png yessssss ilysm. get the dark chocolate ones.

yn.png

melbourne, australia

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton, and 29 others

yn.png happy winter breakkk. also. spot the american challenge

view all 18 comments

charles_leclerc when are you coming to monaco this winter break??

yn.png wydm winter? I only know hot christmas 😙 (please come and get me I’m scared of spiders)

landonorris bro you have to visit us

yn.png if only oscar is going as well.

landonorris oscarpiastri approved?

oscarpiastri nah. hot christmas first, then maybe we’ll visit.

oscarpiastri wydm about spiders? I killed nearly 4 for you :(

yn.png thank you my knight in shining armor 😚😭

oscarpiastri you’re welcome. also. I don’t look like a koala

yn.png yes you doooo. you’re my favorite koala.

oscarpiastri fine. You’re stuck in Australia with me 🩷

danielricciardo yn.png thy need more aussie training

yn.png no, thank you. I cannot physically look at them.

landonorris I see you’ve posted 3 pictures of oscar. very thoughtful.

yn.png ikrrrr

logansargeant easy. the one with freedom of speech.

yn.png what is one quart of milk 😭

logansargeant do you want your pop tarts?

yn.png I deeply apologize, mr. sargeant.

lando.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossianz55, and 286,727 others

lando.jpg somebody (oscarpiastri) stole my camera 😒

view all 82,198 comments

yourinsta I think this somebody is a good photographer 😗

lando.jpg a little ‘thank you’ for me taking my time to post this would be nice

yourinsta of course, thank you to my favorite photographerrrr/ camera owner

danielricciardo i thought i was your favorite photographer

yourinsta this danny ric guy is my favorite texian, ngl

liked by oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri correction, you left it in my driver’s room 🤷‍♂️

yn.png

liked by danielricciardo, alex_albon and 38 others

yn.png about last night…lmk what are you even yapping about, zak 😉

view all 27 comments

oscarpiastri you’re going to get me fired one day.

yn.png if you’re willing to join me in mercedes 🤭

georgerussell63 What do YOU mean???

yn.png just assumptions 🤷‍♀️😗

georgerussell63 toto’s hearing about this. and roscoe.

yn.png NOOOOO don’t tell roscoe please.

yn.png dw, i can spoil you oscar 😚

oscarpiastri no :( I’m going to spoil you

landonorris GO AWAYYYYY

oscarpiastri this is the internet, log off 🤷‍♂️

landonorris I thought we were best friends :(

oscarpiastri yn is my best best friend

yn.png yeah, Carlos is waiting for you lan 😘

landonorris you guys are meannn

lilymhe miss you since last nightt

yn.png i miss you tooo 😩

alex_albon what about my taggg

yn.png sorry albonnooo 😭

danielricciardo thank you for the honorable tag

yn.png anything for my favorite aussie

oscarpiastri sorry???

yn.png okay, second favorite aussie

danielricciardo fine ☹️

yn.png’s story

oscarpiastri: love you, p3

: you did not have to rub it in my face

oscarpiastri: had fun spraying you with champagne 🤷‍♂️

yn.png reacted with 😒

: can you buy me tim tams?

oscarpiastri: yes, and with milk and grapes?

: yesss, you are the best 😗

oscarpiastri: can I have your number though?

: i think you can have my house key first 🤭

oscarpiastri: no :( we’re going to live in Australia

: not with spiders.

oscarpiastri: I’ll kill every single one for you.

mclaren’s story

like, reblog, do withever the heck you want if you enjoyed it. If you don’t, imma steal your security number 🤭 jkkk

(lets be moots????)

today’s a great day to take care of yourself!!!

2K notes · View notes

drvscarlett · 8 months ago

Text

About You Pt2

Sebastian Vettel x Webber!Reader

Summary: Everyone knows about the history of Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber. But there's a well kept story within the paddock about Sebastian Vettel and another Webber. This is that story.

A/N: were in the 2009 season. i also grabbed some ideas from a film quote so if you notice that, hello hehe. hope you enjoy, let me know your comments

About You Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Taglist: @spideybv28 @randomcuboidshape @mehrmonga @casperlikej @cliosunshine @randomgirlnumber-13 @sugyomama

2009, Albert Park

Moving from Toro Rosso to Red Bull has been the source of excitement of Sebastian ever since he signed the contract last December. He was excited to work with a bigger team and it opened up better opportunities for a championship which is why he feels really giddy walking to Albert Park.

"Seems like a good year for a championship?"Christian greeted Sebastian.

"I'm looking forward to that, the car feels nice"Sebastian agreed.

When the two walked to the garage, they immediately saw the Webber siblings discussing with some of the mechanics. Mark immediately waved at Sebastian.

Sebastian can tell that their dynamics improved since it was announced that they will be teammates. They spent a lot of time together in Milton Keynes so they found each other tolerable. It was surprising that now he feels a lot more closer to Mark than to Y/N.

He was actually expecting her to be around when they said Mark will be around Milton Keynes but the female Webber never showed up. Mark says that Y/N has been taking some time off since she will be busy during the season. Sebastian thinks he might be the reason why she has been absent so he felt a little relieve to see her.

"Excited for the first race of the season?" Y/N asked.

"The car seems alright, I think we can bring some good points in"Sebastian replied.

"We're gonna bring in a challenge this year, I can feel that we can compete for the drivers and constructors championship this year"Mark added

"How about Brawn, do you think they'll be a challenge?"Y/N wondered.

Sebastian heard about the team during the winter break. It was sort of a crazy story about how everything happened. He never saw Jenson or Rubens as a threat so he thinks that they might be an okay team that he doesn't have to worry about.

"They are a new team, I'm sure they won't be a threat" famous last words.

Brawn GP turns out to be a slight threat. Sebastian calls it a slight threat since this was only the first race and maybe its just their luck that they managed to pull away. They have to see how they perform in the next few races.

It was quite a bummer that Red Bull was unable to bring any points. It frustrated him heavily since he started 3rd and managed to stay 2nd the whole race until that unfortunate collision with Kubica that ruined his race.

Mark managed to finish the race but he finished 13th. Still out of the points.

As Sebastian was replaying the whole thing in his hotel room, he heard soft knocks at his door. He didn't remember ordering anything from room service so he was a bit confused as he headed to open the door.

"Hi Seb" it was Y/N "I was sent here by Mark to ask you if you want to go out and eat. You are in Australia and our family is from Australia and it will be a little bit rude if we didn't treat you out in Australia"

"That's too many Australia in one sentence"

"Have dinner with us and the family?"she simplifies "Please?"

There was not much to do anyway, Seb thinks so he accepted the offer. It might also be a good start to rekindle the friendship since its been a while since the two spoke with each other.

"You're driving?"Sebastian asked

"Of course, what kind of host am I if I'm going to make you drive"

The drive was reminiscent of Sebastian's memory when they were in Germany. Only that the view is more of beaches rather than the greens and the cold of Europe.

"I heard stories about you and Mark, it seems that you two are getting along quite well"Y/N opened up the conversation

"Oh he talks about me?"

"Well as his assistant, I have to ask about his work dynamics so yeah you have been a talking point of our conversation"

"That's nice"Sebastian smiles "How is life treating you? I didn't see you in Milton Keynes"

She lets out a heavy sigh and Sebastian could tell that there is a certain tiredness in her eyes. Maybe its true what Mark said that Y/N is actually drained from a season of F1.

"I just have to get away. A lot of pressure to deliver"

Sebastian understands that. Its probably the reason why he also tried to be understanding with Mark's situation as well. He knows that at the end of the day, the sports was brutal in one way or another. Everyone eventually gets that pressure to deliver.

"Let's not talk about f1, lets just talk about basic life things" Sebastian steered the conversation.

There was a smile gracing both of their faces because its just Sebastian and Y/N again. No last names, no championships, just them.

2009, Sepang International Circuit

"I hate wet races" Y/N confirms.

She doesn't get why everyone gets a bit excited with wet racing but she can't find how this is enjoyable for some people. Isn't the thrill of racing beyond speed limit exciting enough for them? Now they even want to race under dangerous weather conditions.

"It test your skills as a driver" Sebastian defended "Back me up here Mark"

"You're on your own Seb"was the reply of the older Webber. He did not want to take side with anyone.

The trio has been sitting at the garage waiting for the race to start. There was still 20 minutes left and Y/N has been stressing about how the dark clouds are looming over. She thinks it may start under dry conditions then go to wet in a snap.

"You can test your skills by overtaking and setting the fastest lap" Y/N noted

"Its all about strategy and taking risks"Sebastian assured.

"You better make sure that the both of you finish the race"

"No promises, Seb might hit me again"Mark joked

"Oh c'mon, I said I was sorry about that"

True enough to Y/N's prediction, the race started on the dry conditions then it ended up to be a wet race. Y/N had her fair share of wet races but this was the most terrifying for her opinion. There were puddles and the drivers can't see a thing with the rain blocking their vision.

It gotten so bad that Y/N actually went out of the driver's room to check on the status of the drivers.

"Aren't they red flagging the race?"she asked one of the mechanics

"There is still nothing from the stewards but Mark is also insisting that the race should be stopped"

Y/N was glad that she wasn't the only sane Webber around.

Just then there was a crash on screen and the weather made it very difficult for them to decipher which car spun but it was for sure a Red Bull. Y/N felt a bit comforted that it just spun without hitting anyone or anything.

"Its confirmed, that is Seb's car"

"Safety car for the lap"

"Webber is gonna ask to stop the race"

There was a flurry of emotions inside the garage. The race was stopped at lap 33 and there was the question if they will wait for it to restart or is it called off completely.

"I'm in 15th, this is not good"Sebastian was already groaning. He missed out on the points again by a big margin.

"Hey 15th is okay than dnf or being hospitalized"

Knowing Sebastian, Y/N knew he wanted to do well and it didn't seem like it was going to how Sebastian had it in his mind earlier this year. She gave him a comforting pat.

"Do you want some ice cream?"she asked

Sebastian looked at her as if she grew two heads "In this cold weather? You are asking for ice cream?"

"Ice cream heals people's boo boo" Y/N shrugged "Besides Kimi made me hungry for ice cream"

"You are crazy" Sebastian started "But c'mon lets go get some ice cream"

2009, Circuit de Catalunya

Mark: Can you see me before qualis at the back of the garage Mark: need your help, please

Sebastian never received any urgent texts from Mark so he must say that his curiosity is piqued by it. He immediately set out to meet Mark in the designated location.

"You need me?"Sebastian asked.

"Sebastian, just the person I needed" Mark seems elated to see him "Listen I need you to do me a favor"

"Okay as long as I don't have to hide a body"

"What?"

"Nevermind that. It was a joke Mark"Sebastian wanted to facepalm himself. Mark never seems to understand his humor especially when he was too excited with things.

"So May 15 is coming up. I need your help to distract my sister and maybe tour her around Spain while we do some preparation at the hotel. I just need your help to distract her for like 3-4 hours"Mark explained.

"15th?What's on the 15th?"

Sebastian was pretty sure that there was no race or other commitments that is happening on the 15th. He tries to rack his head for any important dates on the 15th but he can't remember a thing. Meanwhile, Mark looked offended that Sebastian didn't know the significance of May 15.

"Its Y/N's birthday"Mark answered.

Oh. Now that Sebastian thinks about it, Y/N never told her birthday. He felt like an idiot after realizing how they spend a lot of time together but he still haven't asked her about her birth date. But now that he knows, he makes a mental note of it.

"Okay. I think I can do that. Leave it to me"

"Thanks Seb, I owe you big time"

Seb: Are you still here at the 15th? Y/N: Why are you asking? Seb: I'm feeling adventurous. What do you say about getting lost in spain? Y/N: hmm sounds nice. Count me in.

"How long till we get there"Y/N asked.

They have driven for quite some time already and Sebastian promised that this place will be worth the wait. Sebastian will not admit it but maybe he got a little bit of lost in directions for the past 20 minutes and he is just starting to get the hang of the destination right now.

"Just a few minutes more" Sebastian assured. He can already see the spires of the building so he felt a sigh of relief escape.

"We were lost a while ago, aren't we?"

Sebastian just give out a grin as he continues to drive closer to the place. He stopped at the designated parking lot and unlocked the door.

"Adventure awaits Miss Y/N, welcome to La Sagrada Familia"Sebastian introduced.

When Sebastian was looking for a place to go, the La Sagrada Familia was one of the top hit. Sebastian didn't even consider if she is religious or what but he thinks she can appreciate the reminder that this architecture is still a work in progress and it has managed to endure a lot throughout the years of construction.

"This is beautiful" was her response.

"They say that this will be the most beautiful form of apology when it is finished"Sebastian informed "This was built for the city's sins"

"I beg to disagree"Y/N replied.

It was now Sebastian's turn to be curious.

"I think this is the grandest gesture of someone's love"Y/N elaborated "This went on for years, decades, centuries-they did not stop loving Barcelona that they continue working so that the city will be forgiven"

It was a pretty analogy in Sebastian's mind. He felt like no amount of his research could compare with that realization.

If the outside of the cathedral looks majestic, the inside is beyond what they could imagine. The both of them let out a small woah as they stepped foot into the church.

"You know you can make three wishes when its your first time to enter a church, they say it comes true when you do that"Y/N mentioned "You wanna give it a go?"

Sebastian nodded and he noticed how Y/N immediately closed her eyes.

'A world drivers championship. Happiness. Y/N receiving her wish' was what Sebastian prayed for.

He takes out a peek and Y/N was still in her own solemn state. Sebastian wonders what is it that she wishes for and he hopes that this three wishes thing works. He really wanted Y/N to fulfill her wishes, it will make him extremely happy.

"What did you wish for Y/N"

"Safe races, World Peace, and points for you and Mark" she answered

"Oh c'mon, you don't have things about yourself. Don't you have any personal wishes? Like your own goals or your own things?"Sebastian quizzed

Y/N knew deep down that she wanted something but she knew that saying it at the moment might not be ideal. But heaven knows, she prayed for Sebastian Vettel to stay in her life.

2009, Nürburgring

Y/N didn't mind that she was in heels, she was running as fast as she could to parc ferme. The moment that the last lap started and Mark was still leading, she immediately headed straight to the destination. Their father was already at the pits waiting with the signboard.

There was certainly a mix of emotions. Y/N's mind reel back to how Mark started pole and then had an incident with Hamilton at the start of the race. It caused him to have a penalty which lessens his chances of winning but Mark was in for a mega-drive. He managed to regain all the places that he lost from the penalty and here he is leading the Grand Prix.

Y/N felt her ears ringing as the crowd roars as the chequered flag appeared. Every speaker was blaring out the obvious, this is Mark Webber's first win in Formula 1.

People are starting to line up near the barricades. Y/N doesn't care if she was being pushed but she will be the first one to meet her brother and congratulate him once he gets out of the car.

"YOU DID IT! YOU ABSOLUTELY CRUSHED IT" Y/N screamed to Mark.

Mark did not miss his sister and immediately hugged her tight. He kept on repeating his thanks for her support and for not giving up on him. Y/N could only choke on a sob with the cameras flashing the emotional sibling moment that they shared.

"Congratulations Mark"Sebastian appeared next to him and Mark gave him a hug.

It was a happy day for the Red Bull team for securing double podiums. The whole Red Bull team cannot contain their happiness as the two walked to their podium spots. It is certainly a day that warrants a much needed night out.

So fast forward and Red Bull rented out a club to celebrate the victory of today. Y/N was certain that she deserved to let loose a little with the events that happened today.

Shots after shots, Y/N managed to drink everything up until the room started to feel a little bit wavy. It was a good thing that Sebastian has not been much of a party animal, he knew that this was Mark's time to celebrate so he won't be taking too much of a spotlight.

"You are seriously wasted, you should stop drinking now" Sebastian said, catching Y/N before she could trip in her heels.

"my brother won, can't you believe ittttt"her words are slurred.

"Yep, I'm getting you water and were going back to the hotel"

"NOOOOOO"

But Sebastian has already carried her out of the club. Sebastian knew that there are probably much more people wasted there but Sebastian was focused on Y/N. She was the reason why Sebastian decided to sober up the entire night. Knowing that Mark will be celebrating, no one will take care of Y/N.

Sebastian wanted to take care of her.

The trip to the hotel was smooth as Y/N was asleep at the car. Sebastian was giggling when he picked her up and she started rambling about how there are different kinds of beautiful in formula 1.

"But you know what's the most beautiful thing in f1 that I have seen?" she asked "Its the time where I saw Sebastian Vettel test the car"

Sebastian got curious, he didn't know that Y/N was around when he tested the car.

"And it was so dreamy. There was this beauty about him and you know he is so passionate. He isn't a paid driver or maybe he is but damnnnn the way he raced and the way he loved the wheels"Y/N rambles on.

It feels illegal for Sebastian to be hearing this and he knows he should not take advantage of Y/N's truthful drunkness to hear what she thinks about him. But somehow, Sebastian stayed with her. He tucked her in the bed and left a glass of water at the bedside table.

"Did you know Sebastian Vettel is the prettiest boy ever. He is so pretty like how the sun is so pretty to the plants" Sebastian also laughed at the comparison. Y/N was really really drunk.

"I like Sebastian"

"What?" was Sebastian's shocked question.

"I like sebastian, what sue me? I think he is a pretty pretty boy"

Sebastian feels like his heart is pounding but he has to stay cool. She is drunk right now and she might not be aware of the things she is saying.

"You get some rest, lets talk about this in the morning" Sebastian said as he left the girl.

It took every ounce of his being to prevent himself from confessing that he likes her a lot too. But Sebastian will do his confession sober. If Y/N remembers this incident then they will talk about it. If not, he will wait for the right timing to discuss the feelings he has for her.

Morning came and Y/N did not remember anything.

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #sebastian vettel x oc

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hauntedhowlett-writes · 2 years ago

Text

title: toyin’ with them older guys

pairing: bartender!joel miller/female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

chapters: 1/1

read on ao3 | masterlist

summary:

Joel Miller is the grumpy bartender and owner of your favorite bar near campus, where you attend trivia every Tuesday night. Thinking there’s no way Joel could return your feelings, your friend suggests trying out Tinder.

But when you bring them to the bar for a date, they keep leaving mid date with no explanation.

Maybe there’s something Joel isn’t telling you after all.

author’s note: thank you to everyone who hyped me up to post this when i wasn’t sure how i felt about it. your comments mean the world 💕

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), alternate universe - no cordyceps outbreak, no use of y/n, unspecified age gap, alcohol references/consumption, possessive behavior, jealousy, mild violence (in the form of Joel kicking someone out of his bar), brief reference to Sarah’s mom and divorce, tinder dates, bribery, dirty talk, begging, pet names, praise kink, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), spanking. let me know if i’ve missed anything!

There’s a bar near the university that you love to go to for multiple reasons.

For one, they have great drinks. For two, their loaded tater tots are the best drunk food you’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming.

But the number one reason, above all else, is the grumpy bartender and owner, Joel Miller.

The first time you saw him, he was challenging a kid with a fake ID, his arms crossed over his broad chest, emphasizing the strain of his flannel over his biceps. When the kid tried to take a swing at him, he grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back before marching him out of the bar and kicking him to the curb.

Your friend had to remind you to breathe.

He hosts a trivia night at the bar on Tuesday nights, the perfect excuse to see the man weekly. You sit at the bar each time, scribbling your answers on the notepad as you sip on a vodka cranberry and sneak glances at the older man while he works.

One night, you were struggling to answer a question about where the Lord of the Rings trilogy was filmed when Joel leaned across the bar, bringing his lips close to your ear to say, “New Zealand.”

You’d gotten the point, thanks to him. And from that day forward, he’d linger near your corner of the bar, watching to see if you needed help with an answer. Eventually, you started showing up earlier and earlier for trivia night, just for the chance to talk to him.

You told him about your PhD program and the research you were conducting. You wanted to be a psychologist, but for now you’re just a perpetual student. You miss winter weather in Colorado, but appreciate not having to store a giant jacket anywhere in your small apartment. Your favorite season is fall, and your favorite holiday is Halloween.

He tells you about buying the bar a few years ago, after his divorce from Sarah’s mom and ensuing custody battle had been finalized, an investment he made with his brother Tommy. They’d fixed it up themselves and made it a popular local spot. His favorite movie is Indiana Jones and he prefers whiskey over any other drink.

It’s no surprise that along the way you’d fallen in love with the man.

Too bad he’d never feel the same.

————

Joel remembers the first night he saw you. Your rosy cheeks and tipsy smile as you leaned forward to say, “Vodka cranberry, please. With lime .”

“Lime, huh?” He remembers saying. You nodded your head vigorously.

“The lime is the best part,” you insisted. He chuckled.

“Not the vodka?”

“Gross, no.”

He tossed in three lime slices and you shimmied your shoulders with glee.

You come into the bar, alone, for trivia night on Tuesdays now. You’re a fountain of random facts, but every once in a while he’ll feed you an answer to help you out because he likes the smile that you give him in return.

He has no right to be looking at you the way that he finds himself doing every week. Eyes wandering to the way your jeans hug your ass or drifting to your cleavage when you rest your elbows against the bar.

But between the conversations and the trivia and the sweet smiles, he’d gone and fallen in love.

Which is why when you come to trivia night with a man who wraps an arm around your waist, Joel loses his goddamn mind and does the stupidest thing ever.

You get up to go to the bathroom and Joel leans across the bar to address the guy, keeping his eyes on the bathroom.

“I’ll give you $100 if you leave right now,” Joel says.

“What?”

“Hundred bucks if you walk out that door and don’t talk to that girl again,” he says again. He digs his wallet from his pants and pulls a bill out, setting it on the bar top.

Without further question, the man grabs the money and stuffs it in his pocket as he heads out the door. Joel feels a flash of guilt when you return from the bathroom and look around for your missing date.

“Said he had an emergency,” Joel lies. He’s surprised when you look relieved.

“He was kind of boring, anyways,” you shrug, dragging your notepad and pen closer to you. “He probably would have just dragged us down.”

Us, Joel thinks.

He could get used to that.

________

Your friend, Marie, had convinced you to try out Tinder. She was absolutely certain you were missing out on the love of your life by not swiping mindlessly through profiles that held no interest to you.

You weren’t about to confess your unrequited love for the local bartender to get her off your case, so that’s how you ended up on a date with Michael. He was a law student and liked kayaking and hiking.

You liked neither of those things, but he had curly brown hair and you had a type, so why not give it a shot?

You didn’t have it in you to be too upset when you returned from the bathroom only to find out from Joel that Michael had left. Joel slid you another vodka cranberry with lime and your night went as it always did.

When Marie asked you the next morning how the date went and you told her he bailed, she insisted on picking your next one. She chose Scott, a financial analyst at a local bank.

You’re starting to think Marie doesn’t know you very well.

Regardless, you show up at the bar for another trivia night date. Scott is tall and lean, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and he wore a suit to a bar. When you comment on it, he pulls a face and says he came straight from work.

“Not all of us are lucky enough to not have real jobs,” he says. You blink at him, surprised by the hostility.

That hostility continues when Joel approaches the two of you at the bar, lips turned down in a scowl, and Scott decides to order for you.

“She’ll take a vodka water with lemon and I’ll have Bulleit, neat.”

Joel raises his eyebrows at Scott, his eyes flicking to you briefly, before he sets a plastic cup on the bar top. He holds Michael’s gaze as he pours a shot of vodka into your cup, before using the soda gun to dispense cranberry juice. You have to bite back your smile.

“Vodka cranberry with lime,” he says, sliding you your drink. “And your whiskey will be right out.”

“That’s not what I ordered,” Scott replies.

“Yeah, but it’s what she would’ve.”

Scott sputters, face going an alarming shade of red with his indignation.

“I’ll be right back,” you mutter, taking your drink with you as you head to the bathroom.

________

“I’m not paying for that drink,” the blonde asshole says, knocking his knuckles against the bar for emphasis. Joel huffs a laugh.

“I don’t give a shit, kid. I want you out of my bar,” he says, planting both hands on the wood.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of my bar.”

“I’m on a date!”

“Not anymore.” Joel rounds the bar and gets up in the little weasel’s face. “Get. Out.”

The boy’s eyes go wide, like he realizes that maybe Joel isn’t playing around. He scrambles from his barstool, standing to his full height like he’s about to challenge Joel.

“You can’t kick me out, old man,” the blonde snaps.

Joel’s had enough. He fists a hand in the starched white shirt collar, driving him back towards the exit. The other patrons move out of the way, some whistling and cheering Joel on. He shoves the man out the door and looks at the doorman.

“He doesn’t come back inside,” he says. “And you? Don’t ever fuckin’ talk to her again.”

Joel returns to the bar as you’re walking up. For a moment, he worries that you may have seen him acting like a caveman getting rid of his competition, but you look around in confusion.

“Where’s Scott?” You ask.

“He forgot about somethin’ at work,” Joel says. Your brow furrows.

“Kinda weird that’s happened to me twice now,” you comment.

Joel just shrugs.

________

You don’t tell Joel about how you saw him throw Scott out of his bar that night.

You’d just left the bathroom when you saw Joel stomp out from behind the bar, his eyes dark and fixed on your date. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but based on the affronted way Scott was responding, it wasn’t anything good.

You crept closer to the scene, but stayed amongst the crowd. Joel marched Scott backwards with a fist tangled in his collar, shoving him out the door.

“And you? Don’t you ever fuckin’ talk to her again.”

Your mouth went dry at his words and your mind reeled at the implications. Was he doing this from a place of friendship? Or…could he maybe feel the same way you do?

Only one way to find out.

You call up Travis, a good friend from undergrad who still lived in town.

“Trav, I need your help,” you say when he answers the phone.

“Burying a body type of help or financial type of help?” He replies easily.

“Actually, more experimental.”

“I don’t swing that way.”

“No, listen to me, I have a hypothesis,” you insist, explaining the situation to him. How you’ve been on two dates at Joel’s bar but each time, the men have left without another word. And how after what you witnessed, you’re inclined to believe that it’s not a coincidence.

You ask Travis to come with you to the next trivia night. All he needs to do is pretend to be there on a date with you. A bit of hand holding, maybe an arm around the waist. Nothing more.

“But what if he tries to threaten my life?” Travis asks.

“Well…I mean…every experiment has risks,” you reply flippantly. He sputters indignantly down the line. “I’ll buy you your drinks and get you tater tots.”

He’s silent for a moment before responding, “Fine. Extra jalapeños and I’m not getting well liquor.”

“Thank you!”

________

You come into his bar with another man. His arm is draped over your shoulders as you approach the bar and Joel has to set the glass he’s drying down before it shatters in his hands.

“Joel! This is Travis,” you say, gesturing to your date. He forces a smile, reaching a hand across the bar to shake his hand.

“What can I get started for you?” Joel asks. The man, Travis, orders an old-fashioned with top shelf whiskey, while you request your regular.

“I’ll be right back,” you say as Joel is pouring the drinks. You weave through the crowd towards the bathrooms and Joel leans in to address Travis.

“I’ll pay you $100 to leave this date,” Joel says.

Travis smirks. “Make it $200.”

“Are you serious?”

“That depends, are you?”

Joel’s eyes flick towards the back of the bar and he reaches into his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out four fifties, dropping them on the bar.

Travis pockets the money before adding, “You know, there’s cheaper ways to get the girl.”

“Get out,” Joel grunts. The younger man laughs his way to the door, and you appear at the bar a moment later.

“Where’d Travis go?” You ask.

“Oh, he—“

“Can I get an order of the loaded tots?” Travis asks, cutting Joel off from making up an excuse for his absence and sitting back down on the stool beside you with a shit eating grin. “She owes me.”

“Owes you?” Joel asks through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, she lost a bet. I told her I could get the number of that guy over there in less than three minutes and she doubted my charm.”

“Travis and I went to undergrad together,” you explain. “We just wanted to hang out and catch up.”

Shit.

________

Travis decides to leave after two plates of loaded tots and one too many drinks. You help him call an Uber, but you stay behind as the bar starts to clear out.

It’s just Joel behind the bar, wiping down the wood and setting bottles back to their rightful spots as you sip from a cup of water. The kitchen has closed down and the music has been shut off, leaving the two of you in loaded silence.

“So…,” you say, twirling your straw in your near empty cup. “You wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Joel’s shoulders go tense before he releases a deep sigh, turning to face you. The bar separates you, and it feels like miles of distance when all you want to do is get your hands on him now that your hypothesis has been proven.

Joel Miller likes you. And he’s been sabotaging your dates because of it. Perhaps you should be more upset, but all you can feel is an effervescent giddiness bubbling in your veins.

While he struggles to find the words, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You reach across the bar, hooking your fingers into the collar of his t-shirt and tugging him forward. You lean over to meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his.

You pull back and look into his eyes. The coffee colored brown of his irises seems darker, his eyes half lidded as he looks at you.

“You wanna get out of here?” He asks.

“Thought you’d never ask.”

________

Joel’s got one hand on the wheel of the truck and the other resting on your thigh. He has to keep a hand on you because he’s worried that if he doesn’t anchor himself, he’ll wake up from this dream.

You kissed him. You reached across the bar and dragged his lips to yours in a way he’d only dreamed of doing a thousand times since you’d sauntered into his life.

He can’t help the small smile that tilts his lips up at the thought.

“What’s got you smiling over there?” You ask, your voice teasing. He glances at you.

“You do, darlin’,” he says. He relishes in the pink that blooms across your cheeks at the pet name.

Joel drives to his house, parking the truck in the driveway of his little bungalow. His bachelor pad, as Tommy calls it.

Maybe not for much longer.

He circles the truck to open the door for you, helping you down from the cab. He keeps his hand on your low back as he leads you up the porch steps and through the door.

You toe off your shoes in the entryway, letting them join the pair of sneakers Joel left by the door. You’re wearing a pair of socks with tiny cats printed on them, the sight so endearing to him he can’t hold back his laugh.

“What?” You ask.

“Nothin’, just…like the look of you here. In my house,” he says.

“Yeah?” You take a step closer to him, toe to toe as you look up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your waist, tugging your body against his. The heat of you even through the layers of your clothes sends a shiver down his spine.

You press your hands to his chest, sliding them up and over his shoulders before linking them behind his neck.

“You gonna give me a real kiss?” You whisper back. Your lips are so tantalizingly close that they ghost across his as you speak.

He closes the distance, lips dancing with yours as he kisses you senseless. The feel of you against him, moving with him, sends sparks skittering across his skin. He’s unable to hold still, hands roaming from your back to your waist to your hips as your mouths part and your tongues tangle with increased desperation.

Joel slides his hands to the backs of your thighs, crouching slightly to lift you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your core slides against his growing hardness and he groans at the sensation as you let out the neediest whimper.

He wants to hear more.

He walks you both through the empty house until he reaches his bedroom, tossing you on top of sheets still rumpled from last night’s sleep. You scramble to sit up on your knees, moving to the edge of the bed and curling your fingers into the waist of his jeans.

“Can I suck your cock, Joel?” You ask, voice all breathy as you stare up at him with your big doe eyes. “Please?”

Joel’s mouth has gone bone dry. “Yeah? You want my cock in that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart?”

You nod your head, fingers working on the buckle of his belt. His hands work in tandem with yours to get his fly open, shoving the denim down his thighs until he can step out of them. His cock tents his boxers, a wet spot already apparent on the fabric and he watches as you reach a hand out to stroke him, a groan escaping him at the feel of your warm palm against him.

“Take your clothes off and get on your knees,” Joel commands. He lifts his own shirt over his head as you unbutton and remove your pants, shimmying the tight fabric down your legs. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed as he watches you lift your shirt up and off.

His eyes rove your body hungrily. Your perfect tits and gorgeous curves, the way you flush beneath his gaze.

“Come here, baby,” he says, crooking a finger. You come to stand between his legs and he reaches around your back, unhooking your bra with deft fingers.

“You’re rather skilled at that, Mr. Miller,” you tease.

“I’m old, not dead.” He slips the straps from your shoulders, tugging the last barrier between him and your tits away. “God, baby, these all for me?”

“Mhm,” you him as he wraps his hand around the weight of one breast, thumb teasing your pert nipple.

“Tell me somethin’,” Joel asks, “why’d you bring all those boys around when you knew you needed a man?”

You lick your lips. “Didn’t know if the only man I wanted would want me back.”

Your voice is small and vulnerable as you say it, and that just won’t do. “Don’t just want you, baby. Need you.”

Your face lights up in the brightest grin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, baby. Need you so fuckin’ bad,” he tells you, digging his fingers into your hips. “S’why I had to play dirty.”

Your smile turns downright salacious. You drop to your knees, running your hands up his thighs. “Show me how much you need me, Joel.”

________

Joel shoves his boxers down, exposing his cock to your hungry gaze. It’s gorgeously thick, the head a dark red from his arousal, a pearl of precum sitting in the slit. You lean forward and dart your tongue out to gather it.

“Don’t tease, sweetheart,” Joel says through gritted teeth. You keep your eyes fixed to his as you take him in hand, swirling your tongue over the sensitive head before taking him further into your mouth.

His hand is instantly in your hair. Not pressing, but his fingers tangle in the strands and tug deliciously against your scalp. He moans as you take him as far back into your throat as you can manage.

“Fuck, your mouth is better than I ever dreamed,” he says, voice rough.

“You’ve thought about this?” You ask when you draw back for breath, hand pumping his length in place of your mouth.

“‘Course, baby. These pretty lips wrapped around me, beggin’ for me to make them all swollen and used,” he says, standing and bringing a thumb to your lips and swiping it across their spit slick surface. “Open up.”

He uses his thumb to press against your bottom lip, opening your mouth as he takes his cock in hand and feeds it slowly between your lips. The smooth, hot length of him dragging across your tongue makes you moan.

“You like that, baby?” He growls, pumping his hips in shallow thrusts. “Like me usin’ your mouth how I want?”

You try to nod, your movement restricted by the grip of his hand that’s returned to your hair. There’s spit trailing down your chin and tears gathering in the corners of your eyes from the effort of keeping your mouth open for his thick length. You know you must look like a mess but with Joel staring down at you with his lust drunk expression, you feel on top of the world.

“I gotta fuck you, baby, will you let me, huh? Let me feel that pretty little cunt strangle my cock?”

You hum around his length and he withdraws, tugging you up by your hair and pulling you into the dirtiest kiss, all tongue and teeth and blatant desire as he turns your bodies, shoving you down onto the bed.

Joel slips an arm beneath your low back, using it to pull you up the bed as he crawls on to join you. He positions himself between your legs, tearing the soaked fabric of your panties down in a frenzy.

He slides his fingers through your wetness before bringing them to his lips, sucking them into his mouth with a groan.

“Christ, I’m gonna feast on you for hours, baby, but I wanna fuck you so bad,” he says.

“Then fuck me, Joel, please,” you beg, lifting your hips so that his cock slips through your center. “Come on, wanna feel you.”

He lines himself up, pressing into you with a delicious stretch, the slight sting of it making you whine. He shushes you, not stopping until his hips press against the back of your thighs.

“Good fuckin’ girl, takin’ my cock like you were made for it,” he says, leaning forward to kiss you, the shift in angle making him go impossibly deeper. “Tell me when I can move, sweetheart.”

You shift your hips restlessly beneath him. “Please move, Joel, wanna feel it.”

Joel pulls back before slamming forward, the force of it making you slide up the bed as all the air leaves your lungs in a whoosh. His grin is sharp as he does it again and again to the tune of your desperate cries.

“Joel!” You cry, clawing at his back with each thrust. “Fuck, yes, yes!”

He withdraws abruptly, the loss of him as you clench around nothing making you whine pathetically. With a bruising grip on your hips, he twists your body until you’re on your belly, ass in the air and chest pressed to the mattress.

Joel slides back inside your tight heat, a palm slapping across one cheek then the other as he resumes his powerful thrusts.

“Fuck, darlin’, you’re so goddamn tight,” he growls. A hand presses to the back of your neck for leverage, changing the angle yet again. “Can you cum for me? Can you soak my fuckin’ cock, baby, I bet you can.”

You nod, the movement restricted, but you can’t form words. All you know is the feeling of Joel pounding into your body like he owns it.

The hand on your hips moves to the front of your body, fingers finding and pinching your clit. You sob against the mattress, the sheets wet beneath you from tears and drool.

“Come on, baby, fuckin’ cum for me,” he growls. “Won’t fill ya up until you do.”

That’s the visual that does it. The thought of Joel finishing with you, inside of you, dripping out of you too much for your lust addled brain. With a shout, the thin remnant of your control snaps and you pulse around him.

“Fuck yes, that’s it, sweetheart, good fuckin’ girl,” he praises, his hand leaving your neck as he sits up, his tempo fast and sloppy as he chases his release through yours. “You want me to cum in this tight little cunt, honey.”

“Yes, please,” you manage to slur, muffled by the sheets. With three more harsh thrusts, he does as promised, spilling inside of you with a shout.

He slows before withdrawing, your body collapsing against the mattress without him there to hold you up. He chuckles as he flops beside you, dragging you into the cradle of his body.

“You done playin’ games with those boys?” He asks, smiling smugly against your neck.

“Yeah, think I might be into older guys,” you tease. He pinches your hip, making you laugh.

“See if I ever help you during trivia again.”

________

Joel’s standing in front of you, arms crossed with a scowl on his face as you stare up at him with pleading eyes.

“Come on, baby, help me out,” you ask sweetly, batting your eyelashes.

“Last call for an answer to our final question! What is the only song credited to all five original members of the band Fleetwood Mac?”

Joel sighs, biting back his smile. “The Chain,” he tells you. You scribble the answer, running your paper up to the emcee. When you return to the bar, you lean across the polished surface and tug him towards you, planting a kiss to his lips.

He drags you back for another kiss. And another.

“Anytime, darlin’.”

Joel Miller tag list: @huffle-punk punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfell @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow

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dejwrld · 8 months ago

Text

⤷‧₊˚ you + the eldest brother of the kids you babysit = a late night cam show

┊ •° ੈ ⋆° ┊ warning readers discretion is advised — female reader, female anatomy described, female anatomy described, usage of y/n, cam work mentioned, cam boy!dabi, dabi has multiple piercings, fingering, squirting, consensual recording, dabi calls reader a slut and bitch once, mentions of black male, dacryphilia, told in third pov, mdni

a repost from my old account.

Being home from university for winter break was a huge burden for Dabi. Not only did he have to deal with being the black sheep within his family, but he had to set up a quite particular schedule to entertain his ten thousand subscribers on the popular camboy website. He figured to do cam shows when the house was down for bedtime or when he knew no one was home. However, with his family all crowding the traditional Japanese home for the holidays, he’s been abandoning the subscribers that tipped him wonderful just for stroking his cock on camera.

The thing is, Dabi didn’t really need the money. He came from pure old money. It just stroked his ego reading the comments people said about him. From complimenting his toned torso and pecks that were accessorized with a nipple piercing to adoring his Lorum piercing on his pretty cock. It made his ears grow so hot like an excited dog getting ready to play with its owners. He adored the ego stroke of what he did, but his gloomy eyes didn’t light up in excitement seeing his bank account grow. It was as if the money didn’t phase him. He didn’t spend much of the money on himself, usually buying his siblings’ stuff. Which usually was more of him throwing the item at them and mumbling how he remembered they mentioned to him that they needed or wanted it.

He even took it upon himself to give a gift to his younger siblings’ babysitter (Y/N). A beautiful young woman around his age who’s been the family babysitter for years now. Dabi never paid attention to the girl. Giving her a sly wave before slamming his home door to go hang out with his friends. However, it all changed when she went on the annual family trip with them one hot summer.

Perhaps, Dabi should have concluded that something was going to happen when the two were stuck sharing a hotel room due to a hotel mistake. A night that was filled with stealing miniature vodka bottles from the hotel bar when the bartender was occupied led to a breathless night of Dabi taking the pretty babysitter’s virginity. parted ways due to college, Dabi expected the girl to become clingy. Who wouldn’t become clingy to the guy who took their virginity? But she didn’t.

However, Dabi did notice something. He noticed that her skirts got shorter. Her tops got tighter. She always would let her fingertips graze against his hand when they were in the kitchen together. Her eyes even lit up with so much lust when she saw he was home. She was driving him so crazy because he couldn’t read her.

That was until he was in the kitchen munching on the dinner his mother cooked for the family before she and his father went on a date, (Y/N) was sliding her phone across the counter looking at him with such an intense stare. Dabi’s cold glare traveled down to the phone screen and he nearly choked on the rice ball that was in his mouth.

“You should really not use your most common fuckin’ nickname for your account,” (Y/N) chuckle as she looked at him.

Dabi swallowed the food he was chewing and quickly exited the website that once had his profile right on it. He even saw that she had an account on the website, assuming that she was only there to view the content and not do what he does.

“At first, I didn’t believe it. It’s just a coincidence,” (Y/N) explained. “But that piercing gave it all away,” She soon added as her alluring eyes traveled down to his crotch.

“Okay, I stroke my dick for fuckin’ strangers, now what?” Dabi asked as he stepped closer to her. “Going to snitch off to my parents?” His head tilted slightly, challenging the babysitter in front of him.

“Yes.” (Y/N) bluntly admitted.

Dabi’s fist clenched tightly, “Seriously (Y/N)? Don’t be such a bitch.” He uttered.

“Maybe I am one. Your father will be so upset hearing how his son gets an ego stroke by stroking his dick for strangers on the internet,” (Y/N) says as her hands went up to toy with the necklace around Dabi’s neck.

“Well, what do you want for you to keep your mouth shut?” Dabi asked. “Money? Shoes? Another necklace?” He motioned to the diamond pendant necklace around her neck. A gift he gave her for being such a good babysitter for his siblings.

Once that question left Dabi’s lips, he watched as her lips curled into a smirk. Her fingers dragged down his chest in a slow manner as she batted her lashes at him. She stopped at the string of his grey Nike sweats, “I want to be featured on your show.” She says.

“No,” Dabi says. “You’re not being in my show, I never do collabs. I won’t start now because of a brat trying to blackmail me.” He went back to eating, leaving her pouting at him.

“You’re really okay with your parents seeing this? Especially your dad,” She asked.

Dabi throws his hands up in the air in a careless manner. His shoulders shrugging before he’s speaking once again, “Guess he’ll see what he gave me huh?” He chuckled as he placed his plate in the sink and walked by (Y/N).

Her mouth gaped open at his comment before she chased after him like a lost puppy. “Toya, it would bring you so much more money though.” She whines as she follows him up the stairs.

“Why do you want to be on my show anyway?” He asked. “Wouldn’t want to tarnish your innocent image right?”

“Your shows are always filmed neck down, not like anyone would see my face,” (Y/N) blurted out.

As the dark-haired male caught on to what she said, he turned around to face her. His back pressed against his room door eyeing her up and down. He took in the way her plaid skater skirt moved as she switched her weight from one leg to another and the way he could tell she was wearing a push-up bra to show off her perfectly sized breasts. His teeth grazed at his lower lip as he was mentally weighing out the pros and cons of it. For her to notice that he always streamed from the neck down, she must have been a daily viewer.

“Fine. But if you utter any of this to my parents…” His voice trailed off. “I’ll tell them about when Shoto had to go to the emergency room because your irresponsible ass gave him something he’s allergic to.”

“How’d you know that?” She asked, her arms crossed over her chest pushing her chest forward.

Dabi’s eyes traveled down to look at her chest before he gave her a smirk. “I have my ways, now are you ready or not?”

“What? You want to do it now?” (Y/N) questioned.

“I was planning on streaming now that everyone is asleep and I have about an hour before my parents return,” He said before he twisted the doorknob to his door and pushed it open. His head motioned for her to come in. (Y/N) would give him a cheeky smile before skipping into his room like a child going into a toy store. Not knowing that Dabi was about to practically ruin her pretty little cunt for his subscribers.

He didn’t really let anyone in his room, it was his space. He was very protective of his space. The blue neon lights hardly helped with lighting in the room, which Dabi didn’t mind. It added a unique atmosphere and view to the way he stroked his cock for thousands of people online. The walls of his room were decorated with covers of vintage Rolling Stone and Playboy Bunny magazines. In the corner of his room, he had a record player with a neat pile of vinyl records. (Y/N) was expecting anything out from the camera view on his desk that had his multiple computer monitors would be messy, but he took her by shock. She sat on his bed staring around his room while Dabi sat at his desk going to the website.

“I want to finger you,” Dabi bluntly admitted, his eyes never leaving his computer monitor. “I think us having full-blown sex will be too much for my subscribers considering I only do solo content,” He soon explained.

“Don’t you think that’ll be pretty difficult?” (Y/N) questioned. “Your viewers won’t even be able to see it fully,” she huffs crossing her arms over her chest.

Dabi didn’t even have to turn to look at her to know that she was a pouting mess behind him. He logged into his account announcing that he’ll be starting a stream in about three minutes. His ears growing hot seeing the number of people liking his status update despite him just posting it. “Just take off your panties and come sit on my lap.” He said as he pushed himself a little from under his desk.

(Y/N) eyebrows raised at his comment before she stood up. Her hands up her plaid skater skirt she wore to tug down the lace panties she wore. She throws them over her shoulder before going over to Dabi’s lap, comfortably sitting down as if she sat on his lap multiple times before. Dabi’s fingertips traced alongside her thighs as he sat in the large gaming chair. Such a small intimate moment caused a chill to travel down (Y/N)’s spine.

“This still doesn’t solve our problem that they won’t be able to see you fingering me,” (Y/N) argued.

“You never shut up, do you?” Dabi asked, her remarks were causing the boy to grow annoyed.

“Only if you stuff my mouth with something,” She snapped back giving him a smirk.

Dabi chuckles at her comment, leaning over to start the stream. It was a one-minute count down until the stream would be broadcast to the world, “Lay your back to my chest, pull your knees up and place your legs on the armrest of the chair.” He urged. “Or just place your feet on my knees and keep your legs open for the world can see,” Dabi says. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

(Y/N) glanced at the thirty-second mark on the screen before she does what she was told. Her cunt was now exposed for his subscribers to see, her gold anklet reflected at her on the screen. Looking at herself in such a provocative way turned her on. Despite you could only see from the neck down, it was a wonderful view to both her and Dabi. Her eyes filled with lust and her pussy throbbed to be touched. She could feel Dabi’s breath tickle at her earlobe and seeing his devious smirk caused her to swallow the harsh lump that formed in the middle of her throat.

“Look how good you look,” Dabi whispered in her ear. “You’re probably going to steal the show from me, doll,” He adds before a little tick noise could be heard as the stream was counting down from ten. “Make sure you don’t moan my real name like you did last time I had you like this during that family trip,” His fingers inched slowly and slow in between her plump thighs.

The show was now live for all his subscribers to see. Dabi was about to finger fuck (Y/N) for his subscribers and she couldn’t wait for that to happen. The pretty babysitter felt the harsh slap at her cunt when the countdown had finally hit zero. The tingle her cunt felt at the sudden slap caused her to be soaked. Dabi’s fingers swiped at her puffy lips collecting her wetness and she could feel his teeth nibbling at the bridge of her ear. “I slapped that cunt of yours and you grew so fuckin’ wet. You like it when I do that?”

“Yes,” Her words stumble out in an intoxicating way. “Please touch me some more,”

The pad of Dabi’s index and middle finger rubbed at her sensitive bud in a circular motion. The tipping notification was blowing up on his profile, but he ignored it. He wanted to see her fucked out just by his fingers. “Like this, doll?” Dabi questioned.

“Or like this?” His two fingers entered her sopping entrance without a warning.

(Y/N)’s mouth gasped open at the sudden action. Her hands grabbed at Dabi’s wrist. “Like that,” She cooed. Her eyes fluttered closed as if she was put into a trance.

“You’re so fuckin’ wet all for me, may have to fuck you until you’re seeing stars after this,” Dabi commented as he begin to move his two fingers inside of her. Her wetness pooled into his lap staining the grey sweatpants he wore.

The audience was loving every second of what was going on as the comments were moving so quickly that Dabi couldn’t even read them. His mind was making sure that (Y/N) felt the wrath of her silly con of trying to blackmail him. His fingers thrust inside her at a pace just like she liked him. A pace she was familiar with when the two shared a moment together during the Todoroki family trip.

“Fuck—” (Y/N) stuttered out as her back pressed against Dabi’s toned chest. Her head fell back as her eyes lolled in the back of her head. The pleasurable feeling of Dabi’s slender digits stuffing her pretty cunt caused her to quiver. Her eyes watered as if she was enduring so much pain, but just she was just enduring the intoxicating pleasure of Dabi fingering her.

“Look at them pretty lil tears.” Dabi cooed in her ear as his finger tugged out of her wet pussy. His fingers were coated with her slick as he rubbed at her clit once again. “I just fingered you and you’re already cryin’ out like a desperate lil slut.”

“Screw you.” (Y/N) spat at him as she was panting, her hips bucked upon his wet fingers for more friction upon her throbbing cunt.

“You’re telling me this as you’re bucking against my hand like a poor little wolf in heat.” Dabi slapped at her cunt once again before his fingers disappeared into her pussy again.

The only sound that bounced off Dabi’s room walls were the moans that tumbled off (Y/N)’s lips and the pornographic sound of Dabi’s fingers aggressively thrusting inside her cunt. At this point, the young babysitter soaked Dabi’s lap as she could feel her orgasm pooling at the pit of her stomach. Her back arching slightly off his lap just for his hand that wasn’t buried in between her thighs to push her back from not leaning forward to expose her face to his viewers.

“If you’re going to cum on my fingers go ahead,” Dabi urged as his fingers still were inside her. “I want to feel your pussy pulse around my fingers anyway,” He adds.

Dabi’s inebriating words only was responded with a string of moans. His free hand reached over to rub at her clit. The beautiful sight of (Y/N) on his monitor had Dabi rock hard under his sweatpants that were currently soaked. (Y/N) had reached to slowly Dabi’s hand but he moved it out the way as if she was being disobedient.

“Just let it all doll, I know you want to,” Dabi assured as his thumb flickered at the sensitive bud once again.

It was as if he had her in a trance because once those words fell off his tongue, (Y/N) let it all out. Her walls fluttered around his fingers as if it was his own thick cock. But that didn’t stop Dabi. His fingers still thrust inside her tight cunt, lunging through the overpowering orgasm she was currently enduring.

“Dabi, that’s too much” (Y/N) cried out as her tears decorated her lashline, causing the once-black mascara she wore to smudge and stain her face.

“Shhhh…I said let it all out, didn’t I?” Dabi questioned as his lips kissed at the side of her temple sweetly. His fingers still pounced forward until the gush of liquid escaped from her cunt. Dabi could feel it staining his pants, his wooden floors right below him, and even his desk.

The sight of seeing the way (Y/N)’s toes curled as his fingers removed themselves before he’s back massaging her clit. She was a wet quivering mess in his lap as the tipping notification on his profile was going off like crazy.

“Don’t ever think about blackmailing again, okay?” Dabi whispered into her ear before he eventually ended his stream.

(Y/N) couldn’t feel the lower half of her body, her brain felt like a frozen Windows tab on a computer, and she felt so exhausted. As she sat on Dabi’s lap, she could feel the same fingers that once were inside her tracing alongside her thighs that still were shaking just a bit.

“You need to get up and go shower before my parents come back” Dabi interjected her thoughts.

“Yeah, you’re right.” was the only words that could come out of (Y/N)’s mouth as she climbed off his lap. Her face felt so hot when she saw the wet spot on Dabi’s pants.

“It’s just a pair of sweatpants,” He responded as he began to clean the mess (Y/N) made.

When the stream ended, Dabi and (Y/N) were in the living room watching television. Sitting in silence trying to gather up all the thoughts of the intimate moment the two shared. He heard her phone ring, expecting it was his parents notifying her that they were a couple of minutes away from the house and it was okay to leave now if she’d like. But instead, he watched as her teeth bit down on her lower lip.

“Connor, you left me on read for three days and now you want to respond because I got finger fucked on camera! Fuck you!”

At that moment Dabi realized that (Y/N) didn’t care to blackmail him and use him being a cam boy against him. She used it for her own gain. To make her boyfriend jealous.

“How’d he know it was you?” Dabi questioned as his eyes tore from the television to look at her.

(Y/N) threw her feet in Dabi’s lap, lifting her left leg shaking her leg slightly so the gold anklet that had a ‘C’ pendant would be in his view. “This. He gave it to me last Monday for our four-month anniversary, just for him to cheat two days after that. I sent him the link to your profile before I even approached you about the whole blackmailing thing.” She said with confidence in her voice.

“You’re fuckin’ insane.” He added.

“I know.” (Y/N) says as she smiled at the dark-haired male.

Silence once again overcame the duo as they went back to watching tv, but Dabi broke the silence with a quickness.

“Do you want to do another stream together?”

#mha smut #mha x reader #dabi x reader #dabi smut #toya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki smut #anime smut #anime x reader #my hero academia x reader #⊹˳⁺ ♡ 𝒻𝒶𝓃𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

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planetpiastri · 8 months ago

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pairing: logan sargeant x fem!reader [no faceclaim, reader is faceless] summary: when alex's childhood friend makes an appearance on his instagram, logan is instantly smitten, but the universe insists on keeping them only as a missed connection, and alex isn't helping matters. notes: the long awaited part three! i'm currently giving all my fics a facelift, but the guilt about this update has been eating away at me, so here you guys go<3 i've decided to stop living in denial and just admit this is a full series now so here comes the (brief) angst era! [series masterlist]

liked by lilymhe, georgerussell63, and 154,329 others

alex_albon winter break, you were fun 🫡 see you next year!

view all 2,876 comments

username1 try not to say parents challenge level impossible (failed)

lilymhe he stole that car

alex_albon you promised you wouldn't tell anyone!!

username2 looking good albono! excited to see you scoring points soon!

williamsracing Nice hat! :D

username3 guys can i confess something.... i miss yn :(

username4 you guys say this under all of his posts. obviously something happened and they don't post each other anymore for a reason, respect their space and stop bringing this up.

liked by alex_albon, logansargeant, and 71,823 others

williamsracing the boys are back and so are we 👀

view all 3,012 comments

username5 RRRAAHHH I SMELL DOUBLE POINTS

username6 the new suits are AWESOME, the boys are gonna kill it this season!!!!!

alex_albon who approved that corny ass caption

logansargeant Me alex_albon i'm gonna steal your tires

username7 even if yn has vanished off the face of the earth at least we can thank her for bringing the williams boys closer together so that we get to see them goofing off in the comments 😔

username8 yeah but it's all for show like they don't hang out off track anymore... landonorris oh are we just saying things in the comments? i wanna join!! george sleeps with a teddy bear georgerussell63 Don't drag me into this wtf alex_albon it's true, he does

liked by oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 71,013 others

logansargeant Some bits and bobs from the break

view all 2,789 comments

username9 what kind of whack british caption is that

username10 maybe the rumors about him and alex not hanging out were wrong, maybe they're hanging out TOO MUCH actually...

alex_albon i have taught you well, young padawan

username11 omg logan and oscar content we're soooo back

williamsracing Looking energized, Sarge!

username12 the fact that we never got a hard launch for logan and yn so we'll never know if they actually got together is my roman empire

username13 no fr!! they were flirting and bantering all over the place and then suddenly BOOM! she just disappears like wtf happenedddd username14 you guys talking abt a possible situationship not happening vs twenty years of friendship between alex and yn that's gone... have some priorities username15 hi just popping in to say you guys are weird af for speculating like this under his winter break dump 💀 move tf on

logansargeant

liked by georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, and 68,578 others

logansargeant Quick trip back over the pond before locking in 👊 bring it on season ✌️

view all 2,549 comments

username16 wait did we miss a step

alex_albon that does not look like sim work

logansargeant Are you my dad or something? Get a life alex_albon DAMN

username17 um? um?? the last picture??? um??????

georgerussell63 What

logansargeant Who? georgerussell63 ?? logansargeant Asked

username18 please be a soft launch with that girl from the afterparty please please please please please

oscarpiastri Interesting.

username19 OSCAR WHAT DO YOU KNOW

williamsracing

liked by ynusername, logansargeant, and 78,321 others

williamsracing Good times in Bahrain! See you next year, Sakhir 😉

view all 3,253 comments

username20 WHAT was that strategy guys

alex_albon "good times" literally where that was nothing but pain

williamsracing ☹️👉👈 we're sowwy awex alex_albon ew wtf don't say that to me

username21 guys? yn liked? she's alive?

username22 JUSTICE FOR LOGAN'S STEERING WHEEL

tagging: @sticksdoesart @hiireadstuff @minkyungseokie @thatoneembarrasingmoment @croissantbakerylws @dear-fifi @imjustme-n @kn1n3 @captainfrisbee @ssrcsm @rhythmstars @urfavnoirette

if you want to be tagged in future parts, fill out this form

#logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant imagine #logan sargeant au #f1 #f1 social media au #f1 smau #f1 x reader #instagram au #f1 imagine #social media au #alex albon #saturn writes

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alnair-jpg · 3 months ago

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Olympics AU Info dump!

First, I am blown away by how much love the series is getting, thank you all so much! I do really enjoy all the comments and reactions in the tags. Know that they all delight me and the only reason I don’t reply to everything is because there are so many! But I read them all 💕

General questions:

Can you draw the designs or concepts? Write fanfic in this AU?

Yes of course! I’d love for you to tag me if you post them so I can see

Do they all know each other?

At first, I would say no- with the exception of Nico and Will (they’re developing a whole backstory in my head that I cannot and will not stop.). But they all meet in the Olympic Village after the opening ceremonies and quickly become friends. They all try their best to attend each other’s events. (Someone please tell me how Percabeth becomes a thing. Please. 🙏 )

Why didn’t Percy win gold?

Percy was an Olympic medalist in swimming before moving to diving. After competing in several swimming events and feeling like they were all just small variations of the same thing, he wanted more of a challenge. He chose diving to stay rooted in to the water, but to add a new dimension to his bodily awareness and control.

What’s Annabeth and Luke’s rivalry?

They most definitely trained together, and it was Luke’s skill that motivated Annabeth to aim for the Olympics. But, she wanted to compete for her home country, Greece, which Luke thought was just a shortcut since there was a clearer path to an Olympic team in a smaller country. Annabeth is constantly trying to prove to him that she would have made it to the top of the sport either way.

Also, apologies to the IRL fencers out there for the inconsistency. I know fencing is a gendered sport, and Annabeth’s gear/style are inconsistent, please forgive the oversight ☺️🫶

Volleyball?

The whole Hunters of Artemis are a volleyball team (that apparently has no country 😅). Thalia ends up the captain. When Reyna moves on from tennis they welcome her with open arms.

Rejected sports

Will as a runner. Canonically, he’s super fast, but just having him as a sprinter didn’t fit with his personality.

Will as a pole vaulter. Specifically the guy that lost because he was ‘blessed a little too much’ and knocked down the bar. I will not explain further.

Will as a gymnast. He was this || close to being a gymnast essentially modeled after Steven Nedoroscik, I had the sketch and everything. (I shared it here!) But when an anyonomous ask clued me into the sick medical team uniforms it all fell into place from there. (Thank you no-longer-anon @helyeahmangocheese !)

Percy in anything equestrian related. I see him not having the patience for all the formality of it all, but he definitely crashes Hazel’s shows and chats up all the competition (the horses.)

Annabeth on a sailing team. Also, related to that, Reyna on a sailing team. It was a fun idea, especially for Reyna and her history with pirates but ultimately it was really hard to capture in a few illustrations.

Nico in several winter sports. For consistency mostly. He could fit for a lot of winter sports - ice skating and snowboarding are my personal favorites.

Leo as a shooter. He would most definitely build his own gear and make tweaks to his weapon. Which would get him immediately disqualified.

Jason in discus. Jason as a basketball player. Golf is just… fitting. 😂

Other Characters I’ve been thinking about

(that may have art in the works… and may not actually be athletes!)

Clarisse

Meg

Grover

Rachel

Lester / Apollo

Mr. D

Chiron

#olympics au #pjo #pjo hoo toa #percy jackson #rrverse #annabeth chase #jason grace #nico di angelo #will solace #reyna avila ramirez arellano #hazel lavesque #trials of apollo

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axelsagewrites · 10 months ago

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Hi I was just wondering if you were gonna write more tormund real man or if it was a one time thing it's really good

Tormund*Use Your Words

Pairing: Tormund x f!northerner!reader

Word count: 1537

Warnings: f!recieving oral, m!recieving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, teasing, praise, dirty talk, a lot of swearing, smut 18+

Masterlist Here

Part two to real man (here) or read as a stand alone

Being the lone woman of the wall had its challenges but with the threat of winter and the night king someone had to be here to stitch up the wounded and most of these men simply did not have your expertise. All of the men were grateful to have you stitch up their wounds and receive even just a smile however they knew they’d not survive long if they did anything else.

When lord commander snow agreed to your stay, he also agreed to give a swift punishment to any man who tried take it too far. Something neither of you had accounted for was when you would have to take care of the wildlings.

Well one specifically. Tormund teased you every time you entered his room, well prison really. His taunts made you blush and squirm under his gaze but never in a way that made you feel threatened. Instead, you would get a strange warm feeling spreading through your stomach when he’d make comments to you.

They got bolder with time. at first, he would make vague suggestions of things a pretty girl could better spend her time doing. Now when you entered, he didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes tore over your body. “One day you’ll grow sick of those boys,” he said as you applied the ointment to his now almost healed wound, “When you do, you’ll know where to find me,” he winked at you as you turned to stash the lotion back in your bag.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to him, catching him obviously staring at your ass, “Subtle,” you hummed, turning your attention to your bag once more as you tried to stall for more time. you had grown oddly found of the Firey red head.

“Never been accused of subtly,” he said, laying back down on his bed, his eyes scanning your frame still, “If you don’t ask you don’t get,”

“Oh yeah?”

He hummed with a smile, nodding his head, “Oh yes little bird. You’d be surprised how much you can get when you just use your words. You should try it sometimes,”

“And what is it I would ask of you?” you laughed, turning round with hands on your hips.

Tormund grinned, pushing himself up on his elbows, “For a proper fuck from a real man not some pretty boy like Snow,”

You couldn’t help the flush that stained your cheeks, but you could turn away from him, “Me and Jon are just friends,”

Tormund barked out a laugh, “Please. that boy would give his left arm for a chance with you,” he said as he went to stood up, “now you gonna stop pretending to be busy and look at me?”

“Who said I was pretending?” you said as you closed up your bag and turned to face him, trying to keep the tough look on your face. “I should go now,” you went to walk away but his hand shot out to grab your wrist.

It was gently enough that you could have pulled away but instead you only turned back to face him, “But you don’t want to go, do you? you want me, just as much as I want you,” he said, stepping closer till your chest was pressed against his as his other hand moved to the small of your back, “All you need to do is admit it little one,” he leaned down, his breath fanning your ear, “All you have to do is ask,”

You weren’t sure what happened but something in you snapped and suddenly his lips were on yours and your hands were in his hair. Tormund groaned into the kiss, moving back till he was sat on the bed, pulling you down to straddle his lap.

His hands moved to your hips, tugging at them to make you grind down onto his clothed hard member. you moaned into the kiss, allowing his tongue entry. Your dress had soon bunched up around your waist allowing Tormund’s hands to move down to squeeze your thighs, all while your hips continued to buck against him.

Just as you seemed to sink into a rhythm you were shocked once more by him flipping you onto your back while his lips began kissing down your neck. He squeezed your tit over your dress while he began to grind his hard on into your leg. “We shouldn’t,” you murmured, your eyes flickering close.

“Oh, but we should,” he grinned against your skin, “Tell me you don’t want to and ill stop,” he said as his hand moved to run up your thigh. You gasped when you felt his fingers run soft circles over your clit, “But your pretty little sounds make me think otherwise,”

You moaned when you felt his fingers slip into your hole, stretching you out perfectly, “So wet already,” he teased, nipping at your skin with his teeth.

Your eyes shot open when you felt him moving down, “What are you doing?” you asked as you felt his breath fan your wet cunt.

“Trust me little one. Let yourself enjoy it,” he said.

You’d been raised your whole live to distrust the wildlings but when you felt his lips wrap around your clit all while his fingers curled inside you, all that went out the window. He moved your thighs over his shoulders while his tongue worked wonders on your bundle of nerves.

You felt your thighs begin to clamp around his head and you were about to try pull them away encase you hurt him when you felt the vibrations of his moan shoot up your clit, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “Tormund,” you couldn’t help but moan his name.

Times like this you were thankful Tormund lived in a room so far from everyone else since you didn’t have to hide your moans. You felt a knot in your stomach tighten and it didn’t take long till you felt yourself come to your peak on his face, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he kept going till you felt yourself sink into the sheets like melted snow and kept going till a second orgasm raged through your body.

When he came up for air his face was slick with your juices and there was a large grin on his face as you gasped for air, “Fuck you really are sweet,” he said, his lips crashing onto yours again.

“Please,” you moaned against his lips.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me,” you practically whined against his lips that soon curled into a smirk.

Tormund wasted no time in unlacing his trousers, “I’ve dreamt of you asking me that,” he said, pulling his hard cock out and running the tip up and down your slit, “Kept me up all night thinking of you,” he said, pushing the tip in, “how you’d look under me,” he said, his eyes screwing shut as he pushed further in, “how good you’d look falling apart around my cock,” he said, pushing the rest in with one final push.

He waited a moment for you to adjust but when he felt your hips begin to buck, he wasted no time in grabbing your hips. His pace was ruthless but after being stretched with his fingers and fucked by his tongue it was exactly what you craved.

Your legs went to wrap around his waist and Tormund groaned when he felt himself sink in deeper. “Fuck you take me so well,” he groaned, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his hand slipped between your bodies to rub harsh circles on your swollen clit.

You couldn’t help the moans falling from your lips especially when you felt your third peak fast approaching, “Don’t stop,” you begged him, over and over as your legs tightened around his waist.

This only seemed to drive him more insane as his hips began to snap at an almost inhuman pace as he fucked you into the bed so hard the headboard banged against the wall with each thrust, but the noises didn’t matter right now. “Cmon,” he murmured against your skin, “Cum around my cock like a good little southerner,”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that you were a northerner through and through, but you couldn’t even speak as your third orgasm hit you. Tormund felt your cunt squeeze around his cock and knew he couldn’t take it any longer.

He pulled out, moving quickly to sit beside you and before you could question him you felt his hand tugging at your hair. You knew what he meant and quickly wrapped your lips around his cock. He moaned loudly as you took him into your mouth, and it only took a couple seconds before you felt hot cum shoot into your mouth. You swallowed it quickly before pulling off to sit up beside him.

Tormund was panting as he tried to come down from his high as he turned to you with a fucked-out expression. “I’m a fucking northerner by the way,” you said, cutting him off when he went to speak.

A smile curved onto his lips as he laughed, “You’re fucking something alright,”

Taglist Sign Up Here

General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @justtilly @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette

Game of thrones taglist: @mysunflowerspace @xyinparadise @nyotamalfoy @asgards-princess-of-mischief @sashadevil766 @lonely-girl2423 @3lisia

Part one tags: @mariahossain @tangerinedreams23 @kissykissymouth

#tormund #tormund giantsbane #tormund x reader #tormund smut #tormund imagine #tormund fanfic #tormund giantsbane x reader #tormund giantsbane smut #tormund giantsbane imagine #game of thrones #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones smut #game of thrones x reader

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cherryheairt · 3 months ago

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Dragon Dreamer pt. XI

part eleven y'all. The closer I get to the season ending, the more nervous I get, I hope I can make do with book summarizations, though canon will be changed around. it has been two weeks since Jaehaerys' death, for time to move forward.

tags: @alexandra-001 @beebeechaos @emery-aka-emmy @r-3dlips @watermel0nsugarhigh @delaynew @pedro-pascal-love @purple-1995 @reyndaisy @theadharablack @thatkindofgurl @thelastemzy @saintkittykat @hueanhdang @littleblackcatinwonderland @fall-winter-heart97

cw: mention of violence and death

🗡

Dusk had made it quite far, traveling a lot further in less time than Cregan could on horseback. Around him, Cregan saw through the direwolve's bright eyes. The men had rallied quickly, saying swift goodbyes to loved ones before they left. The greybeards had already started their march to The Twins, leaving the younger men to follow after them with their larger force. It would not be weeks before they reached the Riverlands, but their pace was steady, and the men were rearing to fight for their Queen at Lord Stark's command. Ahead, Dusk met with Lord Henry Hornwood, the man who would lead the greybeards in Cregan's stead. His son, Germen, was old and experienced enough to lead if Henry did not return. None of the greybeards did.

"Lord Stark," Henry bowed slightly toward the wolf, sensing the look the wolf gave him to be all-too-knowing. "We have made fine progress, and have picked up more fighting men along the way. Each House swears themselves to your cause–to the Queen's cause."

Cregan, or Dusk, nodded firmly. The only thing that hindered him when he warged was the ability to talk being taken away from him. Everything else was a bonus; faster speed and strength, hearing, stealth.

"Dragon!" One of the bannermen shouted, causing many of the Northerners in the camp to duck down for cover.

Cregan looked up, Dusk's sharp eyes spotting the nearly invisible white dragon passing the army of men. Against the clouds, only the movement of wings could be seen. Morningstar. Daenys was coming to Winterfell.

Cregan sent his mind back to his own body, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden shift. He could leave Henry to deal with the rest for now, knowing Dusk would be following them until Cregan could start his march with them. Back in his solar, he sat up in his chair. Good or bad news, he needed to prepare for the Princess' arrival.

🗡

As Morningstar landed, she seemed to call out for something, or perhaps someone. Daenys pet her neck with a short 'thank you' before hopping off from her wing and marching toward the gates of Winterfell. They were already wide open, Cregan standing the open space surrounded by the two guards who always manned it.

"That was fast," Daenys commented, amused. "I didn't think you would know of my arrival so quickly."

"I have my ways," he said vaguely, grinning as he kissed her hand. When Cregan leaned back up, he kept the hand gently placed in his. "I have chambers and a meal prepared for you—"

"We cannot stay." She said curtly, shaking her head. "I wish we could, but this is more urgent."

"We?" He asked, bemused.

"Ser Alfred Broome has been murdered. An assassination attempt has been ordered for the Queen by the usurper. Luckily, she was saved by her Queensguard. We are still left without A Master of War."

"And what does that have to do with your visit to Winterfell, my Lady?" He asked hesitantly, already able to guess why she had come to him.

"I offered your name as a potential Master for the Queen's Council. Rhaenyra has accepted." Daenys told him.

"A seat at the council?" His brow furrowed, looking down at Daenys with a conflicted look. "I am commanding my men as we speak, sending ravens nearly every hour to rally the houses to fight."

"Can ravens not be sent from anywhere?" Daenys challenged. "You are smart, Cregan. Smarter than those power-hungry fools on my mother's council. They wish to push her out, lead in her stead and lead the realm into a war that it would never recover from. They need a strong voice of reason, another man that they might actually respect in Daemon's absence." She pleaded, placing her other hand over the one that held hers.

"Daemon has gone?" He asked.

"To Harrenhall, where I hope to meet him and bring him back to Dragonstone. He is not sending any news of his success in the Riverlands, so I can only assume he is acting in his own best interest."

"Please, Cregan. Come with me." Daenys squeezed his hand lightly, a pleading tone to her voice. "The Queen would be grateful for your council."

Cregan avoided her stare this time, knowing he was weak to the Princess' whims. With a sigh, "I will come to Dragonstone with you, my Lady." He conceded. The guards behind him stood up straighter, shocked at the news. They shared a glance amongst themselves.

Their Lord was ready to go into the snake pit for this war.

A Stark had never sat on a Monarch's council, only ever used for his men and fealty.

"Alaric, send for a servant to pack my things. Leon, tell my council that I will be gone for a while and to send all my important ravens directly to Dragonstone. The Maester will lead in my stead." He barked behind him, earning obedient nods as the men scurried off.

"Allow me to feed you, at least, before we depart. You must have been flying for a while."

"Please, Cregan—do not make me eat." She stepped back from him stiffly.

When he stepped forward to comfort her, she shook her head. Cregan stilled. "But I won't deny a pig or cow for Morningstar." She asked hopefully. The flight back would tire the dragon out, she knew.

"Very well." Cregan nodded, biting his tongue. "I will send food for her. Give me only a few moments, Princess." He tucked back into the Great Keep to fetch a guard to send for food.

When Cregan returned minutes later, a servant carrying his things followed behind. A butcher, Daenys presumed, exited another part of the keep with a pig being lead outside of Winterfell's walls. Daenys nodded towards the man gratefully when he shuffled past her back inside, Morningstar having eaten her fill.

Cregan, clad in his lordly Stark sigil and pelts, met Daenys near the dragon.

Daenys hummed curiously, glancing around. "Where is Dusk? I figured the pup would have seen you off."

He adjusted Ice on his shoulder restlessly. "He has gone off with my men to act as a scout." A half-truth, but Cregan truly did not know how to bring up his ancestral talent, for it was such a hard thing to explain to southerners. He knew she would understand, but the information was unneeded currently.

"A shame. I would've found a way to take him with us." She smiled up at him cheekily.

Daenys clipped his cases onto a storage part behind the dragonsaddle, reaching out a hand for Cregan to take. Nearly blushing like a maiden at the offer for help, Cregan took it anyway and sat behind his Lady.

"You will burn up in those clothes, Stark." Daenys said, nodding towards his heavy clothes.

"The price I pay for you, sweet girl." He huffed, though held no animosity towards her.

"Ready?" She asked. Cregan could only nod, clenching his jaw and firmly wrapping his arms around her torso.

She'd never sat a man grown on her saddle before, only her younger brothers. It was strange to have someone sat behind her and not in front. Humming, Daenys ordered her dragon up, "Sōves!" Morningstar trilled as she took flight again, already knowing the way home without Daenys having to steer.

Cregan held tight to her for the entire liftoff, mearly buried into her neck while holding his breath. When the dragon steadied herself above the treeline, Daenys laughed at his still-tense hold. She grabbed one of his hands from her belly, intertwining it with her own. "Scared, my Lord?"

"I would be a fool not to be. I must be the only man of no Valyrion blood to ride a dragon. I don't know if I should praise or curse myself." He laughed nervously.

Daenys shook her head softly, laughing more boisterously than he. "I praise you, good Lord. Not every man would be so brave to even get close to a dragon."

He squeezed her hand back, twice. "I guess I must get used to it. After all, my Lady wife having a dragon at her disposal means that I must grow accustomed so such flights."

Briefly, he ran his fingertips over the emerging scar on her forearm, still in the healing process from her bite. The small scar on her neck was already healed up, leaving a white line cast halfway across her neck. None but Cregan knew of them, due to her long-sleeved dresses and shorter height. She shivered at the delicate ghostly touch, earning a breathy chuckle right into her ear.

"Do you want for one of your own?" She teased, glancing back at his pale face.

"I think I will be content with Dusk, safe on the ground." He jested, overlooking the sights that they passed. At the dismantled campsites were abandoned firepits or forgotten items men must have left behind in their haste to get ready. As they flew further, Cregan and Daenys were able to spot the marching greybeards easily. The mass of over 2,000 men spanded far across the winter desert. As they walked, they formed a sea of greys and browns that Daenys had grown accustomed to seeing northerners wearing.

Morningstar passed them quickly on her way towards the Riverlands.

Daenys thought for a moment, "I should like to stop at Harrenhall before we return to Dragonstone."

She knew it was her only chance to help Rhaenyra outside of the council. Not that she spoke during the meetings, anyway. Her, Jace, and Baela were practically disregarded by the old men once they started to speak, thinking that their experience overruled their titles. Rhaenyra would refuse Daenys' ask to fetch Daemon personally. Both the husband and wife were incredibly stubborn, refusing to give in to the other. The Queen didn't wish to put her children in harms way again, but they needed Caraxes and Daemon back quickly.

Cregan stiffened behind her. "Harrenhall? Where Prince Daemon is staying? What exactly is your plan of action for talking your uncle into coming back to Dragonstone?"

Daenys rolled her eyes, grateful that Cregan could not see her face in front of him. "I will simply aid him in treating with the Riverland Lords. Gods know he will only make them riled up with his disrespectful attitude. We need allies, not enemies. Daemon has never been good at making friends."

Cregan stayed silent at her words, conceding to her once again. He hoped the stay would be brief, only a few days or less. He did not wish for Daenys and himself to be exposed at Harrenhall, so close to the Crownlands and not protected by water like Dragonstone was.

Daenys felt faint halfway through the flight, glad it was almost over and done with. Perhaps the lack of food was getting to her. She felt the panging of her stomach starting to hit her only now. Perhaps the only time she wished to eat was when she camping with Cregan, sharing their kills that had roasted over the fire from their own hard work. Being so used to working for her every meal for weeks, then being served plates three times daily made her feel spoilt. Even more so for throwing them away like a bratty child.

Daenys would eat at Harrenhall if there was time. It would make the headaches go away, according to her basic knowledge of the body. Either from hunger or stress, there were little other reasons for such sudden pain. Only one was an easy fix.

She breathed deeply, trying to wish the nausea away, waiting for the castle to come into sight.

When it had, already in the very late evening, Daenys grimaced at the sight. It was hardly a great castle anymore, with no guards keeping watch outside of it or at the doors. It would be easy for Daemon to claim, as well as any of their enemies.

Caraxes howled out at the sight of Morningstar's bright scales. In the night sky, sun barely below the horizon, her magnifice stood out against the dark skies. Any higher, and she could perhaps be mistaken for a true star. Morningstar roared back, greeting the elder as she was guided to land.

Daenys dismounted outside of a large and ungated entrance, a field holding a weirwood tree. "I didn't know there were many weirwoods so far south. I thought the Old Gods were abandoned by Southerners." Cregan commented, slowly following her footholds and climbing down.

"There are only a few. Namely in the Riverlands, and one in King's Landing. Some descending from the First Men have stayed loyal to their ancestors' gods, others moved on." Daenys shrugged, not having much opinion for either religion. The trees were beautiful, though. A haunting and deep aura surrounded them. Almost intimidating, if it weren't a tree.

"Go find Caraxes. Stay with him, and call out at any sign of more dragons." Daenys commanded the dragon, watching her fly off to the rocks that Caraxes made his temporary home.

Daenys takes Cregan's outstretched arm as they walk into the gloomy hall. As they wandered through the dark, damp halls, it took an embarrassingly long time to find the dining hall, where Daemon sat. A young boy sat in front of him, looking flushed and nervous under the intense eye of the prince. An older man sat in, too, who Daenys guessed was Simon Strong–Harwin and Larys' granduncle.

The man had watched over Harrenhall alone ever since Lyonel passed away with Harwin. Since the estate passed to Larys, the knight had been left at his own nephew's mercy ever since. But now, seeing as the old man was not dead, he had allied himself with the Blacks.

Ser Strong and the young boy stood when Daenys entered, shock apparent on their faces.

"Ser Simon Strong, my Lady. Castellon of Harrenhall. We were not expecting the company of a Princess, as well as the Prince—"

"King." Daemon sharply interrupted, eyeing Daenys suspiciously.

"Yes, the King Consort has been staying with us for a few days now while we await the Riverland houses to pledge to your mother." He bowed politely, sitting himself back down at her acknowledgment. Vaguely, she was happy to meet another one of Harwin's family.

"M-My Princess." The boy bowed deeply, hand tightly clutching the pommel of his sword. He wiped the other hand on his breeches, obviously nervous. "I am Ser Oscar Tully. I have come in place of my grandsire, paramount of Riverun." He stammered his way through his sentence, glancing back between Cregan and Daenys.

"Sers." Daenys nodded her head. "This is Lord Cregan Stark. I am escorting him back to Dragonstone upon the Queen's request. I hope you do not mind our intrusion. We hope to sit in on The Consort's meetings with the Riverland lords."

"My Lords." Cregan followed her polite action, though more tense than she. In front of other lord's presence, his voice changed from the soft-spoken and low one he used with Daenys. It was more serious and lordly. He seemed to fill a room with his presence and demand respect.

At the title, Daemon bristled once more. "I have this handled well enough, I believe your mother is expecting you to stay by her side as you always are."

"That is a husband's job, not a daughter's." Daenys said. Before Daemon could start a fight in front of respectable allies, Daenys sat herself down right next to Oscar, who got more flushed if that was even humanly possibly.

"And does your grandsire pledge for The Queen, Ser Oscar?" Daenys asks softly, knowing exactly how it felt to be in his shoes. A young man, too green to be taken seriously surrounded by older and more experienced men.

"As I was telling His Grace," Oscar glanced between Daenys and Daemon, unsure of who to address formally. He had only arrived minutes ago, not yet saying his piece in place of his grandsire. "My grandsire is incapacitated. He lies in a kind of waking sleep, unable to do much more than take meager drink."

Daenys nodded, sympathizing with the riverland boy. Her own grandsire was in similar condition for years before his passing, forcing him to practically be a corpse in his bed, haunting the Red Keep.

"So, he's alive?" Daemon asked, displeased with the information.

"Yes, gods be good." Oscar brightened considerably.

"Well, my time is short, and I am in need of an army. Perhaps you might place a feather pillow over his head and speed along your inheritance?" Daemon leaned closer to Oscar, speaking of the boy casually murdering his own kin like it was nothing.

Oscar leaned back, closer to Daenys. The Princess placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, appalled. She looked to Cregan, who had the same look that she did.

"Daemon!" She hissed. Clearly, she was right in needing to be here to mediate.

Daemon stared at Oscar, waiting for his reply.

"I love my grandsire, like a father." He told the Prince adamantly. "My own Lord father died suddenly, himself a young man. Lord Grover raised me in his stead."

Daemon sat back, sighing deeply as he rubbed his temples. "Very touching, indeed. Are you here to speak with your grandfather's voice?"

"While he still lives?" Oscar asked. It was an uncommon thing to do, though not unlawful in dire times like these. "That is not our way."

"Then you're of no use to me."

"I can see why the Blackwoods and the Brackens did not fear to start a war." He spoke again, this time to Ser Simon. "House Tully is a fish without a head. Remind me which one of your countrymen pledged for Aegon? Was it Bracken or Blackwood?"

The barrage of insult rendered the Tully speechless, merely staring at Ser Simon for help.

"It was House Bracken, Your Grace." Simon wisely covered for the boy.

"Who could remember?" Daemon scoffed, standing from his seat and grabbing Dark Sister along the way. "Summon House Blackwood here. I require men of action to lead my host of Rivermen." He barked, passing Daenys without another word.

Ser Simon pursed his lips, comfortingly patting Oscar's shoulder before speaking. "Princess, my Lord, I will have proper chambers and meals set up for you both for the duration of your stay. Excuse me."

Simon left to order for their accommodations as well as send the necessary ravens.

Daenys sighed, glad for the conversation to at least be over.

"Allow me to apologize for my father, Ser Oscar." He turned to her, stormy blue eyes finally meeting her own now that Daemon's absence no longer frightened him. He truly was a fish out of water, sent to meet with a King at his young age with no advisors at his side. How irresponsible of his grandsire to not make preparations while he is in such a state. "No one is expecting you to do such treasonous actions just to be able to succeed your grandsire. The Crown sympathizes with your troubles, as we have experienced such things ourselves."

He smiled gratefully, looking downtrodden. "I truly do wish to help you–help Her Grace get her throne back. But, my grandsire believes Aegon to be the rightful king, and I can not declare otherwise while he is still Lord Tully. I'm sorry, Princess."

Daenys smiled, standing from her seat with all the poise that her septas forced upon her. This time, unlike with Cregan's first meeting, she knew how to perform confidently. Oscar stood to meet her, standing only a few inches taller than the Princess.

"Please, Ser Oscar, I implore you to stay for at least the night. I'd hate to see you start your walk back home when it is dark out. I'm sure Ser Simon will not mind. Many of these rooms are thus unoccupied."

Shifting on his feet unsurely, he nodded. "If you wish it, Princess. I will leave after breakfast on the morrow. Goodnight, Princess, my Lord." He bowed his head, very briefly passing a kiss on Daenys' knuckles before he strided out of the dining room.

Cregan, behind Daenys, turned to her, finally able to speak alone. "Your father is quite the character. I'd heard of the Rogue Prince, but to tell a boy to do such a thing..." He trailed off, raising a brow at his betrothed.

Daenys took his arm, guiding him to sit back down next to her while they awaited supper. "No one can be prepared for him. I hope the Blackwood's are not easily offended, lest we lose another great house to the Greens." She stressed, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve.

He sat back in his seat, sipping at the wine a servant had left when the meeting was being held. "They are known for their boldness, Blackwoods are. They will take any excuse to fight, especially for what they believe is just. Even Daemon couldn't scare their Lord off." Cregan told her reassuringly.

They supped together peacefully, making small conversation about what had occured in their lives during their small separation. Eventually, they both finished their plain stews and were shown to their rooms. Adjacent to each other, Cregan turned to Daenys before they entered. "If you need anything, tonight, come to me." He whispered to avoid an echo in the hallway.

"I will." She said, leaning up to kiss his cheek 'goodnight'.

The room was decently spacious, with windows overlooking the sea. The sound of dripping in the castle had started to become a white noise for her, growing used to the sound and even finding its rhythms soothing.

Daenys lay in bed, dressed in a shift given to her by a maid, apparently having no Lady's clothes in the castle being used for a while. While those collected dust, the maid simply allowed the Princess to borrow one of her own. She slept only a few hours, dreamless and pleasent. She was only awakened by heavy footsteps striding past her doors. She tiptoed to her doors, cracking open one to see Daemon's ghostly robed figure walking back to his room, cup in hand. Daenys, ever curious, made her way to where he had come from.

She found a lit kitchen, with a pretty black-haired lady dressed in an apron working over the counters. "Oh, forgive me—" Daenys began to apologize, not wishing to interrupt the woman's work.

The woman did not glance up, busy with her herb grinding, though she did speak. "Wandering the halls so late in the night seems to run in the family." Her voice was accented, though not too differently from Daenys' own. She seemed to be from the Riverlands, too, but did not sound like Simon or Harwin.

"Yes, he woke me up with his parading through the halls. I don't know how you get much sleep in these halls, with all the echos."

The woman looked up at her, smiling knowingly. "You grow used to them. Well, some do. Most run off when they get spooked. Shame, really. Harrenhall has been quite peaceful for me."

Daenys hummed, slowly approaching her table. "What is all this?" It didn't look like kitchen ingredients, but more so poultice, salves, and teas.

"Poisons." The woman says plainly.

Daenys meets her eye, which holds no amusement. Was she serious?

Before Daenys could question her, the woman snorted. "You are quite like the Rogue Prince, aren't you? So serious."

Daenys huffed, taking a seat in front of the counter on a raised stool, watching the woman's work with interest.

"A Princess must be cautious of strangers." She said. "Are you...a witch?" She used the word lightly, knowing of its negative connotation but not having a better word for it.

The woman's almost glowing green eyes appraised the girl in front of her. "Do you think I am?"

Daenys blushed, not knowing if the woman would be offended or amused. "I think witches are interesting. They can do things someone like myself could not imagine, though they've gotten shunned by men who do not understand their ways." She tactfully avoided the direct question.

She nodded thoughtfully in turn. Pausing to lick whatever residue had gotten on her thumb, "I am Alys. As of right now, I am simply making a tea." Quite the complicated recipe for tea, but Daenys did not question it.

"You're a maester, then? For Harrenhall?" She wouldn't be surprised, with so few staff for the castle, a woman having to be its maester was a likely thing.

Alys' eyes sparked with amusement. "That's what they ask of me. The last one fled in the night, and I am the only one with the stomach for it, it seems."

"Fled? Is Harrenhall so bad?" Daenys asked.

"Just never settled in. How are you settling in, Princess? I hear you often experience poor sleep. Tonight shouldn't be much different."

Daenys shook her head, noting the knowing tone of Alys. She seemed to not judge, so Daenys didn't mind being questioned about it. Who would she tell, anyway, in this abandoned fortress?

"I was sleeping just fine here, until the Consort woke me. What are you doing working in the dead of night?"

Alys smiled, "I work better in the quiet and dark. Like a nocturnal animal, I am. The moon gives me inspiration."

Daenys laughed, feeling the tenseness start to melt off. Perhaps Alys doesn't enjoy the company of Harrenhall, though she fit its aesthetic perfectly. The witchy woman looked as haunting and dark as the place she lived in.

"Hm, since you're 'a maester', you can make poisons, yes?

"I can make much more than poisons. I find them boring, too simple. The mind is what truly controls and kills the body." Alys told her. It reminded Daenys of how the Green council controlled Viserys by keeping his mind muddled by milk of the poppy for years straight. He never attended court, never helped the realm, and could not do anything but sit in bed and rot. Poison would kill a man immediately, but the smarter route was to control them.

"Would you like a tea, to help find sleep?" Alys offered, reaching a chalice out to Daenys. She eyes it a moment, considered.

"I have to be up soon, anyways. I'd hate to meet Lord Blackwood in a groggy state. But, thank you, Alys. Maybe another night."

Alys nodded, placing the cup onto her table, watching the Princess leave for her chambers.

On the way back, she passed Cregan's. She hesitated at the door before deciding against entering. She need not wake him for nothing. Daenys spent the rest of her night watching the rain drizzling down to the sea from her window.

Come morning, Daenys dressed with the help of the same maid that offered her night slip. Overnight, the maid has washed the dust from formal dresses that were stored away. Daenys wore a simple dress that might have once belonged to Ser Harwin's mother, who she regretably did not know the name of. It was a light blue with red accenting, two colors she was already used to wearing for her houses.

She met Cregan in the hall, nodding to him. "I could ask for some clothes to be given to you to borrow. You must be miserable in those." While he forwent his pelts, he still wore his thick tunic and leathers, along with sigil on his chest. She tugged at a strap crossing his chest, raising a concerned brow to him.

Cregan smiled at her concern. "It is only a bit of discomfortable weather, not a problem you need to worry about, my Lady."

They entered the dining room together, Ser Simon Strong already there at the head of the round table to greet them. Oscar sat in the middle of it, to not be in anyone's way. His face lit up from his bored expression when he saw her walk in. "Princess!" He stood, stumbling slightly when the chair got caught on a crack.

Daenys stifled a laugh at the action, not wanting him to feel embarrassed. "Good morrow, Oscar. Simon, I hope you did not mind him staying last night. I asked it of him for my own peace of mind."

Simon smiled kindly, waving her off. "All guests are welcome. We so rarely get any." He reminded her a lot of Lord Lyonel, which was obvious considering they were uncle and nephew. Though, Larys' genes clearly did not come from either of these kind men.

Cregan sat next to her when she took a seat next to Oscar, hoping to send the young man off with a pleasant mood. "Did you sleep well, Oscar?" She asked, splitting her roll of bread to butter it.

He nodded energetically, looking much more himself than the day before. Daemon tended to drain people of their energy. "I did, my Lady, thank you. And you?"

"Pleasently, yes. The rain was quite soothing." She said. After so long with all light snow and no rain like she had grown used to on Dragonstone, she had missed the calmness of it.

He nodded, digging into his own heavier breakfast for his walk today.

"How are the Blackwoods, Oscar?" Daenys asked. "I've heard they carry bold temperaments, but you must know them personally."

He nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "At times, too stubborn for their own good. Samwell was their Lord for some time, though the battle at Burning Mill unfortunately led to his brother Willem taking over until his son grows to be of age."

She nodded, intently listening. "And Willem, do you think he'll be a smart choice to lead the Riverlands in Lord Glover's stead?" Daenys asked tentatively, not liking the fact that Daemon was trying to replace the Tullys as rightful paramounts of the Riverruns, even temporarily. Lord Glover was paramount for many years for good reason, and Oscar was his rightful heir. Calm-tempered and sweet, not so bloodthirsty like Daemon clearly was.

"He leads the Blackwoods well in place of his brother. His son and sister are quite like him, hard-headed but loyal. They will serve you, or I suppose the Prince, well." Oscar complimented. Daenys nodded between bites, praying to whatever Gods Harrenhall followed that Daemon wouldn't offend such stubborn people, ones that had recently lost their kin.

"Thank you, Oscar. I hope all goes well today." She said, softly sighing and leaning back into her sest after finishing half her breakfast.

His stormy eyes meet hers again, kind smile reassuring. "If they do not like the King Consort, then I am certain they will like you. Anyone who doesn't would be a fool."

Daenys blushed, feeling a girlish laugh escspe her. "You are very kind, Ser."

When the young Tully decided that it was about time he set out, to check on his house and grandsire, Daenys bid him farewell at the entrance.

"Safe travels, Oscar. Please write to us at Harrenhall with updates. I wish for your grandsire's good health."

He thanked her, promising to write with a gentlemanly kiss on her hand. On his horse, he headed back to House Tully.

Daenys walked back to the dining room, where Cregan and Simon were lightly chatting. It was barely another hour before a guard escorted three people inside the room.

"Lord Willlem Blackwood, his sister Alysanne Blackwood, and his son Davos Blackwood." Before returning to his post outside of the doorway.

The three who were previously sitting down stood to greet them, bowing their heads in greeting. Simon spoke first, "welcome to Harrenhall, my Lords and Lady. May I introduce Lord Cregan Stark and Princess Daenys Velayron." He coughed slightly, sitting himself down once more. Daenys clasped her hands together in front of her, assesing the three in front of them.

Willem has a handsome man only slightly younger than Daenys' mother, with brown hair and facial hair to show his maturity. His sister Alysanne was a tall, slim woman with strong features and pure-black hair. She had a sharp and assesing look in her own brown eyes. Davos, the youngest of all, was Daenys' age with forest green eyes and shaggy dark brown hair. Comely, like his Lord father.

"My Lord, it is pleasing to see you have arrived here with no trouble. We are only waiting for Daemon before we start." She said politely, nodding towards the table for them to sit.

Willem, Alysanne, and Davos sat in a line across from them. Davos was straight across from Daenys, while Alysanne sat parallel to Cregan. Willem sat near the opposite head of Simon, waiting for Daemon to join.

"I wasn't aware that two Valyrions would be meeting us at Harrenhall. I must admit, I was surprised when Prince Daemon summonded me from Raventree. Usually, when people summon armies they send ravens. Or come personally." He nodded toward Cregan. "Word has spread far and wide that three dragons were sent to be messengers for the Queen."

"Yes, my brothers and I treated with houses across the realm. The Queen thought it to be more personal, but the King Consort reigns differently." She told him, sipping her wine. She felt the internse stare of Davos on her, which she met curiously. His hair was quite different from most men she had seen, the style shorter in length. He had a small white scar spanning from his top lip to his nose, though it did nothing to make him seem less handsome. Daenys found it hard to keep his gaze, and he knew it, smirking into his own cup when she looked back to Willem and Alysanne.

"No worries, Princess. It was a short journey to Harrenhall." Willem said dismissively. He seemed like he didn't care if he stayed at home or came to the castle, a more easy-going individual. Daenys was relieved at that, at least.

Alysanne, on the other hand, was bolder than her brother. "I think the Queen's command to be more convenient for the houses. If the King Consort is asking for men, why is he not coming to us directly? You are the ones with dragons, after all."

"Daemon must hold Harrenhall. Caraxes is a deterrent for the Green's dragons, he must stay here at all times. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, my Lady." Daenys said.

"And you? Must your dragon also stay?" She challenged.

"My stay in Harrenhall will be brief. Daemon is the one who called for the Riverland houses, not I. It is only appropriate that he meets with the Lords."

As if on cue, Daemon comes stumbling in as if he were sleepwalking. He sat down next to Willem Blackwood, staring ahead at the cup clutched in his hand. A tea? Daemon rarely drank enough to be drunk, and would certainly not be irresponsible enough to do so before a meeting.

Simon, again, made introductions, and gestured for Willem to say his piece.

"Your Grace, the Blackwood House and all of its men pledge to the rightful Queen Rhaenyra. I now rule as regent until my nephew Benjicot comes of age, but he swears himself to her cause, too. The Brackens are venal cravens, and they must pay for their treachery against the laws of gods and men. And against the Crown."

Daemon seemed to breath in deeply, as if he had to think about his own bodily functions in order to perform them. He placed his cup down, looking between Willem and Simon. "Who are you?"

The room was dead silent. The Blackwoods shared glances that Daenys couldn't quite read. She had half a mind to kick him out and conduct buisness herself.

Cregan, too, sighed beside her quietly.

"Ser Willem Blackwood of House Blackwood, your Grace. As I said." Simon said, pointedly.

"Well met." He murmured back, still bleary-eyed. "What might I do for you?"

Daenys clutched her hands together tightly over the table, pursing her lips to prevent herself from saying something she'd regret. Across the table, Davos held an amused look, smirk still plastered on his face.

"...it was you who summonded me, Your Grace." Willem looked regretful now, unknowing if a cruel prank was being played on him. Surely, this was not the King Consort. "I was given to understand that you wanted an army."

"Well, who doesn't these days?" Daemon said plainly. "You Blackwoods certainly never miss a chance to bloody your swords, do you?"

"Some twenty years ago, my Lord bent the knee to King Viserys and acknowledged the Princess Rhaenyra as his rightful heir."

"So, you fight for this old oath? Not, of course, for your thousand-year-old feud with the Brackens?"

Willem shifted in his seat. "I once vied for Queen Rhaenyra's hand, before she wed Ser Laenor. I always liked her spirit. She had the true blood of the Dragon."

Daenys' brows nearly raised all the way to her hairline. Couldn't he have simply said, 'I am loyal to the Queen' instead of telling the King himself that he once tried to ask for his wife's hand.

"And you're prepared to march without the leave of your lord..." he trailed off, attention caught by a servant girl coming into the room. He stared at her for an uncomfortably long time, as if seeing a ghost. The rest of the room sat in the silence, wondering what in the seven hells was going on. When she finally filled his cup and left, Willem started again.

"Once you and your dragon bring the Queen's justice to the Brackens, our armies will be yours." He swore.

Daemon nodded, but Daenys was unsure if he was aware of what Willem had said. He left immediately after, looking haunted by something no one else could see. Daenys was quick to attempt a recovery.

"Daemon will deliver justice to the Brackens for your house, for Her Grace. He may be crass and dismissive at times, but I assure you, he does not break his oaths." She stood from her seat, leading the others to follow.

Willem nodded, a tired look on his face. "I hope so, Princess. I will leave, back to Raventree Hall. My son and sister will remain—"

"I will not." Alysanne told him, looking around the crumbling castle's hall. "I do not wish to sit around in his hellhole for any longer. I will lead my own betallion, one with men I trust from our House." The Lady said, insistant.

Daenys bowed her head to her, "I am grateful for your eagerness to fight, my Lady."

Alysanne left first, presumably to her horse outside.

Davos, too, started to protest. "If Alysanne gets to lead her own men, why must I stay here?" He started, quickly being shut down by Willem.

"I trust you to discuss matters in my stead, Davos. It will not be forever, just until Daemon keeps his part of the deal." Davos clutched at his dagger's pommel, irritation at being 'useless' evident all over his face and stance.

Willem soon left after, calling for Davos' horse to be escorted to his own stall in the stables. Daenys looked to Cregan briefly, unsure of how to comfort someone left behind as a means to an end. He could offer nothing but a sympathetic shrug. "Ser Davos," she started, watching him turn to her with a clenched jaw.

"We are glad to have you here. I promise, it will only be for a short while while Daemon figures out how he wants to go about the business between the Brackens. You will get your chance to fight." She said, stepping forward a few steps closer to him.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, not wishing to release his anger on the wrong person. "Hm." He nodded. "Is Lord Stark going to be leading his men, or has he been called upon by the King to also stay in these damp halls?"

Cregan stiffened next to Daenys, "I am here at the Princess' bidding. To join the Queen's council."

"Ah, so you won't be fighting."

"Who says that?" Cregan asked.

"Never met a councilman who actually led men to battle. Most prefer to stay in their castles, safe and comfortable." The Blackwood snickered.

"My betrothed asked me to come to the Queen's council as an advisor. Once my men follow on foot, I will take my leave to lead them." Cregan said, firm and absolute. Daenys felt a shiver crawl up her spine at him calling her 'his betrothed'. Imagining him calling her 'his wife' was something she couldn't even fathom.

"Bethrothed?" Davos asked, looking to Daenys with a rasied brow. "Hm. I thought the Princess' hand had been free for many years, now."

She felt her face grow hot, "it has. The betrothal is recent."

"So, not solidified, then?" He asked, nodding to himself.

Daenys moved to answer, to say that she had no intention of breaking her oath, but he didn't notice and continued.

"May I see your dragon, my Lady? I saw the two from afar on the way inside, but I know better than to approach one alone." Davos asked, a light look replacing his smug one.

Daenys, bemused, looked out to the nice morning weather. "You wish to approach Morningstar? For what reason?"

"Morningstar. That is a fitting name. 'Lightbringer' they call her, right? I simply wish to know what it means to be in the presence of one, take it as you fulfilling a silly boyish dream I've always had." He said, bashfully. Beside her, Cregan rolled his eyes.

"It is a fitting name for her." She smiled, "I will show you to her, of course."

Cregan eyed Daenys, but did not question a princess in front of another so brazenly. He ignored the triumphant look Davos shot him, thinking himself above childish games.

The weather was the most pleasant thing about Harrenhall, when it was not storming furious upon the castle. Daenys, Cregan, and Davos made a line while walking on top of the rocky sealine towards the two perched dragons. She did not understand how they lounged so comfortably on such jagged rocks.

Caraxed whined out as he spotted Daenys, a familiar face he had not seen in weeks. It seemed that Daemon had neglected the poor red beast, leaving him without good company until Morningstar arrived. Morningstar huffed at the sight of Daenys, making her discontent plainly seen. "Spoiled girl, we can not always sleep in snow blankets or dragonpits." She cooed, rubbing her chin.

She turned to Davos, who stood many feet behind herself and Cregan. He hesitated now in the presence of an actual dragon, breathless as he stared at her majesty. Cregan smirked at him, pointedly rubbing the dragoness' snout himself.

Daenys waved him closer, nodding her assurance. "She will not harm you, though she may think herself a grand jester when she knocks you over. It makes some of the dragonkeepers nearly shit themselves with fright."

Davos, not at all comforted by her words, stepped foward slowly, one foot at a time. The dragon silently allowed him to stroke her snout, eyes shut with content at bring given so much attention at once. Spoiled girl, Daenys smiled.

The Blackwood boy grinned boyishly at the achievement. "No one will ever believe me when I tell them I pet a dragon."

"Our secret, then." Daenys mused.

Soon, they went back inside of the castle, leaving behind the two dragons (though not after Daenys gave a bit of her attention to Caraxes, who did not let the boys near him like Morningstar did). Davos went off to his guest chambers after leaving a prolonged and dramatic kiss on Daenys' hand.

Cregan huffed beside her, now left alone with only each other in a broken down hallway.

Daenys, waiting for his next words, looked up to him. He didn't speak his thoughts on Davos, knowing that they were perhaps too childish and jealous to speak in front of his lady.

Comfortingly, she patted the arm that laced with her own. "Come, Cregan. Show me how Northerners pray. I would quite like to learn, now that I have an opportunity."

He seemed shocked at her ask but agreed eagerly nonetheless. They made their way through the twisted halls to the outside of the castle, where they had first entered from. The weirwood stood tall and strong on top of the enclosed hill.

Though ancient, the tree was still vibrant with life. It's red leaves were like blood against the stark white trunk and roots. Cregan kneeled in front of it, urging Daenys to do the same with a keen look. "There is no certain way to pray. It comes naturally to everyone. I like to speak my thoughts when I am alone, I find it relieving to speak what I cannot usually say. The Old Gods do not judge, but simply listen. In your head or aloud, they will hear."

She might have been able to speak her thoughts to the Old Gods if she were alone, but it would be embarrassing in front of another. Cregan must have thought the same, bowing his head and closing his eyes as he looked at peace.

Daenys followed his actions, thinking of whatever first came to her mind. Was she supposed to merely speak to the Gods, or ask for something? Perhaps that was overthinking it. It should not be a conditional ritual.

She thought of her brother first. Young Luke, a bright light lost to the storms. She missed him every minute she was awake, wishing things could change.

She thought of her mother, who wore a crown too heavy for her head. Visenya, Luke, and now Daemon and her own council causing her so much grief and distress in such trying times. She wished that Rhaenyra would keep her strength and stand tall always.

She thought of Helena, so close to her now while she stayed at Harrenhall. If she could only fly to her, plead for her to save herself from the war. She wished for her safety.

She thought of Cregan. The man right next to her, a permanent warmth at her side. She wished he might always be there, where he had begun to fill a void in her soul.

Daenys opened her eyes, finding Cregan already watching her. His expression was thoughtful, affectionate. A similar look he wore when they were on top of The Wall.

"What?" She breathed out, confused by his distraction. "Aren't you going to pray?"

"I already did." He answered.

"That was quite short."

"I only asked for one thing."

"And what is that, my Lord?"

"You to stay by my side." He laced their hands together, squeezing once as the feeling and his words made her heart flutter.

She brought his hand to her lip, closing her eyes lightly as she pressed them to his knuckles. "You need not ask the Gods for that. I would do so anyway."

🗡

Daenys disobeyed her mother when she ushered her and her brothers to their temporary chambers at driftmark. She did not wish to sleep again, not after Laena's funeral—and the vision that preceeded it. She was tired of death. At least she qas allowed to hide her mourning for Ser Harwin amidst the guise of Laena's funeral.

Daenys was saddened by Laena's death, truly, but she had never met the woman except in her one dream weeks ago. Her death was not preventable, not my maester or Daenys. Ser Harwins, though, was. A fire, a trapped door, the hazy smell of smoke that filled her lungs and suffocated her the same way it did Lord Lyonel. The man refused to leave his father's side, even through the unmoving door. She was forced to stand there, behind Ser Harwin, unable to command him to leave the cursed place and save himself, she watched as he succumbed to the flames.

Merely days later, it was a similar scene with Lady Laena. The woman approached her dragon, face wet his tears but eyes hardened with decision. Daenys watched as Vhagar, ever loyal, hesitated to follow her rider's command. She, too, succumbed to fire.

Daenys began to resent fire. Even the flames of her own dragoness, she avoided. When it came time for Morningstar to sup, Daenys swiftly made her leave, though she always used to dine with her. How many would fire take from her? Perhaps she would succumb to her own fiery fate, one day.

She sat outside of Driftmark, with Morningstar as she usually did. To avoid everyone and her own mind, the cold sand and salty breeze welcomed her. Driftmark was a far cry from King's Landing's stench and filth. Mayhaps she was biased, though, seeing as the ocean was so much more serene in such a place. Unoccupied by loud fishermen and port traders.

Daenys' head lifted from her lazed resting spot in the sand. A small shadow was moving across the grassy hills nearby, black against the moon's light.

She sat up, curiously moving to follow it. It did not take long, with the figure moving cautious and slow.

Ahead by a few feet, she made out Aemond's white head of waves. "Uncle?" She called out, sliding herself down a grassy knoll while trying not to slip on her skirts.

He turned to her as if he was caught committing a crime, looking behind her for any more unwelcome guests.

"Daenys." Was all Aemond muttered, waiting for her to meet him

"What are you doing, sneaking about? Shouldn't you be with Aegon, drowning in his cups?" She had meant to sound teasing, but with such little energy she only sounded tired and plain.

Aemond sneered, scoffing at her suggestion. "We do not share interests. I have always kept to my studies, as a prince should. That fool wouldn't know his histories or High Valyrion if it smacked him on his fat head."

Daenys snorted, covering it with a hand. Her septas would surely have scolded her for such things. "On that, we can agree. But you avoid the question at hand, uncle."

Aemond lost his amused smirk, looking to the grass and kicking at it with his shoe tip. "Going for a walk. I mourn Lady Laena greatly."

"You've never met the woman."

He rolled his eyes, looking up at her from her slightly lifted spot on the hill.

"I am owed a dragon. And I will not let the opportunity pass me by, it may be my only one." He answered, puffing up his chest like a knight.

She nodded, pursing her lips. "It may be your only opportunity because she'll either kill you or accept you. There is no middle ground."

"I will take the chance," he said confidently. "I am tired of being the only one of my family to not own a dragon. I am the only one who cares to learn of our heritage, the only one with proper blood–" Aemond cut himself off from his rant, flushing red at the slip of tongue.

Daenys merely stared on, unphashed. It was not news to her, nor anyone else, of what others thought of her family.

"We do not own dragons. We are dragons." She stated.

He stared at her this time, bemused. "You will not stop me? Vhagar is your late aunt's dragon."

She shrugged, "dragons have no inherited bond. If she is Rhaena's, then she will eat you. I do not care who the old beast chooses, so long as she gets some rest from her long days."

Aemond smiled slightly, a much more pleasant expression that the serious one he usually forces. "We should fly together, once I claim her."

Daenys laughed shortly, nodding her agreement. "I won't deny a peaceful night of flying, but you should take your first ride alone. You won't want the memory sullied by another."

He thought for a long moment, almost speaking again, before he built his last bits of courage and marched towards a sleeping Vhagar.

Daenys watched from afar as he bonded with the oldest dragon in the world. Briefly, she felt a sense of pride in knowing his confidence was not misguided. Her sympathies went to her cousin, but she had high hopes for Rhaena to find another dragon. There were many wild ones, after all, who've gone unclaimed for years.

After what must have been an eternity for young Daenys to wait, Aemond landed with Vhagar, leaving her saddle to meet Daenys at a side entrance to the keep.

"Did you see us!" He exclaimed, breathless from his exhilarating flight.

Daenys nodded, sharing his excitement. "She is a beautiful dragon. 'The Queen' for a reason. How was your first flight?" She asked, curious. It has been so many years since her first, but the memory never left her mind.

"Indescribable, I thought I would fall off a million times, but!—" His wild gesturing was cut short by a yell. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Baela and Rhaena had met them in the entrance hall to Driftmark.

The rest was history. Daenys stayed to the side during the scuffle, being the eldest she thought the boys would settle it amongst themselves and grow tired fast. That is what always happened when Luke and Jace fought. She was wrong. Never in her life would she imagine that sweet Luke would bring a dagger to a childish tiff, much less use it.

Aemond wasn't innocent, though he was outnumbered greatly. The look in his eyes as he stood over Jacaerys with the rock caused both Luke and Daenys to charge forward to protect their brother. Luke, being closer, unfortunately got there first. He slashed Aemond's eye, making him drop the rock in agony. Daenys clutched at Luke's tunic, dragging him back into her embrace as Aemond clutched his eye.

She knew what Luke did was an act of defense, a justified blow. But if she stopped him that night, gotten to Aemond a mere second sooner and grabbed the stone from his grip, Luke would still be alive years later.

The children of Viserys and Rhaenyra stood beside their mothers. Alicent and Rhaenyra both protectively stood beside their children. Aemond was being taken care of by a maester, while Alicent vied for Lucerys to have his eye taken in retribution. Both Viserys and Rhaenyra vehemently denied the Queen's request.

The night became a blur. Daenys was loyally plastered in front of Lucerys all night, if Ser Criston decided he wished to disobey the King on a sudden whim. Her mother ended up with a slash on her arm but barely flinched as it happened. Daenys wondered if it was her fiery Targaryen blood or her motherly fury that allowed her to be so strong. She couldn't imagine herself being like Rhaenyra, not in a hundred years.

She did remember sharing a glance with Aemond, her eyes filled with unshed tears for her Uncle. His only eye was muddled with a plethora of conflicting emotions, before he left her gaze.

"Do not mourn me, mother. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon."

She would grow to regret her encouragement.

She wished it was her that had taken Aemond's eye.

She wanted his other.

🗡

sorry for kinda putting cregan on the sidelines during the meetings. There's not really much for him to say during them and he's not the type to interrupt in a conversation that isn't his. Trying to add sweet little moments between them and the big drama parts 🙂‍↕️

cregan when Oscar tries to flirt with Daenys, knowing he's just a harmless boy: 😐

Cregan when Davos looks her way: 🤨

yall i like davos way too much i might just write an au one-shot of the three of them getting together i cannot do this #creanyvos

also alysanne is NOT meant to sound like a bitchy character, I imagine her as defiant towards authority and challenging their every word, respecting only those who earned it. I got rid of the suggested temporary like she had for cregan (sorry!!!) bc i think she'd be wanting to dive deep into battle with her men, not left behind politicking.

Kind of want to establish relationships between Aegon, Aemond and Daenys. Gives the feud and war more meaning, I think. A more mutual understanding and hint of friendship between Aemond and Daenys, for being targets of Aegon. A more one-sided hate for Aegon from Daenys. He has mostly no care for her at all, only thinking her another annoying bastard of his sister. Also! Aemond deserved to feel a little happiness right after claiming Vhagar, its sad he ran into the Velayrons right after, although Rhaena had the right to be upset.

Currently regretting naming the dragon Lightbringer so early on in the story. It would've been so much more fitting if Daenys and Morningstar had earned the title in a battle, instead. Maybe if I rewrite the series in two years when s3 comes out lol

cough light blue is a stark color cough red is a targ color cough cough

this already is getting posted too late so i can't include the big event that i had planned for the chapter, it'll be way too long and convoluted and must be its own chapter. next one might be thursday, we'll see though.

#dragondreamer #cregan stark x reader #cregan x reader #hotd fanfic #cregan stark x oc #cregan stark #hotd #hotd season 2 #hotd fandom #hotd x reader #hotd oc

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fr0stf4ll · 4 months ago

Text

Forge of Stralight - Part 2

here is the link for part 1 or part 3

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

Word Count; 4k

notes; Hey everyone! This chapter is more centered around the IC. New clues and questions will arise while following Y/N from a different perspective. Also I already wrote a good part of the story, I will try to publish a new chapter every day/two day. I hope that you will like the part 2. Do not hesitate to comment. Bisous <3

---

Two weeks had flown by, and the long-awaited night of the Winter Solstice had enveloped Velaris in a festive blanket of snow and twinkling stars. Inside the stately townhouse of the High Lord, the inner circle—Mor, Armen, Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys—gathered around a roaring fire, the room aglow with the warmth of friendship and laughter.

Mor, ever the heart of any gathering, clapped her hands with a bright, infectious enthusiasm. "Alright, everyone, it's the moment we've all been waiting for—gifts time!" she announced, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

Laughter and cheerful banter filled the room as small, beautifully wrapped packages began to change hands. Azriel joked about how he hoped his gift was better than last year's infamous "invisible cloak"—which turned out to be just an empty box. Cassian roared with laughter, slapping him on the back, while Rhys watched on, a sly grin playing on his lips.

As the gifts made their rounds, the moment came for Cassian and Azriel to receive their gifts from Rhys. With a dramatic flourish that matched the occasion, Rhys presented them each with an elegantly wrapped, long, slender box. "For my brothers, who deserve nothing but the best," he said with a warm tone of brotherly affection.

Cassian and Azriel exchanged a look of curiosity and anticipation before tearing into the wrapping. As they lifted the lids, the room fell into an appreciative silence. Inside each box lay a masterfully crafted sword and dagger set, the metal gleaming even in the soft light of the fire.

Azriel’s set was sleek and shadowy, with subtle, intricate engravings along the blade that seemed to shift and move in the light. The hilt was expertly crafted to fit perfectly in his hand, and the syphon stone nestled at the base pulsed with a faint, mysterious glow.

Cassian's sword and dagger were robust and commanding, with bold designs etched along the blades and a heavier, more aggressive build. The handles were wrapped in dark leather that contrasted starkly with the bright gleam of the steel, and his syphon stone throbbed with a powerful, steady light.

"Rhys, these are... incredible," Cassian finally broke the silence, his voice thick with emotion. "Seriously, brother, they're more than I could have hoped for."

Azriel, ever the more reserved of the two, was quietly inspecting his blade, but his impressed expression spoke volumes. He looked up at Rhys, a question in his eyes. "Was this why you sent me to the new blacksmith’s shop? To deliver our old syphons?"

Rhys nodded, a satisfied smile lighting up his face. "Yes, I wanted Y/N to incorporate them into your new weapons. I knew she could breathe new life into those old stones."

Mor leaned forward, her interest piqued. "That was a brilliant touch, Rhys. Y/N’s craftsmanship is truly remarkable. Did you see how Az’s blade almost seems alive with shadows?"

"And Cass’s looks like it could lead an army on its own," Armen added, smirking as she felt back in her comfy sofa.

The conversation spiraled into a lively discussion about the craftsmanship, the battle stories that the old syphons had seen, and how these new weapons would soon make their own marks in history. Laughter and heartfelt thanks filled the room, creating memories that would warm their hearts for many solstices to come.

As the night wore on, filled with more stories and laughter, Cassian and Azriel handled their new gifts with something akin to reverence. It was clear these were more than just weapons; they were symbols of their brotherhood, their strength, and the silent, unbreakable bonds that held them all together.

As the Winter Solstice celebration unfolded in the warm glow of the townhouse, Rhysand and Azriel found a brief moment of quiet near the crackling fire. The High Lord, nursing a glass of wine, caught the spymaster's thoughtful gaze and smiled knowingly.

"Y/N, hmm?" Rhysand began, his tone light with a hint of intrigue. "I heard about her long before she set up shop in Velaris. It was during a meeting with Helion at his court. He couldn't stop boasting about the spear she crafted for him—it was truly magnificent."

Azriel, leaning casually against the wall, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Helion? That's high praise coming from the Day Court. She must be something special."

Rhysand nodded, a gleam of pride in his eyes. "Indeed she is. From what I gather, she keeps to herself, lets her work speak for her. Mysterious, but fiercely talented."

Azriel’s interest was clearly piqued. "She seems to have a knack for keeping a low profile. What do you know about her background?"

Rhysand’s gaze shifted to the fire, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "She’s originally from the Night Court, Velaris to be exact. But beyond that, she’s a bit of an enigma. Not one to share her story readily."

Azriel nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "Her work speaks volumes, though. Each piece feels imbued with a story, a history."

Rhysand chuckled softly. "Sounds like someone else I know," he teased, nudging Azriel playfully. "But she’s different. There’s a depth to her craftsmanship that’s rare."

Meanwhile, across the room, Mor and Cassian were engrossed in their own revelry, their laughter filling the air as they enjoyed the solstice festivities with abandon, seemingly oblivious to the more serious conversation unfolding between Rhysand and Azriel.

Azriel’s gaze lingered thoughtfully on the flickering flames before returning to Rhysand. "Do you think she’d be willing to collaborate with us more closely? Her talent could be a valuable asset to our efforts."

Rhysand nodded in agreement. "I was thinking the same thing. Let’s give her time to settle in, though. If she’s as exceptional as we believe, she’ll find her place in our plans soon enough."

Their conversation shifted to lighter topics as the night wore on, but Azriel couldn't shake the intrigue Y/N had stirred in him. Her presence in Velaris promised more than just exceptional craftsmanship—it hinted at alliances, mysteries, and a potential for change that resonated deeply within the heart of the Night Court.

----

A few days after the festive celebrations of the Winter Solstice, Rhysand was deep in discussion with Madja, the esteemed healer of the Night Court. They were seated in a quiet, sunlit room in the House of Wind, poring over scrolls and plans aimed at enhancing the health infrastructure of their court. They debated new strategies and shared insights on how best to equip their healers with advanced resources.

As their meeting drew to a close, Madja, ever observant, shifted the topic with a hint of intrigue in her tone. "Rhysand, have you heard of the blacksmith Y/N?" she asked, her eyes sharp and probing.

Rhysand nodded, a hint of pride in his response. "Yes, I'm quite familiar with her work. She crafted the weapons I gifted to Cassian and Azriel for the solstice. They were exceptional."

Madja leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a confidential whisper. "Keep her close, Rhysand. She bears a power that could save many lives, far beyond what her craftsmanship alone might suggest."

Rhysand's interest was immediately piqued, his strategic mind already turning over the implications. "What do you mean, Madja? What kind of power are we talking about?"

Madja sighed, and her gaze became distant as she recalled the day she visited Y/N's smithy, prompting a flashback:

The day had been unusually brisk for Velaris, the winter chill seeping through even the warmest of cloaks. Madja pushed open the door to Y/N's smithy, greeted by the familiar clang of metal on metal and the comforting heat that rolled out from the forge. The shop was lively, with customers admiring the array of weapons and tools displayed with meticulous care. The air smelled of iron and burning coals, a scent that Madja had always associated with strength and resilience.

Y/N emerged from the back, wiping her hands on a leather apron, her sharp eyes taking in the scene before settling on Madja. "Healer Madja," Y/N greeted with a nod, a small smile on her lips. "What can I do for you today?"

Madja reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out an old, well-worn sickle. The blade, while still sharp, had seen many years of use. "I need a new sickle," she explained, holding the tool out for Y/N to examine. "Something similar to this, but I’d like it embedded with healing gems—something that can amplify my abilities when I work."

Y/N took the sickle, turning it over in her hands, studying the craftsmanship with a discerning eye. "I can do that," she said after a moment. "I’ll need a few days to gather the right materials, but I’ll make sure it’s exactly what you need."

As they spoke, the shop was bustling around them. Alexander, ever energetic and eager to help, was darting about, juggling several tasks at once. At one point, he was carrying an armful of swords, trying to show a client the finer details of a blade while managing the chaos around him. Madja watched with a smile, amused by the boy’s enthusiasm.

But then, in his haste, Alex’s foot caught on the edge of a carpet that had bunched up beneath the weight of all the activity. He stumbled forward, the swords in his arms clattering to the ground with a sharp, metallic crash. His wide eyes filled with panic as he lost his balance, teetering dangerously.

Y/N reacted instantly, her hand shooting out to catch Alex before he could fall, her grip steady and sure. But in the chaos, Madja’s old sickle, which had been resting precariously on the edge of the counter, was knocked off, plummeting toward the floor—and directly toward Alex.

Madja’s heart leaped into her throat, but before she could move, Y/N’s other hand lashed out, snatching the sickle by the blade just inches from Alex’s head. The sharp edge sliced through Y/N’s palm, blood welling up immediately. But the sickle never reached the boy. Instead, Y/N held it firmly, her expression more concerned with Alex than her own injury.

"Alex, are you okay?" Y/N asked, her voice calm despite the cut on her hand.

Alex, wide-eyed and shaken, nodded slowly. "Y-Yeah, I’m fine. I’m so sorry, Nana, I didn’t mean to—"

"It’s alright," Y/N assured him, her voice gentle. She set the sickle down carefully, then knelt to help Alex gather the fallen swords. "Just be more careful next time, okay?"

Madja stepped forward, her healer’s instincts kicking in as she moved to examine Y/N’s hand. "Let me see that," she insisted, reaching out.

But Y/N pulled her hand back slightly, shaking her head. "It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine."

Madja was about to protest when something caught her eye—small, flickering blue flames that danced across Y/N’s wound, sealing it shut with a soft, almost musical hum. The flames vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving behind smooth, unbroken skin where the cut had been just moments before.

Madja stared, her mind racing. "What... was that?" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.

Y/N seemed unfazed, her focus still on Alex, making sure he was steady on his feet. "Nothing to worry about," she said, her tone casual. But there was a tension in her voice that didn’t escape Madja’s notice.

The healer hesitated, unsure of what she had just witnessed, but knowing better than to press the issue in front of others. "If you’re sure," she finally said, though the uncertainty lingered in her eyes.

Y/N nodded, giving her a reassuring smile. "I am. Thank you, Madja."

Madja left the shop soon after, but the image of those blue flames stayed with her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that what she had seen was more than just a simple healing ability—there was something deeper, something powerful about Y/N that she couldn’t yet understand.

Back in the present, Rhysand’s expression was contemplative, his mind turning over the possibilities. "Blue flames that heal… That’s not something you see every day. You’re sure it was real, Madja?"

Madja nodded, her expression serious. "I’ve never seen anything like it before, Rhysand. There’s a power in her that could be incredibly valuable. Her abilities could redefine healing, or perhaps... something more."

Rhysand leaned back, his thoughts racing. "This is something I need to look into further. If Y/N possesses such power, she could play a crucial role in the future of the Night Court."

"Be careful, Rhysand," Madja warned gently. "Power like that isn’t always easy to control. But if anyone can guide her, it’s you."

Rhysand nodded, the weight of this new revelation settling on his shoulders. He knew he needed to approach this carefully, to understand the full extent of Y/N’s abilities—and to ensure that whatever power she held, it would be used to protect and strengthen the Night Court.

----

The day had been kind to you, the steady hum of work filling your hours, and now, as night fell over Velaris, you decided to treat Alex to a well-deserved meal. The two of you strolled along the Sidra, the river reflecting the twinkling lights of the city, casting everything in a magical glow. The restaurant you chose was a cozy, yet elegant establishment with an outdoor terrace that overlooked the water. The warm, inviting lights and the soft murmur of other diners created a serene atmosphere that was perfect for unwinding after a long day.

You had dressed nicely for the occasion, opting for well-fitted pants and a tailored shirt that allowed you to feel both comfortable and presentable. Alex, too, had cleaned up well, his usual enthusiasm shining brightly in his eyes as you both took your seats at a small table by the river.

"This place is amazing, Nana," Alex said, his voice filled with excitement as he scanned the menu. "We should come here more often!"

You smiled, taking in the joy on his face. "We’ve had a good run lately, haven’t we? I figured we deserved a little treat."

The waiter arrived, and you both placed your orders— your young apprentice going for sugary drink and you for a glass of white wine. As you sipped your drink, Alex leaned in with a mischievous grin.

"You remember that client who came in last week?" Alex began, his tone full of amusement. "The one who insisted he needed a sword for 'taming wild beasts'? Turns out he thought the sword would actually talk to the animals and convince them to behave."

You nearly choked on your wine, giggling at the absurdity of it. "No! Did he really? I thought he just wanted a strong blade for hunting or something."

Alex nodded, laughing. "Yeah! I had to explain to him that swords don’t exactly come with instructions for bear negotiations."

Your laughter was soft and genuine, the joy of the moment spreading warmth through your chest. It was in that moment of shared humor that the door to the restaurant opened, and you caught sight of Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian entering. They were dressed as impeccably as ever, their presence immediately commanding attention in the room.

The three of them were clearly expected, as a table near the river, a bit more private, was promptly made available for them. However, before they were seated, Rhysand’s gaze fell upon you and Alex. His eyes lit up with recognition, and a charming smile spread across his face as he made his way over to your table, the others following behind.

"Y/N," Rhysand greeted warmly, his voice smooth as ever. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here." He turned to Alex with a grin. "And this must be the famous Alexander I’ve heard so much about."

Alex, never one to shy away from attention, beamed up at the High Lord. "That’s me! Nice to see you again, my lord!"

Rhysand chuckled, then glanced back at his brothers. "Y/N, allow me to introduce Cassian, our esteemed General of the Illyrian legions. I believe you’ve already met Azriel, our spymaster."

Cassian extended a hand with a friendly grin. "I’ve heard nothing but good things about your work, Y/N. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the master behind the blade."

You shook his hand, feeling a bit shy under the attention but managing a smile. "The pleasure’s mine. I’ve heard a lot about you as well."

Azriel, standing slightly behind Rhysand, gave you a nod of acknowledgment. "Good to see you again, Y/N."

Rhysand then motioned toward their table, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Why don’t you both join us for dinner? We’d love the company."

Caught off guard, you hesitated, glancing at Alex before responding. "Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude. This is your night out, after all."

Cassian waved away your concern with a laugh. "Nonsense! The more, the merrier."

You were still about to politely decline when Alex piped up, his eyes wide with excitement. "Please, Nana! I’ve always wanted to have dinner with them. Plus, I think they’ve got some cool stories to tell!"

You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile. Alex’s enthusiasm was hard to resist, and the idea of joining them, despite your initial reluctance, was becoming more appealing. Finally, you sighed playfully and nodded. "Alright, alright. You win, Alex."

Rhysand’s smile broadened as he gestured toward their table. "Perfect. Let’s make this an evening to remember."

The evening by the Sidra continued to unfold beautifully as you and Alex joined Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel at their table. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, the city lights reflecting off the river, casting a soft glow over the terrace. The five of you settled in comfortably, and soon, food and drinks were ordered—a mix of hearty dishes and lighter fare, with wine flowing freely.

As the meal progressed, the conversation naturally turned to more personal topics. Rhysand, ever the curious and perceptive High Lord, leaned in slightly, his eyes twinkling with genuine interest. "Y/N, you’re a bit of a mystery. I’d love to know more about your story—where you’re from, your family, how you came to be the talented blacksmith you are today."

You hesitated for a moment, swirling the wine in your glass as you considered where to begin. The table fell into a quiet, expectant silence, all eyes on you.

"Well," you started, "I’m originally from Velaris. My father was a guard here, dedicated to protecting the city, and my mother came from a family of old politicians who eventually left Hewn City to make a life here."

Cassian nodded thoughtfully, sipping his drink. "Sounds like they were strong people. What happened to them?"

You sighed softly, the memories bittersweet. "My mother died giving birth to me. It was... hard on my father. They were mates, and the pain of losing her was too much for him. He passed away a few hours after she did."

Cassian’s brow furrowed, his voice laced with concern and curiosity. "He just... passed away? How?"

You took a deep breath, meeting his gaze steadily. "He killed himself. The bond they shared was so strong that living without her wasn’t an option for him."

The table grew solemn, the weight of your words settling over everyone. Rhysand reached out, "I’m sorry, Y/N. That’s a lot for anyone to bear."

You nodded, appreciating the gesture. “I never actually knew them so I’m fine with it I guess. After they died, I was raised by my father’s best friend—my master. He taught me everything I know about blacksmithing. We traveled to most of the courts and across the continent, honing my skills. Alex," you added with a fond glance at the boy beside you, "is my master’s son. After my master passed away, I took Alex under my wing."

Alex, who had been quietly listening, smiled up at you, his admiration evident. “Y/N's the best teacher. She’s taught me everything."

Azriel, who had been quietly observing, spoke up, his tone thoughtful. "You’ve had quite the journey, Y/N. It takes strength to turn pain into something as beautiful and powerful as your work."

You smiled softly, nodding in agreement. "It wasn’t easy, but it’s the only way I know how to honor them."

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed freely, accompanied by the delicious food and the soothing ambiance of the Sidra beside you. After sharing your story, a question that had been lingering at the back of your mind finally surfaced.

“You three,” you began, glancing between Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, “are you truly brothers? I’ve heard stories, but I’ve always wondered how much truth there is to them.”

Cassian chuckled, exchanging a glance with Rhysand and Azriel. “Well, not by blood,” he admitted, “but in every way that matters, we’re brothers.”

Rhysand nodded, his expression softening as he looked at his two closest friends. “We grew up together in the Illyrian war camps. It wasn’t an easy upbringing, but we forged bonds that can’t be broken. Cassian and Azriel have been at my side through everything—through battles, victories, losses… they’re my family.”

Azriel, who was usually reserved, added quietly, “We’ve faced more together than most blood-related brothers ever would. That kind of connection goes beyond anything as simple as blood.”

Cassian leaned in, a grin spreading across his face. “And if you need proof, just look at how often we bicker like brothers.”

You laughed softly, understanding now the depth of their bond. “It’s clear there’s a lot of history between you. It’s… comforting to see that even in a place as powerful as the Night Court, family—however it’s made—still matters most.”

Rhysand smiled at you, his eyes reflecting the sentiment. “Family is everything to us, Y/N. And it’s something that grows—not just with blood, but with loyalty and trust.”

At this, Cassian turned his attention to Alex, who was listening intently. “Speaking of family, Alex, how about joining ours in a different way? Ever thought about training to be a warrior? You’ve got the makings of a good one.”

Alex looked up at Cassian, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What time would the training start?”

Cassian grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Around dawn. What do you think?”

Alex wrinkled his nose playfully, causing everyone to chuckle. “Dawn? That’s way too late! By then, Nana and I have already finished our training.”

The table fell into a momentary silence, the surprise evident on the faces of the Night Court’s inner circle. Azriel raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “You train before dawn?”

You couldn’t help but smile at their reactions. “What did you expect? We don’t just create weapons; we know how to wield them, too. Alex is becoming quite skilled, actually.”

Cassian let out a low whistle, visibly impressed. “Well, consider me impressed. Maybe I’ll join you two sometime—if you’ll have me.”

Alex beamed with pride. “You’re welcome anytime, but don’t expect to keep up!”

Laughter erupted around the table, the earlier heaviness of your shared stories giving way to a light-hearted camaraderie that wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The night continued with more stories, jokes, and the easy flow of conversation that only comes when people truly connect.

As the evening drew to a close, and the stars twinkled brightly above Velaris, you felt a deep sense of belonging. This dinner by the Sidra had revealed not just the pasts of the people around you, but had begun weaving your own story into the fabric of their lives. It was the start of something new, something meaningful—both for you and for Alex—and you couldn’t wait to see where it would lead.

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