Glitter & Gold

A Bone-Deep Chill (Geralt of Rivia x F!Reader) ft. Jaskier

Caught in a viscous storm, you find yourself in a freezing inn, sharing two rooms between three grouchy people. Worse still, you're fighting off the cold settling deep in your bones.

Friends-to-cuddling, Jaskier is grumpy in this. [4.6k]

CW: hypothermia, storms || Geralt Masterlist

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A dramatic sigh came from behind you as Jaskier bundled into the inn, a gust of cold with him. A vicious rain pummeled against the windows, making the building itself shake as the gale fought to make its way inside.

Geralt was still outside, finding somewhere safe for Roach to weather the storm, and you pitied him as yet another roar of wind blustering through the small town. The innkeeper regarded you with concern, both you and Jaskier shaking from the cold in sopping wet garments, no doubt leaving matching puddles seeping into his floor.

“Two rooms?” he asked, skipping any preamble as your teeth chattered.

The feeling of cold was not just in your exposed skin, but seeping through your very flesh, the ache of it reaching your bones and your lungs. The warmth of the fire in the corner called you, but you knew it would have no chance at drying through to the woollen garments which were uncomfortable and heavy on your skin.

“Please!” Jaskier answered from behind you.

You knew you were in no position to bargain, bracing yourself to be fleeced on account of your desperate situation, but the innkeeper simply nodded. He fortunately offered you a reasonable rate which would not completely empty your purses of coin.

As Jaskier trudged forwards to pay, your brain finally caught up.

“Three! Three rooms if you have them, sir. Our friend is outside.”

The bard hummed a noise of realisation, no doubt struggling to think himself as the wind continued to howl and the pair of you grew closer to freezing by the second.

The innkeeper grimaced.

“We only have two left, apologies,” he tilted his head sympathetically, “storm’s brought everyone in. No-one wants to travel in this.”

“Have you got an extra bed for either of them?” Jaskier was speaking quickly, brushing off the concern as he counted coin onto the table in front of him.

You couldn’t blame him for his dismissiveness, he was no doubt keen to get warmed up and dry his beloved lute. You were desperate to know if the fires were already lit.

The banging of the door behind you and the widening of the innkeeper’s eyes told you Geralt had finally caught up – standing by the entryway to avoid any more damage to the wooden floorboards.

The Witcher’s heavy breathing was even louder than the rain, and you tried to ignore his imposing form behind you as you followed Jaskier and the innkeeper’s discussion. The Bard was getting pissed off, you could hear it.

“You must have one extra bed somewhere in this establishment –”

“Sir I really don’t I’m sorry –”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the size of him? No one can share a bed with that!”

“Jaskier!”

You interrupted the bard, hearing Geralt’s footsteps approaching, turning back to the innkeeper.

“There’s nothing else?”

The coins sat between you on the countertop, where Jaskier had left them. You pushed them towards the man, encouraging him to take them.

“There really isn’t, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“I understand, it’s not your fault. We’ll take the two rooms. And any extra blankets and pillows you have.”

He nodded, sparing another anxious glance first at Geralt, then at the shivering, grumpy Jaskier. He finally scooped up the coin, pushing two keys across to you, followed by a folded blanket from beneath the counter.

“Rooms five and six, they’re on your right as you head upstairs. I’ll bring up meals.”

He was speaking only to you, and you couldn’t blame him. The innkeeper made a swift departure back into his own room, leaving the three of you dripping wet in the office. You crossed to the fireplace, shedding your cloak onto a chair, and trying to warm your hands as you shivered.

A scraping made you wince as Geralt dragged a chair across the floor, setting it near the hearth. You took it graciously before he found a chair for himself, joining you wordlessly.

“You okay?” you muttered, noticing the blue hue to his hands, a slight clumsiness to the way his hands found one another and rested beneath his chin.

It was alarming, to see Geralt falling victim to anything as human as a mild hypothermia. You threw another log on the fire.

“Fine. Cold.”

You nodded, not at all surprised to get so little response from the Witcher. For a few moments more you both tried to warm up in front of the flames, listening to the new log crackling and to Jaskier’s footsteps as the storm raged on outside.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, wet leather creaking as he leant forwards.

“Fine, very cold,” you teased.

Geralt laughed, just one huff of air through his nose, but glanced back at your face with something approaching concern. You hummed, leaning forwards beside him, desperate for the warmth of the fire to seep into your very bones.

“I wasn’t expecting the storm to be that bad, sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

He shot you a knowing look, and you smiled through a full-body shiver. Despite his best efforts, Geralt took the whole world on his shoulders sometimes – the weather might be the only thing you could convince him wasn’t his responsibility.

“I should have gotten us to an inn sooner.”

“It’s fine. We’re all capable, Geralt. And none of us predicted this.”

Jaskier huffed behind you, indignant. He had predicted a little rain – though nothing of this scale. Still, he had whinged about being ‘proven right’ the whole journey to the inn. Jaskier approached, and you stood to offer him your chair.

“I’ll get the fires started in the rooms,” you offered, loathing to leave the warm office but desperate to rid yourself of your sodden clothes.

There was a tension in the room that you had no desire to deal with, too exhausted and too cold to watch your two favourite people on the whole Continent bickering all evening.

“I can go?” Geralt offered quickly, but you waved him away.

“All good. I’ll be quick.”

You snagged the blanket and both room keys, the room wordless behind you as you left it.

Upstairs was cold, dark. Torches had been blown out by the wind, the corridor draughtier than you would like, and you pulled the folded blanket closer to your chest.

You couldn’t help wondering what the room configuration would be. Yourself and Geralt would most certainly try to be self-less, offer up the least offensive solution. Jaskier would no doubt be fine with sharing a room, though you wondered if he would object to sharing with Geralt. The two men had been at odds lately, for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down.

The fire was blessedly built already in the first of the rooms you visited, making you sigh in relief as you sank to the floor. You lit the kindling, protecting the flame as wind forced its way through the room, your numb hands less sensitive to the heat as the fire grew larger and larger, finally catching the logs.

Voices floated up through the floor as you minded the fire, unmistakably your companions’. The words were dampened by the floorboards, but you frowned as the flames grew taller and independent, accompanied by harsher tones from downstairs.

You stripped off the wettest of your outer layers and left them by the fire in the first room, wrapping the blanket around yourself before locking up and switching to the adjacent room. As you repeated the process, this time replacing tumbled logs which had been knocked aside by the wind, the voices only grew louder and meaner. As the second fire became self-sustaining, you found yourself reluctant to move from it. Not only was the warmth tempting, finally restoring feeling to your chilled toes and fingers, but the idea of avoiding the full argument burning downstairs was deeply appealing.

Locking yourself in the room and going to sleep tempted you, a siren to your cold, exhausted body, but you begrudgingly stood, taking your blanket and locking the door – bracing yourself as you rushed through the cold corridor once again.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, you winced at the words being exchanged.

“I don’t know why you’re being such a bastard about this, Geralt! Share the bed, let me rest comfortably, and enjoy a cosy eveningwith her for all I care!”

There was movement, that chair dragging across the floor sound again, followed by footsteps. You held your breath.

“I thought ‘no one can share a bed with that’, Bard! Are you trying to get her crushed?”

For a moment you blinked in surprise, imagining Jaskier’s face was going the same.

You weren’t surprised Geralt had heard Jaskier’s comment earlier – you were surprised he had cared enough to remember it.

“I was just trying to barter us more rooms, Geralt. We all know the beds you share – ”

Another shuffle of furniture, and this time faster footsteps. The ping of Jaskier’s lute as it fell to the floor, a growl from deep in Geralt’s chest usually reserved for beasts and pub fights, the pounding of the wind and rain against the windows. You listened with your eyes wide open, blankly looking at the staircase below you, frozen with shock.

They bickered, but they never fought.

You were the problem. They had both presumed their own beds, and you were problem, unwanted in either room and apparently completely left out of the conversation. With the keys warm in your hand, you once-again considered locking yourself in one of the rooms and letting them cuddle.

When you heard another scuffle, saw Jaskier running towards the steps, you finally snapped out of your shock.

“What’s your problem?” you demanded of the bard, already on the defensive.

As you descended you saw the anger drop from Geralt’s features, his face schooled as he halted his chase and feigned innocence. Like children caught brawling they looked across at one another, a silent threat between them.

“Just warming up,” Geralt grumbled, his swords shifting against his back as he fidgeted where he stood.

“Something like that. He’s a maniac, that one. Ready to take my head off.”

You stared them both down for a moment, aware your authority was undermined by the blanket draped around you and the slight chatter of your teeth.

“The fires are lit. Have we decided rooms?”

You reached the floor, forcing them both back towards one another as you made a beeline for the fireplace. The chairs had been displaced as the bard and the Witcher ran around them, and you dragged one back towards the fireplace with a pointed look at Jaskier before sitting in it heavily.

Geralt quietly joined you, claiming the other chair, leaving Jaskier to hover beside the hearth. He picked up his lute, starting to tune it, the fall leaving the strings awfully off-pitch.

“What do you want to do?” Geralt rumbled, his voice far softer than it had been as he argued earlier.

You wondered if it was guilt you were hearing.

“Totally up to you. As long as I can catch some rest, I’m happy.”

Geralt shifted in his seat.

“Why don’t you go with Jaskier? Might be more room.”

You frowned. The beds in the rooms could easily fit two people, likely more. As you went to say as much, Jaskier interrupted.

“Sure, whatever you want Geralt.”

He stretched out the Witcher’s name unnaturally, making you look between the two men, seeing if they would give you some inkling of the reason they were so frosty towards one another.

Instead, the Witcher nodded, holding out his hand for a key. Baffled, you handed him the key for the second room you had lit the hearth in, not even offered a thank you as he collected his damp belongings and stormed up the stairs.

Jaskier was similarly indifferent to you, occupied by his lute as he meandered up to the room, waiting for you to unlock the door without a word.

“You two fight like an old married couple, you know that, right?” you grumbled, making sure Jaskier could hear as he brushed past you into the room.

You wrinkled your nose at the damp of his coat brushing against you. Jaskier appraised the room, judgemental expression lit by the warm light from the fire. It was still burning strong. You hoped Geralt’s fire was the same, hot and welcoming, letting the Witcher relax and calm down.

Everyone was highly strung, you knew this rest was well needed.

“Anyone would be a fool to marry him. He’s selfish as anything.”

Closing the door behind you, you stood in place, waiting for Jaskier to settle.

“He’s not selfish. Nothing of the sort, and you know it.”

Jaskier let out a cruel laugh, set down his lute, and started stripping off his wet clothes, letting them dry on the floor beside yours.

“He certainly fucking acts it sometimes.”

You shouldn’t get involved.

You shouldn’t encourage Jaskier.

You shouldn’t.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t even offer to share a room. The gentlemanly thing to do.”

You tried not to feel stung by his dismissive tone.

“You didn’t exactly seem to want me either,” you pointed out, hugging your blanket closer to you as Jaskier reached bare skin, pulling a new pair of trousers from his bag.

You didn’t want to strip off, you had barely stopped shivering in the few thin, dry layers you had left.

“Of course I don’t mind, but he should have offered!”

The bard was deflecting, and you tried not to feel the pain of it as it stung deep in your chest.

“Right.”

Wordlessly, you chose the side of the bed closest to the door, keeping the blanket around you as you settled down and occupied as little space as possible.

Jaskier stayed behind you, fidgeting and moving his belongings, trying to dry some and sort others. The noise made it hard to sleep, worsened still by his humming. You screwed your eyes closed, pulled the blankets closer and curled up. The room was warming, and it would probably have been tolerable if you weren’t so damn cold already. Your shivers made you miserable, trying to stop your teeth chattering, groaning at the ache in your skull.

Sleep evaded you as frustration welled up in your eyes, hot, itchy tears falling to the mattress. Jaskier was still fussing, stoking the fire and moving his clothes around. When you heard the first strum of his lute, you wanted to scream.

The distinct press of his fingers ghosting across the frets made you tense, before he strummed the wretched thing again. Fuck. You could kill him.

“Are you really going to play now?” you mumbled, fighting a full-body shiver.

“I’m not tired,” he replied, accompanied by a familiar series of notes from his latest composition.

“You’re overtired.”

He shrugged you off with a petulant huff, the lute getting louder yet again. You heard a thud against the adjoining wall, Geralt clearly equally unimpressed with the wretched noise.

For a few moments more he continued to play, and you tried to fight the anger settling hot in your chest. All of you were exhausted, cold, hungry, miserable. And now Jaskier was being a prick.

He started singing.

You considered murdering him.

Instead you pulled yourself from the bed, keeping your blanket and snagging your pillow, storming from the room. Jaskier seemed to barely notice, continuing his rendition without hesitation as you slammed the door behind you.

Fuck.

True to his word the innkeeper had brought meals up, but left them outside the doors of the room. You knocked on Geralt’s door before taking your own plate and goblet downstairs. Jaskier could have his meal cold. It was all he deserved for that performance.

Hungry and drowsy, you folded yourself into one of the chairs in front of the fire, frowning as you remembered the argument Geralt and Jaskier had been in just minutes ago. It felt forever ago. As you ate your meal you pulled the blanket close around yourself, blinking at the fire. The faint sounds of Jaskier practicing upstairs were blessedly drowned out by the wind howling down the chimney, the storm outside only worsening. Your hands were numb as you threw another log on the fire. The innkeeper was nowhere to be seen, the front door firmly closed against the weather

You stared at the flames for longer, no longer feeling their warmth. Your legs and hands were numb, but exhaustion was claiming you, and you couldn’t move to warm up. The chair was hard beneath you, your blanket doing very little to cushion it.

Footsteps on the stairs made you jump, your daze interrupted.

Geralt descended the stairs, crockery in hand, his long white hair hanging limp around his face. You thought it looked like icicles, smoothed in place. He set his plate on the counter with a dull thud, pausing as he looked at you.

“Jaskier said you left,” he stated.

“Hm?”

Geralt looked around the room, at you folded into the chair, a furrow appearing on his brow.

“You left..?” He repeated.

You found yourself struggling to understand him, cocking your head.

“He was loud.”

He crossed the room in long strides, on hand cupping your face and the other finding your hand, hissing as his warm skin made contact with yours.

“Fuck, you’re cold.”

His palms felt burning, seeping fire into your skin, and you shuddered at the temperature difference.

“How long have you been down here? The rooms are warmer.”

“Not long. Couldn’t sleep, too cold.”

You knew your words were slurring, not only to your own ears, but to Geralt’s. He frowned more deeply at you.

“You’re really, really cold.”

Nodding, you closed your eyes, feeling tiredness overcome you.

“You need to come upstairs,” he insisted, taking your plate and letting it clatter to the floor.

You nodded again, but your limbs were too stiff to move. As his hands left your skin, you mourned the loss, feeling that stinging pain return. Your fingers and toes were aching.

“C’mon,” he grumbled, trying to pull you to your feet.

You did your best to comply, but it was difficult, painful. Tiredness flooded your system yet again. The shivering had stopped, and yet the coldness continued.

“Help me out here,” Geralt complained, dragging you by one shoulder as the rest of your body tried felt too heavy to follow.

“I’m trying,” you mumbled.

“Hardly.”

Your feet weren’t behaving underneath you, knees struggling to take your weight. You’d preferred it in the chair, at least your feet ached less. As you stumbled Geralt caught you, grunting a complain. For a moment he held you upright, letting you recover you balance. Suddenly his grip tightened.

“You’re not shivering,” he noticed, words sharp as he frowned at you.

“Should be,” you replied, “I’m fucking cold.”

“I know.”

He seemed to turn dismissive, bodily moving you across the room, but you could sense the concern in him. Even through your daze, you wondered where he was taking you. Neither of them had wanted to share. Getting up the stairs was more of a struggle than you expected, and you frowned at the ache in your muscles are you struggled to ascend them without leaning on Geralt.

The Witcher had gone quiet, hugging you to him, and you found it more terrifying than you wanted to admit. At the top of the stairs he continued to bundle you along towards his room, and you realised he was right. You weren’t shivering, even as wind rushed down the cold corridor.

“Keep talking to me,” he insisted, chest rumbling against your torso.

The thought left your mind immediately. You were fighting to stay awake. He found his key quickly, one arm caging you against him as he opened his door. Geralt worked efficiently as he pulled the sheets aside on his bed, settling you under them and tucking them around you.

The fire had started to dwindle, burning low in the hearth. As you moved under the covers, trying to warm up, Geralt rebuilt and stoked the flames. The fire flickered up, bathing the room in light. You couldn’t feel the heat, but hopefully it would follow soon. You closed your eyes, trying to find sleep now the noise of Jaskier’s lute had finally stopped.

“Talk to me,” he repeated gruffly, standing between the fireplace and the bed.

“Sorry.”

You opened your eyes, seeing his raised eyebrow. You smiled despite yourself.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything,” he insisted, busying himself with sorting through his belongings, “just keep talking.”

He found another fur but grunted at seeing it wet, setting it in front of the fire to dry.

“I don’t think… I think I got colder than I realised earlier. And Jaskier wouldn’t stop fucking making noise so I couldn’t sleep, and the food didn’t make me feel better, and I can’t feel my toes –”

He stepped back for a moment, appraising the room, and you forced your eyes to stay open against the tiredness trying to claim you.

“As in, they’re cold? Or you can’t feel your toes?” he demanded.

You met his gaze, trying to understand the question. He strode towards the bed and found your feet beneath the blankets, stripping off your socks to feel your frozen toes.

“Fuck.”

He looked up at you, yellow eyes filled with seriousness and concern, and you fought back tears. Had you upset him somehow?

He bundled your feet back up, covering them first with socks then with one of his jackets, all the while tugging at the wooden bedframe. After a few moments of consideration, he suddenly dragged the whole frame across the floor, making you startle and grab at the mattress as the whole piece of furniture was moved closer to the fireplace.

You hoped no one else had been woken up by the noise, but your worry was immediately sated by the warmth of the flames against your exposed face. Geralt looked at you, waiting for approval, and you smiled weakly.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, busying himself with moving things around the newly-rearranged room. A few moments, you heard his gruff voice repeating himself.

“Talk.”

“This is much better, thanks Geralt. I’m sorry for kicking you out of your bed. I don’t know how I got so cold, it’s not even snowing, I guess just the wind and the rain…”

“You don’t need to explain.”

Blinking away tears, you stared sideways at the flames, hearing Geralt approaching behind you.

“I want to warm you up…” he trailed off, “if you don’t mind…”

Nodding, you shuffled forwards, but Geralt’s hand on your bundle of blankets stopped you before you could move from the centre of the bed.

“That’s fine,” he mumbled.

Stripping off his last piece of leather armour, he quickly slid himself beneath the sheets behind you, soothing the sudden flash of cold air with the warmth of his own body. Sandwiched between the Witcher and the fire, a sudden shudder wracked your body.

You heard Geralt exhale behind you. One warm hand found your wrist, and you realised he was checking your pulse.

“Am I still alive?” you teased.

Your smile dropped as his hand tightened on your wrist, before letting go, finding a place on your waist and hugging you closer to his chest instead.

“Sorry,” you apologised to him, shoving your face into the pillow beneath you as Geralt’s breath steadied against your back.

Geralt hummed.

“I think you were in a lot more danger than you realised.”

You lay in silence, giving him the opportunity to elaborate as your shivers and the heat around you finally returned sensation to your body. Everything ached, and you realised with a start that you would still be stuck, freezing in the entryway to the inn without Geralt’s help.

“On Kaer Morhen, when I was a boy… a lot of us didn’t survive. Very few survived, in fact. And they’d often… succumb to the cold.”

Fidgeting against him, you made space for the Witcher to wrap his arms tighter around you. His breath was hot against your neck as he continued speaking.

“We knew they were going… when they stopped seeming cold. The shivering would stop. The pain would stop. Then they would just fade away where they lay.”

His upbringing and training haunted the Witcher, but you had never heard it so plainly in his voice. Pain echoed through every word.

“I’m sorry, Geralt.”

“We would try to warm them up – we would. Ale and blankets and moving them closer to the fires… but the mountains are so cold. The air is thin. If they couldn’t survive it… we couldn’t help them.”

“There’s nothing you could have done,” you reassured, clumsily finding his hand on your waist and squeezing it.

He sought out your pulse again, murmuring something against your neck as he found it stronger. As your warmth returned so did your clarity, and you felt a growing pang of embarrassment at clinging to him. Or rather, letting him cling to you.

“I know you didn’t want to share, I’m sorry,” you began, but the Witcher shook his head against you.

His hair had started to frizz as it dried in the firelight, you noticed.

“No, Jaskier… I’m going to kill him for letting you freeze.”

“Jaskier has nothing to do with it,” you chided, closing your eyes against the warmth from the flames.

“He… I thought the beds wouldn’t fit two people. I didn’t want to take up too much space. Or crush you in my sleep.”

You laughed, and he made an affronted hum. Oh, he’s serious.

“I’ll wake you up if you crush me. I thought maybe I smelled too bad or something,” you teased, but Geralt wouldn’t bite.

“We should have found cover earlier. We left you with Roach for hours, you weren’t moving as much as Jaskier, singing his fucking songs, no wonder you got cold.”

“It’s not your fault –”

“As long as you’re travelling with me, it’s my fault,” his voice rumbled against your ear, and you couldn’t help the deep inhale you took at his protectiveness.

As your sensation returned, you could feel his whole body pressed against your back.

“It’s not,” you argued weakly, not fight left.

Sleep was claiming both of you, and now it seemed far safer, as your shudders subsided and your toes tingled with warmth from the fireplace. You closed your eyes, head beside Geralt’s bicep as he spooned you, fidgeting to get comfortable.

“I’m sorry you thought you couldn’t come to me,” he whispered, a confession.

“I should have – sorry. And I’m sorry about Kaer Morhen… there’s nothing you could have done. It wasn’t fair…”

For a moment there was nothing but his breath, mingling with the patter of rain. Then he answered, another confession against your skin.

“Thank you.”

Sleep grew closer again, Jaskier’s lute quietening and a cosy peace settling over the two of you, an oasis in the cold air of the inn.

“Wake me up if you get cold. I’ll sort the fire out.”

“Mhm,” you mumbled back.

You smiled as his hand found yours once more, checking the pulse at your wrist before cupping your hand against your sternum. You wondered if he felt your heart race at the gesture.

“Thank you,” you whispered, catching his attention one last time.

He shifted, cold sneaking under the blankets for a moment and making you groan, before his lips pressed to your hairline. As he pulled you close to him again you tried to bite down a giddy smile, feeling his own grin against your neck.

The shifting light of the fire was your companion as you let sleep take you, grasped to Geralt’s chest and safe against the storm outside.

Why is this heat so hot 😩

Theo Nott's eyes. That's it. That's the post.

(siren/mermaid reader x simon “ghost” riley written on a whim and a rush)

There’s a silence that only the sea understands; a quiet lull between the crash of waves and the breath of something other watching from below.

You rise just before the tide turns.

Water beads like silver across your shoulders, trailing rivulets down the curves of your scaled skin. The moonlight paints you in cold beauty- sharp and soft, haunting. Your hair drips with salt and secrets. Your tail, dark as the ocean trench and rimmed with glints of blue, curls beneath the surface like a big, lazy question mark.

The boat creaks as you settle on the edge of it, arms resting on the slick wood, claws tapping like soft bells.

And there he is; the one man you cannot drown. Ghost, you’d heard the other fishermen call him. Simon, the seas whispered to you.

You’ve tried. Not out of malice, not really. You’ve never spared the ones who drift too close- those ruddy-faced tourists with their cheap beer and loud mouths, hearts too full of their own importance to sense the predator beneath the waves even when the locals who’ve seen you sinking down whole ships are the ones to warn them. Their skulls now rest in coral nests far below. A song, a smile, a brush of your fingers on their dreams- that’s all it ever took.

But him?

The first time you sang to Simon, he didn’t blink. He didn’t bleed from the ears or follow you into the rocks like a lamb, did not give into the sweet song of death. He just looked at you- as if he knew your song already.

You wish it had ended there, but no. No. He did much worse, he had even freed you-

You can still remember the trap. Rusted iron strung between two forgotten pylons, slick with barnacles and hunger. It had snapped tight around your waist as you’d swum through a kelp forest, cutting into your flesh with a mechanical groan that still makes your bones ache. You’d thrashed, thrashed until your voice broke against the water, until your blood painted the reeds crimson. And then- he had been there. Still, unafraid, with dark eyes peering at you.

He didn’t speak. Just waded into the cold, metal snips in hand, and cut you loose. You had stared at him, weak and trembling, the tide lapping red around you.

That was years ago. And ever since, you come to him. Not always. Never with warning.

Only when the moon calls.

Tonight, it hangs low and red like an omen. The kind that makes fish leap onto shore and birds fly inland, and a different type of hunger coil like eels in youe stomach. Blood moon, the fishermen call it. She will be hunting, they had said. And most know to stay far away when it rises. When you rise.

But not Simon. Never him.

Simon stands on his boat, the Wretch’s Mercy, steady as stone. He doesn’t flinch when you breach the surface, eyes gleaming like polished bullets. Doesn’t reach for the knife on his hip, even if you think he should. He is too defenseless; it takes the taste out of food.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show.” He says. His voice is low and dry as cracked rope, wrapped in northern smoke and salt.

He’s wearing the same black mask, the white skull painted across it like a silent threat. But his eyes- those ever-watchful eyes- glint amber in the dark. Not human. Not quite. How have you never noticed it before?

“I don’t perform on demand,” you purr, tail flicking. “There are no fools in the water tonight.”

“No,” he agrees. “Only monsters.”

You bare your teeth in something like amusement, too sharp to be called a smile. “… You’ve never feared me, sailor. Why?”

Simon shrugs, tugging gently at a net as it coils along the deck. “Yer not the scariest thing I’ve come across, love. Not by a long shot.”

You lean forward, hair dripping over your chest, your irises dark as shipwrecks. You swear your teeth ache with the need to bite into him. “Do they know what you are?”

Simon finally looks at you- really looks.

There’s no shock in his face. No hesitation.

“Who, the locals?” he says, low. “They think I’m just a fisherman that won’t bloody die.”

You study him, the way his broad shoulders roll with the boat, how his body moves with the tide instead of against it. Like you.

“You smell like the deep,” you whisper at last. “Like volcanic vents and whale bone. You’re not surface-made.”

Silence stretches between you. It’s the same quiet the ocean gives before it devours something.

He steps forward, towards you. “You’re not wrong.”

You blink. Your claws curl slightly into the wood. “Then why pretend?”

“Because monsters scare off the catch.”

You laugh- low, velvety, the sound of waves lapping at a sailor’s final breath. But your voice softens then. “You could have let me die.”

He’s close now. Close enough to touch. The net dangles loose in his hands. “Didn’t want to,” he says simply. “Didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re mine.”

That words stir, primal in your chest. Something that snarls and sings and sinks ships into the bottomless ocean.

“You think you can keep me?”

His hand reaches up- not fast, not rough- just firm. His fingers trail along your damp jaw, calloused thumb stroking the corner of your lip. You don’t pull away, and you don’t bite, even though you should.

But your heart stutters like a dying gull anyways.

“I don’t think,” he murmurs, voice deeper now, trenches miles below. “I know.”

You stare at him, senses drinking him in- his scent, his heat, the thrum of something old and hungry beneath his skin. You lean in, then, lips nearly brushing his, your breath a chill against his mask.

“When the time comes,” you whisper, voice of broken shells and broken vows. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Simon’s smile beneath the mask is something no man should wear. It is something no man would wear- but another deep water monster would.

“Oh, I will. When you follow me down, you won’t want to come back up.”

no more ace to play [mamma mia part two] | formula one social media au

drivers: sebastian vettel, fernando alonso and jenson button

the investigation was fruitful but now y/n has a handful of drivers and a bucket load of criticism

general note: i answered an ask about this but i thought i'd reiterate here, this is a no wives or kids au, so seb and jenson's wives and kids do not exist in this !! thank you so much for all the lovely feedback on the last part, hopefully i remembered to tag everyone who asked x

part one | masterlist | ko-fi

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, jensonbutton and 1.405,605 others

tagged: fernandoalo_oficial, sebastianvettel, jensonbutton

yourusername: so i guess it's kinda real now and they're all lovely x

view all comments

user4: i know the bitter old people are going to find this now but i for one think it's fucking ICONIC

user5: the guys are way too chill for the situation

user6: they've not said anything, so how would you know?

user5: idk reeks of babytrapping

user7: be for real y/n doesn't need to baby trap anyone she has her own career?

yourbff: debrief needed STAT

yourusername: literally on my way to yours right now get the non-alcoholic wine READY

landonorris: do i like get a prize for my hand in this?

yourusername: here's a gold star ⭐️

landonorris: i was hoping for some monetary rewards

yourusername: ur literally a millionaire ?

landonorris: and?

user8: are any of them gonna like comment or?

user9: very odd considering they wouldn't shut THE FUCK UP on their own posts

user10: for real they were very proud of their 'accomplishments' but now it's the consequences of their actions and their silent ?m

user11: have yall considered the fact that finding out you might be a dad is a bit of a shock, let them all process it?

jensonbutton

liked by lewishamilton, sebastianvettel and 302,889 others

jensonbutton: back to see the old rides

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user12: SPILL JENSON PLEASE

user13: so like what team is this kid going to support they've got so much to choose from?

user14: if they have any taste, ferrari 💅

user15: i mean their momma clearly has taste so ....

oscarpiastri: nice to meet you jenson!

jensonbutton: by how much mark talks about you i could've sworn i'd already met you

aussiegrit: bold of you to send shots my way considering your current predicament

user16: mark saying this like they aren't lucky to be with y/n ?

user17: bro we all saw that you met up with y/n and the baby daddy squad... wanna maybe share some thoughts?

user18: why would he want to publicise that he got with a slag?

user17: i know you're not calling y/n a slag when we're talking about f1 playboy JENSON BUTTON ?

user19: i have complete faith that this mamma mia summer WILL have a good ending but i NEED these men to maybe actually talk about it so people aren't just out here coming for y/n ?

yourusername

liked by fernandoalo_oficial, jensonbutton and 1,209,677 others

yourusername: got myself a sweet treat and did some meditation (i.e. listening to asmr roleplay) because life is crazy and morning sickness is a bitch

view all comments

user24: not to be sappy but i am emotional watching y/n go through this, she's been on the internet for so long i feel like i've watched her grow up, idk anything about f1 but i hope they're good for her

yourbff: gosh who knew you getting pregnant would lead to us having to go to the bakery every single morning

yourusername: but but but they have such good croissants and SHUSH I BUY YOU YOURS EVERYDAY

yourbff: i know you're like my sugar mama, please still buy me pastries when you have your actual child

user25: i think we're all being a wee bit dramatic about the whole "they haven't said anything" business. yes, they probably should say they're fine with it so people stop accusing y/n of baby trapping them but ALSO we don't know what they do everyday, maybe we should just let the adults go about their business

charles_leclerc: i am basically seb's kid so i shall be a character witness: that man is an ANGEL and believe me that took a lot for me to say in public lol

yourusername: why thank you charles, i have heard a lot about you. in fact on his "provisional dad cv", sebastian directly named you, some guys called max verstappen, mick schumacher and lance stroll as fatherly experience

maxverstappen1: LOL I KNEW SEB LOVED ME BUT WTF IS A DAD CV

sebastianvettel: this is a serious matter and i wanted to show that i'm serious about fatherhood

mickschumacher: soz max, charles and lance i think WE all know who his favourite is

lancestroll: i'm just happy to be recognised tbf

yourusername: well i kinda hope this real child will be his favourite...

charles_leclerc: boring 🥱

alexalbon: well i'm gonna nominate myself as jenson's grid kid and woah that guy is great 👍

jensonbutton: sounds kinda sarcastic but thanks for the effort alex

carlossainz55: seeing as we're all here i'll say that nando is the best grid dad sorry not sorry

yourusername: you're all here but idk who you people are ?

fernandoalo_oficial: chilli have i ever told you how proud i am of you?

stoffelvandoorne: do i mean nothing to you old man

user26: wtf is going on here

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by yourusername, sebastianvettel and 1,403,677 others

fernandoalo_oficial: what a race! thankful to finally be back on the podium this weekend and i'd like to dedicate this race to the soon-to-be new addition and my new family, here's to our future ❤️

view all comments

user27: HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO CUTE

user28: i'm sorry the THUMB IN THE MOUTH CELEBRATION ARE YOU KIDDING?

jensonbutton: proud of you, come home quick x

user29: i'm sooooo chill about this

fernandoalo_oficial: i'll make sure to tell the team that THE jenson button wants the meeting to go faster

sebastianvettel: do i mean nothing? that's literally my old team name drop ME

yourusername: just tell them i've gone into labour

fernandoalo_oficial: you've not even been pregnant two months yet...

yourusername: they don't know that

astonmartinf1: this is a public instagram comment section...

maxverstappen1: maybe when the little one is actually here i'll let you win for once

fernandoalo_oficial: how kind of you?

maxverstappen1: i need the little one to know that at least one of you is cool and that i should be their favourite god father

lewishamilton: now that is a bold assumption

danielricciardo: i have been quiet on this topic but if anyone is prime god father material YOU'RE LOOKING AT HIM

yourusername: you'll all receive an email and a god father application in the coming weeks

charles_leclerc: is this another seb idea?

yourusername: maybe... but idk yall so i think it's a good idea

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, mickschumacher and 1,509,874 others

tagged: jensonbutton, fernandoalo_oficial, sebastianvettel

yourusername: welcome to the crazy house

view all comments

user33: so we've confirmed the poly? yes or no?

user34: i'm gonna say yes but with them you literally never know

georgerussell63: so we all sent them a jellycat?

alexalbon: speak for yourself george that sick ass rocking bunny is all albon

user35: not to be weird but this kids is literally going to have the hottest parents of all time

user36: no cause if i'm a teacher and all of them walk in for parent's evening i'm passing out

jensonbutton: oh wow what a lovely crib i wonder who put that together

fernandoalo_oficial: don't you dare take all the credit

sebastianvettel: as if anyone other than the WOOD WORK KING put that together

yourusername: guys they are lying the delivery guy put it together and they all stood around watching like dads at the airport

jensonbutton: "like dads" so still getting the experience in

danielricciardo: so who is responsible for this grandpa ass nursery aesthetic?

yourusername: well this is awkward i thought it was cute

fernandoalo_oficial: it is don't worry honey, it matches seb's overall grandpa aesthetic

sebastianvettel: you guys agreed to move to mine don't switch up on my aesthetic now

jensonbutton: oh seb we all love your certain affinity for tartan and plaid

sebastianvettel: i'm not feeling this love right now :(

yourusername: cuddle pile incoming

note: ahhh okay this was very highly requested so i hope it met expectations. i'm thinking this could defo be a longer series (i am also working on into the arms of another dw) following the whole family if yall would like that? i'm gonna try and tag everyone who requested that, i am sorry if i missed anyone x

taglist: @boiohboii @vellicora @faithm120601 @raizelchrysanderoctavius @luv4kani @minkyungseokie @eugene-emt-roe @magical-spit @ironmaiden1313 @jaydaaasworld @whoreks @rainerax @nonsensical-nonsence @laneyspaulding19 @chelseyyouraverageluigi @lxclerc @gemofthenight @woweewoowa

written in the stars.

author's note: boyfriend theo is the best theo. play this in the background to hurt your own feelings.

Theodore Nott has always had an affinity for the stars. 

When he was younger, Theo's mother used to take him to the rooftop of Nott Manor and point out the constellations to him. The stars told stories, his mum had said. Theo listened with rapt attention as she recounted the tales of Aquila, Heracles, and Orion as they glittered against the backdrop of the English countryside.

The two of them would make an entire evening out of it. Laying on his back atop a nest of blanket and pillows, little Theo watched as the stars climbed higher and higher, filling the horizon with hope and light. Stargazing had been their special secret. The one thing that wasn’t tainted by his abusive father. Theo guarded the memory of those nights in his heart like a priceless treasure.

After his mother’s passing, Theo continued their tradition of stargazing. Even if she was no longer alive, all he had to do was look up at the sky to feel her with him. For that reason, the stars were special to him and he’d never shared its meaning with anyone. 

Until tonight. 

“Watch your step, cara mia.” Theo said as he guided you by the small of your back. 

The dark cloth covering your eyes prohibited you from seeing, but you trusted your boyfriend to keep you from falling. Though you weren’t a fan of surprises, Theo was impossible to resist. All he had to do was flash those pretty watercolor eyes at you and you were an absolute goner. 

For you, Theo had always been the exception. 

He guided you up a staircase, keeping a firm grip on your waist as the two of you ascended. Wherever you were going, it was pretty high up. You smiled as Theo took hold of your waist, knowing that you weren't the biggest fan of heights. Sometimes it felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. When you reached the top, Theo unfastened his tie from behind your head. 

“You can open your eyes now, sweetheart.” 

You blinked, letting your eyes adjust to the dark. The wind whistled through the stone arches of the Astronomy Tower, framing the starkissed night with its marble pillars. The soft glow of the moon illuminated the nest of blankets and pillows arranged in the middle of the wooden floor. 

“Did you do all of this for me, babe?” 

Theo smiled. “I thought you might like to go stargazing with me,” he said, his voice soft. “Do you like it, my love?” 

“I love it, Teddy.” You beamed, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his nose. “But not nearly as much as I love you.” 

Theo grinned before pulling you in for a proper kiss. His lips were soft against yours and he tasted like peppermint. Butterflies erupted in your stomach as your knees buckled slightly. Theo never failed to make you feel like a lovestruck school girl. It never stopped feeling like this despite how many times you kissed this boy.

As if reading your thoughts, Theo smiled against your lips. “Come on, Y/N. I want to show you my favorite constellations.” 

The two of you laid down beneath the stars, making yourself comfortable amidst the blankets and pillows. Wordlessly, Theo pulled you into his arms and you nestled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of sea salt spray and sun kissed skin. 

“Tell me the story of the stars, Teddy.” 

He smiled, brushing your hair back. “That one right there is Ursa Major. Otherwise known as the Big Dipper, but if you look at the entire constellation, it actually forms a bear.” 

“I remember learning about that when I was little,” you said, gazing up at the sky. “Didn’t it have something to do with Zeus?”

Theo nodded. “In Greek mythology, the Olympian God Zeus fell in love with Callisto and got her pregnant. After she gave birth to the child, Hera was so mad she turned Callisto into a bear.” 

“That hardly seems fair,” you responded with a frown. 

“Zeus was a bit of a wanker,” Theo said in agreement. “Hera was even worse. She cursed Callisto to wander the forest for years in bear form until she was hunted by her own son Arcas. Just as he raised his spear to strike her down, Zeus stepped in and sent them up to the heavens. Callisto as Ursa Major and Arcas as Bootes.” 

“The Greek gods were truly a piece of work,” you replied. “But at least we got those constellations out of them."

You squinted, pointing at the cluster of stars hovering in the east. “What’s that one?” 

“That’s the constellation of Leo,” explained Theo. “Named after the Nemean lion that Heracles defeated during the first of his twelve labours.” 

“Didn’t he make a cloak out of the lion’s pelt?” 

“Smart girl,” Theo said proudly. “The cloak made Heracles invincible and more fearsome than he already was. The Nemean lion’s heart is made up of the star Regulus, which is associated with the arrival of spring.” 

“The Little King. I read that it burns hotter than the sun.” 

Theo couldn’t help but smile. Before he met you, he never thought he’d find someone to share such a special and intimate thing with. He was worried that no one else would understand his love for the stars, but as he watched you peer curiously up at the sky, your nose scrunched in careful concentration, Theo felt all of his doubts fade away. 

“Regulus is unique because it can be seen in both the Northern and Southern hemispheres.” 

The blue star glittered brightly above your heads, as if it was showing off for the occasion. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed. 

Theo stared at you, at the childlike wonder shimmering in your eyes, and he felt like the breath had been knocked out of his lungs. The gravity of what he felt for you hit him all at once. 

“Yeah,” Theo said softly, still looking at you. “Beautiful.” 

You grinned, intertwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles. “How do you know so much about the stars, Teddy?” 

“My mum taught me.” Theo answered, drawing circles on your hip. “When I was little, she used to take me to the rooftop of the manor and tell me the story behind each star. She was fascinated by them. Before she met my father, she wanted to teach astronomy at the Stati Magia.”

“The Italian School of Witchcraft?” 

Theo nodded. “My mother attended the Stati Magia, just like her mother and her mother before her. A tradition that I unintentionally broke, as nonna Lucia loves to remind me. Sometimes I think the old bat wishes that I was born a strega instead.” 

You giggled. “You would’ve been a very pretty witch.” Theo chuckled as you propped your head up in one hand. “Did your mum end up becoming a professor?”

“No,” Theo said sadly. “After I was born, my father said that her place was at the manor. He refused to move to Florence, even though he knew it was my mother’s dream.” 

You stroked his hair, nodding emphatically. Theo rarely talked about his mother. You knew that her passing was a painful subject for him, so you never pushed him to talk about it unless he wanted to.

“That’s awful. I’m so sorry, my love,” you said. “But at least she was able to pass down her love of the stars to you. In a way, she lived her dream by teaching you.” 

A soft smile tugged at your boyfriend’s lips. “I suppose she did.” 

You laid back down, but this time you cradled Theo against you. He rested his head against your chest, listening to the calming sound of your heartbeat. Talking about his mother will always be hard, but you helped ease the pain. 

“What about those stars?” You asked, pointing to the north. “What did your mother tell you about them?” 

“Perseus and Andromeda,” Theo answered. “Those are actually her favorites.”

“The chained maiden.” 

Theo stirred, inclining his gaze to the horizon. “Andromeda was the Princess of Aethiopia, the daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia. She was said to be very beautiful. Her mother bragged that Andromeda was better looking than the Nereids, which angered Poseidon. As punishment, the Sea God sent the creature Cetus to ravage that coast of their kingdom.” 

You nodded, recalling the story. “King Cepheus chained her to a rock and offered her as a sacrifice to appease the sea monster.” 

“Luckily for Andromeda, the hero Perseus found her before Cetus could attack again. Perseus fell in love with Andromeda and defeated the monster so he could free the princess. They ended up marrying and became king and queen of Mycenae. When they died, the goddess Athena placed them side by side in the heavens so that they would never be parted, not even by death.” 

“A love written in the stars,” you said with awe and wonder. “I can see why it’s your mother’s favorite.”

“When I was a boy, she told me that she hoped I’d experience a love like theirs, minus the sea monster of course.” You chuckled. Theo knit his brows together like he did when he was deep in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible. “It’s sad to think that she never found her Perseus.” 

You brushed his hair back, running your fingers through his curls gently. “She might not have found her Perseus, but she did have her Theo.”

Theo turned over and looked at you. The intensity in his gaze made you shiver. He was so ingrained in your heart that it felt inaccurate to continue calling it yours.

“After she died, I never thought I’d share her stories with anyone again, but I’m glad I shared them with you.” 

“Thank you for trusting me, Theo.” You said as you placed a kiss on his temple. “It means the world to me that you not only shared your mother’s stories, but her memory as well. I would’ve loved to meet her.”

The tender smile on Theo’s face was heartbreaking. Then softly, he whispered. “She would’ve loved you, Y/N.”

Your heart cracked open, his words spilling like sunlight over every crevice, warming you from the inside out.

Tears formed at the corners of your eyes, but you forced yourself to give Theo a watery smile. “Because I’m a nerd who memorized obscure mythological facts?”

Your boyfriend smiled. “No,” he said gently, caressing your cheek. “Because you made her wish come true. You are my love written in the stars, cara mia.” 

The moonlight kissed Theo’s tan skin, the silver beams caressing his face like a lover as if the moon and the stars craved to commit his beauty to memory as badly as you did. Gods, he was breathtaking. 

This was the Teddy you knew and loved. Your Teddy.

Those watercolor eyes shimmered with emotion. “Sometimes I think the gods made you just for me, like our souls are linked in a way that neither logic nor magic can explain. Whatever it is, I think I’ve loved you since before the heavens and the earth existed and I’m fairly certain that I’d still love you even after the last star falls out of the sky.”

“You’re the love of my life, Theodore Nott.” Tears streamed down your cheeks as this boy—this beautiful boy ensnared your mind, body, and soul. “I’d find you in any universe and in any galaxy. Maybe someday we’ll be immortalized in the stars too.” 

Theo held your face in his hands. His expression was open and vulnerable, like he wasn’t afraid to lay himself bare before you. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“We’re two halves of a whole,” Theo said. “I loved you yesterday. I love you today and I’ll love you tomorrow. You’re it for me, Y/N. You and no one else.” 

“You and no one else, Teddy.” 

Under the constellations of the star crossed lovers, Theo kissed you so gently that it made your heart ache. As Andromeda and Perseus kept watch over the horizon, Theodore Nott knew one thing for certain.

Someday the stars would tell your story too.

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

kindergarten

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawnshop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

windmill

wishing well

wizard tower

F1 Masterlist

Fake messages au

p.t 1 | bffs with the rookies+ Lando(cause we love him)

A small insight into the lives of the reader and their relationship with the rookies.

p.t 2 | Max still doesn't know who tf y/n is

How Max Verstappen is introduced to the rookie maddness

p.t 3 | we beefing with fan pages frfr

When did meeting your idol make him your boyfriend? Also Lando's possessive abt his teammates but we been knew that.

p.t 4 | being menaces to society

McDonald's and annoying the shit out of a particular Monganesque, could the day get any better?

p.t 5 | Arthur's probléme

You meet THE Charles Leclerc, so yes, the day could get better!

p.t 6 | very concerning text w/each other

Reader is a menace, the boys deal with it... every.single.day.

p.t.7 | back on the paddock

Logan rocked, everyone shocked.

p.t.8 | The Hangover

Parties and After parties, the rookies are all right! Well, maybe not but they make for great cautionary tales.

p.t.9 | The Hangover II

The rookies are like gremlins, don't give them alcohol after midnight and maybe invest in a few leashes.

p.t.10 | The Hangover III

We finally know everything the rookies got up to in their drunken crusade.

p.t.11 | Melbourne in the summer

Reader goes to Australia and is reminded of all the times Logan, Oscar and her spent in the Aussies' house as teens.

p.t.12 | Monaco for one, please!

Reader finally meets the Leclercs but maybe they don't want to meet her.

p.t. 13 | Home alone in Monaco

Arthur and Reader cause chaos and chaos only

p.t.14 | Halloween is sacred

Oh Micky you're so fine.... oh and also y/n throws a killer Halloween party

p.t. 15 | "Come pick me up I'm scared"

we're beefing with the paparazzi once again and damn Y/n's got hands

P.t. 16 | Revenge is a dish best served cold and glittery

we're so back

P.t. 17 | The Sleepover I

The planning

Special additions:

incorrect quotes 1!

Stark Tower has literally got the best wifi in the whole of New York and Tony makes it free as well so sometimes he’ll walk out of the ground floor and just see like a dozen or so people, usually kids, just sat on the doorstep on their phones or laptops and like it’s such a little thing to do but yknow. He’s Ironman. Give the kids some damn fast wifi.