#rampart x reader

[carmen-is-away]

cuddling with the legends pt. 3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

In this post: Crypto, Revenant, Loba, Rampart, Horizon

Crypto

I've said this before, but mans is touch starved, like I'm talking yearning, feening for affection. He wants to cuddle with someone so bad, but won't admit it. If you tell him that you wanna cuddle, he'll be over the moon, but will try to play it cool. It's very easy to see through his act though. Loves to spoon, especially if he's the little spoon.

Revenant

You've got to be out of your mind, I mean absolutely crazy cuckoo bonkers. But if you somehow get him to cuddle with you, he will be super confused and will compensate for it by threatening you the whole time, but he might wrap an arm around you and let you do whatever though

Loba

She's got a lot of love in her heart surprisingly and very touchy in private. She likes to cuddle and loves to be the big spoon. She'll whisper sweet nothings in your ear the whole time, when she's not busy plotting how to torment Revenant next.

Rampart

I had a hard time deciding what to write for Ramya, but I've come to the conclusion that she's just really playful about it all. She'll tickly and tease you the entire time and jokingly complain about how hot it is, but if you try to get up or move away, she'll say that she's just joking and ask you to come back and cuddle forreal.

Horizon

She likes cuddling but finds it hard to find time for it, because yk, women in STEM! She'll definitely be down to cuddle if she's deep into some reading or paperwork. Just be prepared for her to jump up and disturb your peace in the name of science.

[yabadabadoobie]

petnames (pt. 3)

multi-legend headcanons - lifeline, pathfinder, caustic, octane, rampart

pt. 1  •  pt. 2 • pt. 4 (WIP)

a/n: obligatory ooc warning, especially for caustic LMAO; not sure when pt. 4 will be available because i've left all the legends i have no ideas for :']

Lifeline - boo

This girl is immediately calling you sweet things, as soon as she can - probably before you even get together, the moment she realises she likes you. Always loving, she'll call you all sorts of cute names, but always goes back to 'boo' - it's just short and sweet; nothing fancy, but full of love nonetheless.

"Gotcha somethin' special, boo - (laugh) calm yourself! Ain't no big thing."

Pathfinder - romantic partner

... Okay, he may not be the best at romantic endeavors, but I promise he's trying his hardest for you. Honestly, he'll call you anything you like, just ask him to! But if you leave him to figure it out on his own, you might end up with something... interesting. Hey, maybe you find it endearing?

"I love being your romantic partner, romantic partner!"

Caustic - love

Good luck with getting this guy to call you by your first name, let alone anything sweet. You're going to be mx. [last name] for a long while, sorry about that. But maybe, if you stick by his side long enough to see the softer sides slip through, he'll let a petname slip in a tender moment. The rarity makes it all the sweeter.

"A meal? I see. I suppose I have not been supplying myself with adequate nourishment. Thank you.. love."

Octane - mi vida (my life)

It takes a special someone to steal Octane's heart, considering his... well, everything. How you keep up with this man I do not know and I'm too scared to ask, but he appreciates it more than you know. He lives for the feeling of his blood pumping, heart racing and adrenaline highs - and you certainly make him feel all of it; it's only fitting.

"(laugh) Mi vida, there you are! I've been thinking about you all day!"

Rampart - priya (darling)

Honestly, she doesn't put that much thought into or emphasis on it - she thinks petnames are just a bit of fun, which is fair enough; she prefers showing her love for you in other ways than just a little word. Probably only uses the one, though she doesn't mind being called anything you'd like to call her in return - and I do mean anything. She'll find the humour in it.

"Pass me the wrench, priya? Just a minute, be done in a jiffy. Keep frownin' like that and yer face'll stick that way, ya know!"

[kanashiichan]

Ok so like. Interest check ig?

I've had a Vice Admiral Rampart x reader (NSFW!!) fic in the works for like a month is anyone interested in reading it if I finish?

[sqwapex]

Requests are : Open

Trying to come back from my hiatus. Please request things, i’ll try to get to them :)

.... also, i’m thinking about branching out with the fandoms i write for

Hi! I’m Sqwiid, and my pronouns are She/Her/They/Them. I’m a sapphic writer and specialize in writing WLW fics. However, I’m trying to expand my horizons and am up for writing WLM and MLM and GN xReader fics.

SFW & NSFW Limitations and disclaimers.

( + ) I will write fics for any Apex Legends character. Please specialize if your request is NSFW or SFW, and please be as specific as possible so that I can provide exactly what you’re looking for. 

( - ) I have the jurisdiction to decline requests as I see fit, though I don’t really see this happening!

You can find all of my works on AO3.

[maybemanymuses]

Apex Legends Masterlist

Anita Williams _BANGALORE_

Nothing here yet...

Obi Edolasim _SEER_

Nothing here yet...

Ramya Parekh _RAMPART_

Nothing here yet...

Jackson "Jackie" Williams _NEWCASTLE_

Nothing here yet...

Other legends will be added soon!

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Rampart: Are you going to tell me to stay away from your girl? Crosshair: If I had to do that, she wouldn't be my girl. Rampart: Well, then I guess you've got nothing to worry about, do you, Crosshair? Crosshair: It must burn you up that a clone like me saved you from prison, huh? Gotta' be careful. I might not be there next time. Oh, and Rampart - stay away from my girl.

[marsbar17]

Here's a part 3 to Apex Legends figuring out you're a masochist. there'll probably only be one or two more parts so let me know if you want more! And requests for your favorites are always welcome :)

CONTAINS: NSFW, overstimulation, understimulation, sex toys, bondage, spanking, size kinks, strap ons, crying, slapping, choking, slight exhibitionism

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Rampart

Okay look, this woman is an engineer and a girlboss, she will build makeshift fuck machines. Shes super into testing your limits and overstimulating/understimulating you until you're numb. She's honestly probably the one that asked you about it instead of the other way around. When you agree, and even show an interest in it, she gets that look in her eyes that says "you might regret that." But even when you're 10 orgasms deep and she's still got a vibrator on high attached to your most sensitive parts, you don't regret a thing.

"Crying already? Wanna tap out? Or are you too tired to even speak, doll."

Overstimulation, understimulation, so so so many toys, especially vibrators. She wont really hurt you other than maybe tying you down a little too tight.

•Horizon

Okay, she's just too nice for this prompt, I just want her to hug me :(

She'd probably hug you when you tell her you're into pain dhdhnsja, like "oh dear, who hurt you." She'd somehow find a way to make you feel the same pleasure without the pain part. She's just fully praise and soft touches, she'd make you feel so safe and nice. I'm sorry to all the masochistic Horizon simps but if you specifically request it I can try to do it.

•Fuse

SPANKING, SSSPPPANNNKKIIINNGGG, SPANKING AND SIZE KIIIINKKK. Look, this man would fix all of my daddy issues if he was real, that's all I gotta say about that. It starts off as him lightly spanking you to get you to ride him harder, but your reaction makes him do it harder next time. It's his favorite thing, watching the way the skin of your ass gets red and ripples everytime he spanks you. Sometimes he'll even do it with his metal hand for a change, never too hard, just for a different feeling. He also gets really fixated on the sight of him thrusting into you, he loves to watch as you stretch around him. He'll even buy bigger toys just to see you stretch around something bigger, hissing when the stretch is too much.

"What a pretty sight you are, all red and sensitive. Taking me so good, pup."

Please make this man real, I'm begging sjhdjsja

•Valkyrie

This is the type of woman to sit back and watch you bounce on her strap while she occasionally thrusts up or spanks you to get you to go faster. She's not into hardcore sadism masochism stuff, but she'll spank you, grab you, pull your hair, anything to get you crying pathetically on her cock.

"Look at what a mess you are, baby. It's so fucking hot."

Spanking, hair pulling, light slapping, light choking, overstimulation, all that type of stuff. She just wants to see you crying your eyes out cuz it's so good. Any makeup you have on is sure to be running down your face way before she's even close to done with you. She takes pictures too, and sends them to her friends just to show how much of a slut you are for her.

•Seer

Look, this man in also an angel, the best you're getting is the burning stretch from his dick or the way he makes sure to go deep enough to hit your cervix (if you're femme) with every thrust. Other than that, he's slow and soft and just wants you to feel like you're in heaven.

"It's too deep? Nonsense, love. There's no such thing as too deep."

Man's a fan of understimulation, just making it so you cum even harder when the time comes. He wants to see every reaction your body has, every twitch of your legs, every deep shuttering breath you take, every feature of your face as you get the most overwhelming orgasm you've had in weeks. He's into art afterall, and you're the perfect canvas to paint.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Requesting takes like 30 seconds and helps me know what to write, so please do!

[your-poetic-lifeline]

How the Legends Would React to A Confession

I don’t know, just a simple idea to start myself off! hopefully everyone’s in character or at least not too far off the mark.

characters included: lifeline, rampart, ash

consists of: the reader’s hypothetical confessions, some instances of rejection but nothing too harsh.

word count: 500

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

Lifeline

“Ha! You serious?”

Lifeline is quite amused, taking on a teasing tone while trying to see why you like her. She’s leaning in with her elbows propped on D.O.C. and definitely getting a kick out of your nervousness if you’re the type to get flustered. If she likes you back, that’s when her tone sweetens and she may even seem a tad shy herself while letting you know the feeling is reciprocated. Would likely plan an outing with you before you part ways.

If she doesn’t like you back though, she’s still just as caring while letting you down slowly. She really appreciates the honesty and it probably makes you closer friends.

“Chin up, eh? You’re still my friend. I’m still with you.” While patting your shoulder or hand with a warm smile.

Rampart

Actually, how likely is she to be attracted to someone? I feel like it’s rare for her. More people have probably liked her than she could even reciprocate?

Any confession she’s gotten, she’s brushed it off with a laugh and brash response.

“Really now? Somethin’ wrong with your head, mate?”

It probably takes her a moment to gauge how serious you are when you confess. Past confessions were from people who didn’t know what all they’d be getting into. Honestly, I think the most fitting reaction for her would be a rejection.

“Sorry, but you’re gonna have to find some other bloke to fancy. Got other things in my life to focus on.”

But let’s say she reciprocates. She goes a bit quiet, brows raised and blinking like an owl before she forms her words.

”Well… wow. Thanks… uh… wanna grab a pint?”

Ash

Maybe Ash is more likely to reject a confession as well? I just like the idea of her accepting it. Begrudgingly at that since she’s supposed to be apathetic and level headed in her idea of perfection.

“Unacceptable.”

Her tone is shocked, but adamant. If she likes you, this confession of yours shook up her steady process of ignoring her own feelings. But she has harbored a peculiar liking towards you, so a side of her finds it hard to say no. She finds your bravery somewhat commendable as well. It’s not everyday someone confesses to a murder bot.

After seeing the dejected look on your face at her initial reaction, it makes her feel something adjacent to guilt. That look alone convinces her to be more honest in her response. She’s not supposed to be feeling anything, but she does; and it’s because of you unfortunately.

Her back is towards you as she shakes her head with a troubled sigh. She walks off, and you think this is her rejecting you. But then she speaks again.

“Not a very ideal outcome…” Given that she usually doesn’t tolerate distractions to begin with, “But perhaps one i am fine with.”

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

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[queenofspades6]

Batchers HELP PLEASE

Where can I watch Episode 14 S3 of The Bad Batch??? It would mean a lot!

[r-ando-m-w-rite-r]

Seven Minutes Before Heaven

octane x FEM!reader

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

You yelped as you were tossed into a small storage closet located in the back of the common room. Hitting the concrete wall with a thud, you slowly slid down it. That was going to leave a bruise. The air was knocked out of you as you closed your eyes in a dull pain. Touching down on the floor, you looked up just in time to see Octavio being thrown in as well. Before you could stop him, he landed on top of you, letting out a loud ‘oof’.

“See you two in seven minuteees!” Ramya said in a cheerful voice, holding out the last syllable of the word ‘minute’ and hitting a high note. With that, the door slammed shut, leaving only the glow of the stim that Octavio carried with him everywhere lighting the room.

You groaned, squinting your eyes. That was when you realized he was still on you, and when you looked up, his face was right in front of yours. He stared down at you, and he seemed a little taken back by the position the two of you were in. His arms were placed on either side of you, and his legs were conveniently straddling you. How had he managed to land like that?

His eyes drew your attention, however. They sparkled in the dim, green glow coming from his side. They were wide and a little puzzled-looking, but they were mesmerizing. Ramya had been right; maybe the two of you should make out. You didn’t realize it, but you were slowly leaning forward. Closing your eyes and parting your lips ever so slightly, you waited. And waited. Ok, what was he doing?

“Uh, sooo, is this the part where we kiss, chica?” Your eyes snapped open and you glared at him. Shaking your head, you sighed.

“Oh, Tavi..” you groaned. With that, you pushed him off of you, and he yelped. Flailing backwards, he hit the door with a loud bang. 

“Ouch.” he said, both to you and to his shoulder, which he rubbed briefly. You listened closely and heard the other Legends talking outside.

“Damn, they must be getting frisky in there.” That voice sounded like Kairi. A few chuckles sounded, and Ramya replied, “Well, he does have some robotic thrusters on him.” More laughter occurred, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

Ever since you had told Ramya that you may or may not have had a crush on the speedy daredevil, she had literally gone out of her way to get you alone with him. Whether it was at Paradise Lounge and forcing-no, inviting him to come to your table or in the games when the two of you were put into a squad and she made him give you his good loot. You still cringed to it now.

“Now go up to her like a real man and give her it.” Ramya had whispered, thinking you hadn’t heard it with your back turned to the replicator.

“B-But I just found it-” he muttered sadly.

“Uh, uh, uh.” she said, clicking her tongue. “Go.”

You turned around to see an unhappy Octane holding out a purple body shield. “Here Y/n.” he mumbled, not making eye contact with you. 

As much as you knew it would start something, you couldn’t stand seeing him that upset. “No, it’s okay Tavi, you can keep it.” He perked up just then, either because of you using his nickname or the idea that he could keep his discovered loot. 

He eagerly looked back at Rampart, looking like an excited puppy wagging its tail. But she just shook her head. His energy re-deflated, and he turned back to you, thrusting the armor out farther. “No, really, I insist.”

You really wished you had never told Ramya in the first place. It was sweet of her to try and make things work, really. But her actions were doing more damage to a potential future relationship than anything else. Octavio was pretty oblivious, but you could tell even he could pick up a few things.

“Chica.” he muttered, drawing you out of your thoughts. His voice was in a more serious tone now, despite his aloofness out in the common room only what seemed like moments before. He was looking down, but as he said this, he looked up at you. “I know you like me.”

You sucked in a breath. Who told him? Or had it really been that obvious, even before all of Ramya’s shenanigans? You opened your mouth to explain, but he continued. “And the truth is, I like you too.” His confession knocked the air out of you. He did? You stared into his eyes, and he stared back. But then his gaze averted yours. 

“But it just seemed like Ramya was trying to force something that wasn’t there, a-and it made me uncomfortable.” He ran his right hand up and down his left arm, which was bracing him on the ground. “A-And I didn’t know how to respond.” He closed his eyes, seemingly awaiting a disappointed comment from you or something.

It felt like the two of you were worlds apart, despite only being on opposite sides of the room. You felt so bad for him, but just didn’t know how to express it. That kind of discomfort and pressure was relatable, as you had dealt with matchmaker tenancies before. It was just different seeing it take a toll on someone other than yourself.   

Before you even thought about what you were doing, you scooted across the floor and leaned into the boy, wrapping him in a hug. Burying your face into his chest, you felt him freeze, obviously a little taken back by the abrupt reaction. But after a moment, you felt him melt into your touch and begin humming. It felt nice comforting him. You looked up into his face, and this time he leaned in. Oh, you definitely wanted this. 

But before your lips could touch his, the door was pulled open, and your weight combined with Octavio’s own weight sent you two crashing down to the floor between the doorway. Your head hit his chest hard, and he let out another ‘oof’. You groaned and sat up, looking up. Around the two of you stood all the Legends at the party. You noticed Gibby and Ajay holding in what looked like giggles and you squinted suspiciously at them.

“Uh, Y/n, well, you uhhh…” Elliot started, but Ramya stepped forward, a sneaky grin on her face.

“Well would you look at that, it seems you and Tavi had a pretty fun time in there.” she smirked. You raised an eyebrow before looking down and flushing at what they all meant. You were straddling his hips. He was looking up at the others with a half-grin on his face, his Adam's apple bobbing with each breath. Upon looking back at you, he smiled reassuringly.

“No worries chica, I love you anyway, so I don’t care what position you put me in.” He winked and you snorted, ten times more embarrassed than before because he had said that in front of everyone. Ajay fake-gagged, to some of the Legend’s amusement, and you watched as Natalie turned to Renee, frowning.

“I wish you were that open about us in public.” she muttered before storming off.

Renee frowned, then growled, then shouted to her, “What? You want me to talk about how you were begging for my touch last night?” A series of ‘ooos’ went up as she then proceeded to storm after her now-embarrassed girlfriend and hug her passionately. 

You also caught Taejoon giving Elliot a sly side glance before Elliot raised up his hands and protested. “No, NO! Don’t you dare, or else.” he said, backing away from the group. You chuckled at this as you pulled yourself off of Octavio, reaching down and pulling him up with his hand as well.

He just frowned and gave you puppy eyes. “Aww, but I liked the feeling of you on my d-” You clapped a hand over his mouth before he could continue, and Ramya just chuckled as the group began dispersing. 

“That’s enough from you, mister.” you replied quickly, grabbing his hand and beginning to drag him back to the center of the common room where everything was set up. You weren’t sure where this newfound cockiness of his had come from, but you were already tired of it.

“Wait.” You turned back impatiently, ready to roll your eyes at him, but he acted before you could. You squeaked as he pulled you close to him suddenly, so close that your chest was up against his. Looking into your eyes deviously, he said, “I still want that kiss.” You opened your mouth to respond, but his lips crashed against yours before you could say anything. 

Quickly melting into his kiss, you couldn’t help but reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. He squeezed you even closer, tugging at your hips and completely pushing the air out of your lungs. The two of you continued for what felt like hours as you enjoyed each other’s presence, forgetting about the others that would glance over every now and then and chuckle at the two of you mischeviously. Now this, this was the true ‘seven minutes in heaven’.

[babiebomsmasterlist]

For all your Apex needs!

Headcanons

Would I give them Head?

Oneshots

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Reader insert Fics

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[animecinnamonroll99]

Octane x FEM!Reader pt. 14

Sorry for the long wait! Just some reminders, the Spanish may be a little off since I use what I can remember and word reference I try not to use google much if at all. Any missing ` or ~ in the Spanish is from not being able to copy and paste. If anyone knows how to get my laptop keyboard to type proper Spanish and can help me with correct phrasing please let me know. I do my best to make this story entertaining and as accurate to lore and language as I can.

sincerely, animecinnamonroll <3

Masterlist

back to the love story below. I DO NOT OWN THE SONGS OR CHARACTERS!

Te amo mucho- I love you very much

A few hours of mingling and taking photos with random sponsors for both the Silva’s company and the games music started to play and Tavi left me with Walter so he could ‘tear up the dancefloor’. Walter and I gave each other knowing glances and chuckled. Bloodhound joins us a few minutes later shaking their head “He really knows how to make things….interesting.” Muttering an agreement Walter goes to say something, only to be cut off “So there’s the sexy lady.” A shiver runs down my spine in disgust. “I don’t know why you’re avoiding me, unless it’s because you find me so damn attractive.”  Mr. Silva’s hand goes to touch my back, but I move just in time. “Hey Bloth, do you know where Ajay is? I need her to help me with something.” 

When Bloodhound started to lead me away the song playing changed to ‘Hero’ by Enrique Iglesias comes on and a streak of green comes barreling towards me. “Chica!!! It’s our song!” He screeches as he grabs me and leads me to the dance floor. Pressing me against him, Tavi rested one hand on the small of my back and the other grabbed mine. Swaying us around Tavi started softly humming along to the song and after a little while he started to softly sing the lyrics in my ear. Laying my head down on his shoulder, I close my eyes and relax into him. Unknown to me everyone was watching us dance. Tavi leans close to my ear and whispers “Te amo mucho” as the song ends.  Keeping an arm wrapped around me, Tavi leads me off the dancefloor and over to Ajay, who’s waiting at a table for us. “You two are the envy of every couple in here.” she greets as we sit down. Tavi chuckles and pulls my chair closer as Anita, Ramya, Makoa, Renee and Eliot sit with us. Everyone else went to find their seats and the noise lowered to a hum once everyone was settled. “Thank you all for being here to celebrate the Apex games and the endorsements of my son Octavio Silva. Tonight is a monumental moment as we welcome a new season and a new legend from the competitors. At the end of the night Blisk will tell us who’s the newest legend, but for now let’s eat and celebrate those who have been here since the beginning and those who have joined us thus far!” As soon as Edwardo finished his speech everyone broke out in a round of applause and the wait staff brought out the first meal of the evening. 

Several hours of parting really started to wear me down. “Tavi, I’m heading off to bed soon.” I let the speedster know of my plans. “Make sure you take one of the chicas with you just in case mi amor.” I nod as we walk off to find someone to walk with me to my room. After a minute or two we happened to run into Anita and Ramya. “Can you guys go with (Y/N) to her room so that she can sleep without the old man trying to sneak in on her?” Tavi asked them and after a moment of consideration they let us know that they were planning on retiring soon as well. 

Linking arms with the two we start up the stairs to the room I would be staying in. We were none the wiser to the hatted male watching us walk up the stairs and start following as soon as he knew we wouldn't catch him. 

Getting to my room went smoothly and the girls stayed to help me out of the dress and take all of the hair pins Loba used out of my hair. Once I was bobby pin and dress free Anita and Ramya left the room while I headed into the bathroom. Once in the bathroom I twisted the knobs to get the water to the right temperature to start filling the bath. Remembering the bubble bath that was snuck into my bag before we left, I grab a robe and tie it around my waist. 

[b-a-n-a-n-a-ss]

Fire house boys x reader - Living At The ForeHouse pt.3

Part 3 of my Emergency! Series/part story.

Summary: the reader has had a horrible day and she misses her mom. She doesn’t want to go to the boys so she goes to Dixie instead.

Warnings: sadness, parental death, hypothermia, self harm.

Characters:

Roy Desoto

Johnny gage

Hank Stanley

Chet Kelly

Marco Lopez

Mike stoker

Kelly Brackett

Dixie McCall

———————————

“You okay?” Daniel asked me as I shut my locker and grabbed my backpack.

“No.” I said softly. Daniel wrapped his free arm around my waist and hugged me into his side. He led me to his car and opened the door for me. I climbed in and set my backpack on my lap.

Daniel rounded the car and got in. He looked at me sadly and kissed my cheek. Then we started driving.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked me.

“Uh, not right now. I’m sorry Daniel.” I told my boyfriend.

“No it’s okay baby, don’t be sorry. We’ll talk when you’re ready.” He said giving me a small sad smile. I nodded and held his hand.

Who would I be able to talk to about these feelings? The men would just hug me and tell me it’s okay but I didn’t want that. I only really have one female role model in my whole life. Sure Roy’s wife, Joanne is so sweet but I only see her at least once every month.

I could go to Dixie about this. I just wouldn’t want to bother her.

“Hey Daniel, instead of the fire station can you drop me off at rampart?” I asked him. He nodded and squeezed my hand.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” He asked me jokingly.

I laughed a little, “no I’m not.” I said playfully.

Daniel smiled and we pulled up to the hospital. He parked in a empty space and we kissed.

“Promise me you will be okay?” He made me promise. I promised and I got out of the car with my backpack. I walked into the huge hospital and went for the elevator and pushed the floor button Dixie worked on. It moved me up to the correct floor and I got off it.

As I walked down the hall I felt a little guilty. I didn’t want to distract her from patients. As I started to think about it I could handle my feelings on my own, I started to cry.

First it was soft tears but then I was sobbing quietly. I opened the door to the reception room and turned to the reception nurse.

“H-hi Michelle, c-can you call Dixie up here for me?” I asked the older lady. She nodded and gave me a sad smile. The lady called for Dixie and I waited beside the desk.

Many people were looking at me and would whisper to the people with them. I bit my lip and wrapped my arms around my waist and I waited for Dixie.

I saw her and her eyes immediately went soft and she grabbed my hand and led me to Dr.Bracketts office. She set me in his big leather chair and set my bag beside the desk.

I was still sobbing and she gave me a tight hug. She rubbed my back and I sobbed into her chest.

“What’s wrong y/n?” She asked me as she pulled away and pulled up a chair beside me.

“I miss my mom. I need her I miss her I can’t do this without her.” I cried. Dixie frowned and rubbed my back.

“I miss her so much.” I sobbed. I could see from all my tears and it was getting hard to breath. It felt like my lungs were shrinking. I started to hyperventilate and I grabbed Dixie lightly by her arm and started to freak out.

“I can’t breath. I can’t breath!” I sobbed more. Dixie quickly grabbed my hands and held them loosely in her lap.

“Okay breath with me y/n it’s okay.” She said as she did some breathing exercises with me. By the time I could breath again Dr.Brackett was entering the room.

He furrowed his eyebrows when he saw me but then his face was full of knowing. He pulled up another chair on my other side. I was still crying a little but not as bad.

“Hi y/n.” He said softly as he tucked my hair behind my ear.

“Hey Dr.Brackett. I can leave if you need me to. I just needed someone to be there for me.” I said quietly.

Dr.Brackett shook his head and put a hand on my shoulder.

“You can stay as long as you need. You’re missing your mother aren’t you?” He asked me.

I choked on my breath and stared to cry again as I nodded. He rubbed my back and I cried for a couple more hours.

—————————

Dixie drove me to the fire station and when I entered all the men looked at me. I gave them a small sad smile and went into my room. I dropped my bag beside my bed and went to my bathroom. I turned the water on and stepped into my stand up shower.

The water soaked my clothes almost immediately and made them stick to my body. My black pants, now even darker and were suctioned to my lower body. My pink shirt with flower designs now a dark pink and also sticking to my upper body. You could see my bra outline clear as day and even the dark color of it a little.

I sat on the ground of my shower and pulled my knees up to my chest. I rested my chin on my knee and I cried more. I miss her so much.

I have no idea how long I stayed like that. Even when all the hot water ran out and it was freezing cold I stayed in the same position, crying.

My dad, Johnny and Marco knocked on my bathroom sore to ask if I was okay and I always said I was. I knew I shouldn’t have been isolating myself like this, especially when my dad is hurting about my mom too. But I just wanted to be alone and be numb.

The cold water numbed my body enough for me to not be able to move my fingers. I started to get tired and I felt my eyes grow heavy and start to shut.

But then my bathroom door slammed open and all the guys stood there at the door. I couldn’t move my head to look at the men. I felt so weak.

All at once again, the men rushed to me and started to aid me.

Roy turned off the water and Johnny got a towel and handed it to my dad. He wrapped me in it and picked me up, carrying me to my bed. Chet sat down three towels so I would get my bed wet, then my dad laid me down on my bed.

Roy quickly took my temperature and waited. It was tense in the room and no words were spoken.

Then when Roy pulled back the thermometer he winced.

“It’s 94 Fahrenheit .” He said with a sad voice.

“I can call Joanne and ask her to come and help y/n change.” Roy said as he rushed out of the room. Johnny and my dad were rubbing my body with warm towels from the dryer.

Then in what felt like seconds Joanne came rushing in the room. She came to me and moved my hair out of my face.

“Alright guys get out, I’ll be fast.” She shoved all the men out and shut my bedroom door.

The older woman helped me stand up and strip me of my clothes. She got more warm towels and dried my body off. She helped me walk over to my bed once more and I sat down on one of the towels. She searched through my dresser and pulled out some underwear, shorts and an old grey stripped shirt that used to belong to Chet.

She dressed me then dried out my hair carefully with a warm towel and a hot hair dryer. She brushed out my hair gently and then helped me brush my teeth.

She then helped me to the bed and threw all the towels in the dirty towels bin and tucked me into bed.

When she finished everything she hugged me. And I hugged her back.

“Thank you Joanne.” I told her weakly. She smiled and kissed me on my head. She took my hand in hers and smiled.

“I’ll go tell the guys you’re done.” She said as she squeezed my hand. Then she left the room.

Soon all the men piled in my room and gently asked how I was feeling. My dad sat beside me on my bed while Johnny, Roy and Marco stood beside the bed. Mike and Chet were at the foot of the bed.

“What’s wrong y/n?” My dad asked. Tears spilled from my eyes and my dad pulled me into a hug.

“I miss mom.” I sobbed and buried my face into my dads chest. All the men frowned and sighed lightly.

“Can you guys give us a minute.” My dad announced to his men. They all nodded and left my room, closing the door behind them.

“I kiss her so much.” I cried. My dad squeezed me lightly and cradled my head to his chest.

“I miss her too.” He said quietly as he started to rock me back and fourth.

“You were her pride and joy y/n. She love you so much, probably even more than me. She was so happy when she found out she was pregnant with you.” My dad said as he rested his head on top of mine.

“We were only twenty three but we were so happy to start a family. When you were born she spent every minute she could with you. She loved you so much. We wanted to give you a little sibling when you turned eight. But that’s when she got sick.” He continued. I buried my head deeper into my dads chest and he kissed my head.

He turned and grabbed a framed picture from my nightstand and held it in his lap. I pulled away from our hug and laid my head on his shoulder. I looked at the picture and smiled.

It was a picture of me, my dad and my mom when we went to Silver Dollar City for my eighth birthday. She got sick later that year and suffered for four more years until she died. I was 13 and she and my dad were 36.

“She was so beautiful.” I said as I admired her beautiful hair and her gorgeous smile.

“You looked like her. Your e/c eyes are just like hers. And your beautiful y/h/c hair is just how hers was. She loves you y/n, I love you too.” My dad said. I yawned lightly and my dad kissed my forehead.

He got up from my bed and tucked me in. He gave me one last kiss on my head and bid me Goodnight. Then I fell asleep.

[pucksandpower]

Something Sweet

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the story of your relationship … as told through gelato (in honor of Charles opening an ice cream shop)

The warm spring sun beats down on your face as you stroll along the winding streets of Monaco, gelato in hand. You savor each sweet bite, the rich hazelnutty flavor melting across your tongue.

This is bliss.

You just moved here to attend university and every day feels like a dream come true exploring your new home principality.

The picturesque buildings with their sun-baked stucco walls and colorful tiled roofs line the narrow alleyways. Locals bustle about, chatting rapidly in French as scooters whiz by. The air carries a tang of salt from the glittering Mediterranean just beyond the palace ramparts.

You could get used to this.

Suddenly, a body careens around the corner, slamming right into you. You stumble backward as the gelato goes flying, splattering across the quaint cobblestones in a sticky mess.

“Oh mon dieu, I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” A frantic voice rings out as a pair of strong hands steady you before you can topple over completely.

You look up, slightly dazed, into a pair of warm green eyes filled with concern. The man is clad in athletic shorts and a snug t-shirt, damp with sweat from an obvious run. Tousled chestnut hair flops across his forehead in an effortlessly tousled way.

He’s … incredibly handsome.

Like, stupid levels of handsome.

“I’m fine, really,” you stammer out, feeling your cheeks flush as his hands linger almost ... protectively on your arms. “Just clumsy me dropping my gelato.”

He grimaces, following your gaze to the melting puddle. “I’m such an idiot, let me replace that for you.” His face is the picture of remorse as he gently releases his grip.

You wave him off with an awkward chuckle. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal ...”

But he’s already shaking his head adamantly. “No, no I insist. That looked delicious and it’s entirely my fault.” He shoots you a lopsided grin that makes your heart skip a beat. “I know this amazing little place that makes the best gelato in Monaco. My treat to make up for barreling into you like that.”

You can’t help but be charmed by his earnestness as you nod slowly in acceptance. “Well, when you put it like that ...”

“Perfect!” He beams at you, that bright smile crinkling the corners of his eyes in the most delightful way. “I’m Charles, by the way.”

You introduce yourself as well as Charles begins leading you deeper into the winding backstreets, clearly knowing exactly where he’s going. You can’t help stealing sidelong glances at him as you walk, admiring the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders visible through his fitted shirt.

Finally, he ducks into a tiny alleyway, stopping before an unassuming doorway you surely would have just passed right by. A faded sign hangs above reading Gelatomania in curling script.

“This place is my favorite,” Charles confides in a conspiratorial murmur as he holds the door for you. “Family-run for generations and miles better than any of the touristy places.”

You step inside and are immediately enveloped in a thick, sugary aroma that makes your mouth water. A few little metal tables with rickety chairs are squeezed into the compact space, but it’s the immaculate glass cases lining the walls that draw your eye.

Filled with every flavor imaginable, the gelato looks utterly divine — from naturally green pistachio to decadent chocolate hazelnut to tangy lemon. An older woman with a grandmotherly face greets Charles like an old friend in rapid Italian from behind the counter.

He responds easily in kind before turning back to you. “What’ll it be? I recommend the hazelnut again if you liked your first one.”

You nod and watch, utterly charmed, as Charles places your order for a fresh hazelnut gelato with a deferential “per favore” and that knee-weakening smile of his. He gets a simple vanilla for himself before paying and leading you over to a little iron table outside in a sliver of sunshine.

You take your first bite and … oh my god. This is gelato from the heavens themselves. You can’t contain the downright blissful moan that escapes your lips as the divinely creamy, rich concoction melts across your tongue.

“Good, right?” Charles looks incredibly pleased at your rapturous reaction as he digs into his own treat with gusto.

“This might be the single most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” you admit fervently between increasingly enthusiastic licks and bites. “How have I survived this long without knowing this place existed?”

Charles throws his head back with a full-bellied laugh at your passionate proclamation. God, even his laugh is unfairly attractive ...

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he grins around a mouthful of velvety vanilla. “I’ve been coming here since before I could walk. Quickly became my favorite gelato spot.”

“You’ve lived here a while then?” You ask between savoring bites of the impossibly luscious confection. “I only just moved for university.”

Charles nods as he licks a stray drip from his thumb. “Yeah, born and raised a few streets over actually.”

There’s a slight lull as you both focus on thoroughly demolishing your gelato for a few contented minutes, exchanging occasional muffled hums of sheer delight. The warm sun filtering through the awning casts a soft golden glow over the little alleyway, lending everything a dreamlike haze of perfection.

“So beyond being from here, do you have any exciting hobbies or interests?” You ask eventually, dragging the conversation back into the open.

“Well ...” Charles’ expression morphs into one of almost sheepish amusement as he leans back in his rickety chair. “You could say my hobby is also kind of my job. I’m actually a Formula 1 driver, believe it or not.”

You damn near choke on your next bite as his words register. “You’re what? As in ... a race car driver? In Formula 1? Seriously?”

There’s no way this stunning man is being truthful. Sure, he looks like he could be some kind of athlete with that perfectly toned physique. But a literal professional race car driver? The thought is almost too crazy to be believed.

Charles just laughs again at your dumbfounded reaction, clearly used to this response as he nods. “Seriously! I compete for Ferrari if you follow the races at all?”

You think you might pass out from shock as everything clicks into place — the athletic build, the way people seemed to stare as he passed them on the street, the laid-back confidence and easy smile of someone incredibly comfortable in their own skin ...

“Oh my god, you’re ... you’re Charles freaking Leclerc, aren’t you?” You gape at him in abject disbelief. “As in, the guy literally plastered on the huge billboard across from my apartment? Leading the championship? Incredibly talented and famous?”

He lets out an almost bashful chuckle at your rapid-fire incredulous questioning, shrugging one broad shoulder. “Well, I don’t know about incredibly talented or famous. But yes, that’s me — just your average local race car driver currently making an absolute mess while eating gelato.”

Here you sit, having just shared an utterly divine dessert while shamelessly ogling one of the most popular and well-known athletes in the damn world … and he’s acting like it’s absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Like you’re just two regular people enjoying a sweet treat together on a sunny day.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation right now,” you murmur, shaking your head slowly. “Do you have any idea how many people would kill to literally just ... sit across from you like this while you eat mediocre gas station ice cream, much less the world’s best gelato? I’m … stunned you’re so nonchalant about this whole thing.”

Charles merely flashes you a self-deprecating grin as he pops the last bite of cone into his mouth. “Well, to me you’re not some screaming fangirl, but just a lovely new friend I enjoy gelato with. Though my ego certainly appreciates the compliments.”

He winks at you impishly and you feel an unwitting smile tugging at the corners of your own lips despite your lingering disbelief. You suppose being surrounded by such incredible wealth and luxury every day in Monaco, Charles likely doesn’t register it anymore. Not to mention the clearly down-to-earth personality he seems to possess given that genuine humility.

The hours just seem to slip effortlessly by then as the two of you continue to chat and laugh and bask in the perfect afternoon contentment of the moment. Charles regales you with ridiculous behind-the-scenes stories about increasingly crazy bets with his friends and crew during the season. You share equally hilarious tales of your own coming-of-age mishaps as an overeager teenager.

At some point, you both reach for your long-empty dishes simultaneously, fingers brushing in a spark of contact that sends your pulse stuttering. Charles doesn’t pull back, letting his hand linger outrageously close to yours as his warm gaze stays locked intensely on your face.

You try to swallow past a suddenly dry throat as the atmosphere shifts abruptly, suddenly heavy with the hot crackle of unmistakable chemistry and unspoken tension. But then, just like that, the moment passes as quickly as it came.

Your phone buzzes loudly in your pocket with a text, the notification startling you both back to reality. Charles sits back, clearing his throat slightly as you pull your hand away to quickly check the message.

It’s from your roommate asking when you’ll be home for dinner and if you need her to start cooking.

You glance up at Charles with an apologetic grimace. “I should probably head back. I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten.”

He blinks rapidly before seeming to visibly shake himself. “Right, of course! Time really got away from us, didn’t it?”

You stand as Charles rises smoothly to his feet as well, shoving both hands casually in his pockets. “So ... I had a really great time with you today,” he says carefully, something almost hesitant flickering across his face. “And I’d love a chance to take you out again sometime soon, if you’re interested? Maybe grab dinner when I’m back in town?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the unmistakable request for an actual date. With Charles freaking Leclerc no less ...

Tamping down your sudden nerves, you nod slowly as a shy smile blossoms on your lips. “I’d really like that,” you admit truthfully. “Let’s definitely do dinner whenever you’re free.”

His whole expression brightens immediately at your affirmation, lips stretching in a wide grin of pure delight. “Perfect! I’ll be back from my next race in just over a week then. How about exchanging numbers so I can let you know as soon as I’ve returned?”

You quickly rattle off your number as Charles punches it into his phone before doing the same for you. As if sealing some unspoken deal, he sticks out his hand to shake yours, that warm roughened grip lingering perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary.

“I’ll text you soon then,” Charles murmurs intently, that spark of heat flickering in his eyes again. “Promise me you’ll say yes this time.”

You can only nod mutely, mouth gone bone-dry at the pointed words and heated look washing over you. Charles maintains that blistering eye contact and heart-stalling grip on your palm for another loaded handful of seconds, leaving you dizzy with giddy anticipation.

Then, just like that, he releases your hand with one final squeeze before taking a step back, seemingly satisfied by your stunned agreement. Charles shoots you one last lingering look and crooked grin before turning to stride easily back the way you came.

You remain rooted in place for a long moment, utterly dazed by the entire surreal scenario as you watch his broad shoulders and narrow waist disappear down the narrow alleyway.

Today started out as any other nothing-out-of-the-ordinary spring day in your new home. But now … now you have an actual date scheduled with an unbelievably charming and disarmingly down-to-earth racing superstar.

A giddy giggle bubbles up from deep in your chest as reality finally settles in. Who could have ever predicted that bumping into your new acquaintance — quite literally — would lead to not only discovering the most heavenly gelato on the planet, but lining up a date with an internationally famous athlete?

Suddenly, your bright future studying in Monaco just got about ten thousand times more interesting …

***

The week passes by in a blur of anticipation after your initial meeting with Charles. You can barely focus during lectures, your mind constantly wandering to that charming grin and those warm eyes crinkling at the corners whenever he laughed.

Finally, the evening you’ve been eagerly awaiting arrives. You’ve just finished getting ready — pulling on a flowy sundress and brushing out your hair one last time — when your phone buzzes with a new text.

I’m outside whenever you’re ready for our date night. Looking forward to seeing you again 😘

You can’t bite back your giddy smile as you quickly reply that you’re heading out before taking one last steadying breath.

It’s just Charles … the internationally famous and absurdly handsome Formula 1 driver you’ve somehow managed to snag a date with.

No big deal at all.

The evening air carries a pleasantly cool breeze as you exit your apartment building, scanning the idling line of vehicles for Charles’ car. You spot him immediately, leaning against the gleaming metallic side of what you now recognize as an eye-wateringly expensive Ferrari.

Charles looks … unfairly gorgeous. He’s shed his athletic wear in favor of a simple white linen shirt and tailored slacks that somehow make him appear even more effortlessly suave. His hair is artfully tousled and damn if those clothes don’t accentuate every hard plane and corded muscle of his built frame.

You must be staring because suddenly Charles is pushing off from the car and straightening to his full height, those intense eyes crinkling warmly as soon as they land on you.

“You look stunning,” he murmurs appreciatively once you’ve drawn closer, making a show of trailing his gaze slowly up and down your figure. You’re abruptly grateful for the dusky twilight hiding your furious blush at the blatant admiration in his tone.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out without your voice shaking too noticeably. “You don’t look half bad yourself, race car man.”

Charles throws back his head with one of those deep-bellied laughs you’re quickly becoming addicted to. “Why thank you, gelato girl.” He shoots you a wink before surprising you by gallantly offering his arm. “Shall we?”

You take it without hesitation, reveling in the solid warmth of his bicep pressed against your side as Charles leads you to the waiting glossy black sports car. He opens the door for you like an old-fashioned gentleman, closing it carefully once you’re tucked inside the buttery leather interior.

The engine roars to life with a powerful rumble and you can’t resist shooting Charles an impressed look as he deftly maneuvers out onto the street.

“You know, I’m starting to think this little hobby of yours might not be too bad of a gig,” you tease lightly, waving a hand at the sleek interior compartment.

“I can’t complain,” Charles volleys back with a crooked grin, seamlessly navigating the tight turns of the old city. “Sometimes they even let me drive in circles really fast just for fun.”

You roll your eyes at his retort, but can’t quite wipe the smile off your face as Charles guns the engine, the car surging forward in a burst of speed and power. Clearly the man knows how to leverage any opportunity to show off those expert driving skills … not that you mind one bit.

Eventually, Charles pulls up in front of an unassuming doorway you never would have noticed tucked down a quiet side street. The understated sign above simply reads Trattoria Giovanni.

“This place has been run by the same Italian family for over fifty years,” Charles explains as he holds the door for you. “Best authentic cuisine in the city, but you would never find it unless you knew where to look.”

The interior appears to have been plucked directly from a rustic Tuscan villa — burnished wooden beams criss-crossing the curved ceilings and terracotta tiles underfoot. You breathe in deeply, savoring the mouthwatering aromas of garlic, tomato sauce, and fresh bread wafting from the open kitchen.

An older man with a thick mustache and crisp white apron greets Charles immediately in fluent Italian, ushering you both back to a cozy alcove table secluded in the very rear. He pours you both generous glasses of deep red wine before disappearing again with a conspiratorial wink in your direction.

“So, how was your race?” You ask between sips once you and Charles are alone, genuinely curious about the difficult career he’s managed to carve out.

He shrugs one broad shoulder almost dismissively. “Decent enough, I suppose. Grabbed another podium finish, but didn’t quite have the pace for the win.” There’s no disappointment or frustration in his tone as he speaks, just a simple statement of fact.

“I’m endlessly in awe that you treat accomplishments like that so casually,” you admit with a shake of your head. “Finishing in the top three in Formula 1 seems like the kind of thing most people would be over the moon about.”

Charles lets out a low chuckle at that, leaning towards you over the small table with eyes twinkling mischievously. “Well maybe I need to find a new way to impress someone like you then.”

You open your mouth to respond with a playful retort of your own, but Charles’ gaze has already strayed to somewhere past your shoulder.

“Ah, perfect timing then. Here’s Giovanni himself with our orders.”

Sure enough, the older man you spotted earlier bustles up with a tray overflowing with piping hot plates of food. He doles out the dishes methodically while rattling off a stream of explanations about preparations and ingredients that have clearly been passed down for many generations.

Everything looks and smells utterly divine — from the heaping bowl of glistening spaghetti blanketed in a simmering tomato sauce to the golden-baked chicken drenched in rosemary and olive oil. The endlessly affable Giovanni even sets down a small ceramic dish full of creamy pale cheese, patting Charles on the shoulder.

“The burrata for you and your lady friend. Freshly made this morning by my wife,” he declares proudly before whisking himself away again.

For the next blissful hour or two, you and Charles completely lose yourselves in this veritable feast for the senses. You savor each and every decadent bite — moaning around the pillowy strands of spaghetti and tearing off chunks of the crusty, herb-brushed breads to soak up the savory juices.

Charles, for his part, dives into the meal with just as much enthusiasm, occasionally reaching over to snag a bite off of your plate until you resort to smacking his wandering fork away between fits of laughter.

Stuffed and utterly content, you both eventually push away your long-cleared dishes to nurse the final sips of your wine as the evening stretches languorously on. You fall into these simple moments like an old habit by now — trading comfortable silences and contented looks between impassioned recounts of childhood anecdotes or musings about life.

Finally, as the candles on the small wooden tables begin to gutter and wane, Charles summons over your waiter to settle the check with a few murmured words and one of those knee-weakening smiles. Rising smoothly, he extends his hand in a wordless invitation for you to join him back out into the balmy evening.

This time, instead of heading for the car, Charles tucks your hand into the crook of his elbow before choosing a new direction — down a maze of narrow streets until you finally emerge along the harbor’s edge. Strings of twinkling lights reflect off the lapping waves while the soft strains of background music filter out from somewhere nearby.

“Feel like grabbing a little dessert to walk off that incredible meal?” Charles asks in a low murmur, bumping your shoulder conspiratorially.

You shoot him an incredulous look even as you nod. “You mean in addition to the literal feast we both just had?”

Charles tugs you closer to his side until your hips graze together as you match strides. “There’s always room for gelato,” he counters with an arched brow. “Besides, when in Monaco ...”

Any further protests die on your lips as Charles guides you around another tight corner to reveal that familiar cheerful gelato shop from your initial meeting. The old woman behind the counter greets you both like regulars already, no doubt thanks to Charles’ frequent patronage.

You maneuver through the small line until it’s your turn to order. “I think I’ll go with the tiramisu flavor this time,” you decide, mouth already watering at the prospect of that rich coffee and creamy goodness. “What about you? Mixing it up or still sticking with the basics?”

Charles shakes his head resolutely as he hands over a few crisp bills to pay for your treats. “Trust me, a heaping helping of simple vanilla is just as gratifying as all those overly complicated flavor combinations.”

You balk at his slander, bumping his shoulder with your own without any real heat. “How dare you insult my incredible palette like that?” You glare at him in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I have some of the most refined gelato taste in all of Monaco now.”

“Oh yeah?” Charles tips his chin down with a challenging smirk twisting his full lips. “Well what if I told you that vanilla is scientifically proven to be the most popular and beloved flavor in existence?”

“By who? Basic boring people?” You volley back mercilessly, eagerly leaning into the playful banter now. “If anything, those findings just demonstrated how sadly uncreative society at large is.”

Charles barks out a booming laugh as he grabs your hand and tugs you back out of the shop, gelato in the other. “You heathen! We’re clearly going to need to educate you on the finer points of flavor appreciation.”

Your eyes narrow dangerously even as you let yourself be lead to a nearby bench overlooking the gently lapping waves. “Oh, you’re on, Leclerc. Let’s see if your vanilla snobbery holds up after a taste of tiramisu heaven.”

You scoop up an exaggeratedly generous spoonful of the divinely rich, creamy gelato and make a show of savoring it with overstated moans of delight. “Oh my god, this is so good. Here, you have to try this! It’s life-changing.”

Charles wrinkles his nose even as you wave the spoonful enticingly in front of him. “Nice try but I would never cheat on vanilla!”

The two of you devolve into helpless laughter at that point, dissolving into breathless giggles over the ridiculous debate getting more outrageous by the minute. Finally, you relent in the battle, settling back into the cool metal of the bench and turning your face up to the inky sea of stars glittering overhead.

“You’re right though — sometimes simple really is best,” you admit finally in a softer tone, slowly licking another sweet bite off your spoon.

Charles hums in agreement next to you, shuffling closer until your arms brush together with body heat and contact. “The classics never go out of style.”

The next comfortable silence stretches out between you as you take your time savoring your treats while simultaneously drinking in the breathtaking view laid out before you. The water laps almost hypnotically at the shoreline, twinkling reflection of docked yachts bobbing gently on the calm surface.

A breeze skates across your bare arms, raising a faint ripple of goosebumps along your skin. Charles notices immediately, shifting even nearer until he can shrug out of the lightweight jacket he had been wearing.

Without a word, he swings the soft fabric around your shoulders, tucking it securely around your front. You burrow instinctively into the material, the lingering body heat and remnants of his cologne wrapping you up in an cocoon of soothing warmth and intoxicating comfort.

With your free hand, you toy idly with the collar until Charles’ arm comes up to curl around your shoulders, effectively enveloping you into his solid frame. You let your cheek tip onto the firm muscle of his arm as Charles squeezes you closer with a contented exhale.

Time becomes meaningless suspended in that perfect sea-side bubble, waves flowing rhythmically while you enjoy every last savored bite of your melting treats. You let the quiet inevitability of dropping your head onto Charles’ shoulder wash over you, his familiar cologne invading your senses until your entire world narrows to just him.

When Charles polishes off the final bite of his cone and you go to shift away, another cool gust skitters across the harbor. He tightens the arm curved around you, making no move to let you up or leave the cozy haven you’ve made.

“I could get used to evenings like this, you know,” he murmurs eventually, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just taking it slow and savoring each other’s company without a single worry or care beyond where to find the best gelato.”

You hum in sleepy agreement, luxuriating in the casual intimacy of having Charles wrapped so protectively around you. Part of you can scarcely believe how instantaneous and natural this connection has blossomed between you already. But another part feels like you’ve finally found your soul’s missing piece slotting seamlessly into place after stumbling around lost and incomplete for so long without ever realizing it.

The two of you remain suspended in that perfect, tranquil bubble for what could be minutes or hours more. You’ve completely lost track of any sense of time beyond the lullaby of the gentle waves and occasional murmur of Charles’ breathing ruffling your hair.

Eventually though, his stirring signals a slow return to the real world as Charles regretfully extricates himself from your entwined position with clear reluctance.

“I should probably get you back before your roommate starts to worry,” he says remorsefully as he slides off the bench to offer you a steadying hand up.

You accept it without hesitation, but can’t resist clinging to his jacket still cocooned around your shoulders, unwilling to shrug off that lingering cocoon of comfort and safety just yet. Charles notices, allowing a tiny grin to quirk one side of his mouth upwards as he takes in your refusal to part with it.

“Looks good on you,” he murmurs with unmistakable heat in those hypnotizing eyes. “I may have to let you hang on to that one for a while.”

Your mouth goes abruptly dry at the blatant implications in his tone, but you manage a coy smile in return as you turn to make your way back towards wherever Charles has his car crookedly parked.

The streets are all but abandoned by the time you arrive at the discreet entrance of your apartment building. Charles hesitates a split second before rounding the front of the gleaming Ferrari to face you properly on the quiet sidewalk.

“Thank you for an incredible evening,” you say honestly, gazing up at his silhouette in the dim glow of the streetlamps. “I don’t think I can even put into words how special you’ve managed to make me feel these past couple weeks.”

His expression softens instantly. One calloused palm comes up to tenderly cup your jaw, tilting your face up towards his with feather-light reverence.

“The pleasure has been all mine, I assure you,” Charles rumbles in a low tone that steals your breath away. “I don’t think you’ll ever realize just how remarkable you are, ma belle.”

Your eyes flutter shut without conscious thought as his nose brushes yours. Charles’ lips glide torturously against your cheek leaving a blazing trail to the very corner of your mouth.

The softest, most infinitely gentle press of satin flesh on flesh and then he’s pulling back — his ragged exhale warm and intoxicating against your tingling lips. You chase his retreat on instinct, but Charles is already withdrawing further with clear reluctance.

“I’m afraid I don’t trust myself to take things slow quite yet if I stay,” he murmurs in a strained rasp, pupils blown wide and dark. “But I do hope you’ll allow me to make this our new gelato tradition from now on ...”

It takes you several faltering attempts to find your voice again, chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of that lightning bolt of affection. Finally, you manage a jerky nod, sliding one trembling hand over his where it still cups your cheek.

“I want that more than anything,” you confess in a hushed tone. “Just ... promise me we’ll see each other soon.”

He releases a shuddering breath of unbridled relief, dipping his forehead to rest against yours. “Soon,” Charles vows lowly. “I promise.”

You stare up into his earnest eyes. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Charles’ lips quirk in that lopsided grin you already adore so much. “I’m counting on it.”

With obvious reluctance, he finally steps away, snagging your hand to press one last searing kiss to your knuckles that has your heart stuttering all over again. Charles holds your gaze as you carefully back away towards the entrance, unwilling or unable to fully turn your back until the very last moment.

You chance a glance over your shoulder as you reach the front doors. Charles is still there, unmoving in a pool of streetlight beside his idling Ferrari, hands shoved in his pockets as he tracks your every step until you’ve slipped safely inside.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, you lean back against the cool stone wall, fingers coming up to ghost across your still-tingling lips almost disbelievingly.

When you finally muster the courage to peek through the glass once more, Charles has moved to lean against the side of his car, head tilted back as he stares into the lobby with an unmistakable softness etched across those chiseled features.

You can’t resist pressing your palm to the pane in a gesture you know he’ll recognize. Sure enough, Charles’ intense gaze instantly snaps to lock on you from across the quiet street, expression melting into pure adoration and wonder. His lips shape the same promise he uttered just moments ago — soon — as your own quirk in a delighted smile.

One last impulsive spark of inspiration has you playfully blowing him a single kiss through the barrier between you. Charles catches the invisible token easily, hand flying up to press over that broad chest as he throws back his head with a laugh that you can’t hear but imagine with vivid clarity.

You stand there transfixed, drinking in every last detail of him — the effortless elegance he carries himself with, the striking planes of his handsome face, and those beautiful eyes glittering with a thousand unspoken promises under the streetlamps.

Finally, with your own vow to reunite pulsing between you, Charles slides behind the wheel of his car. The powerful engine roars to life, twin beams from the headlights sweeping up to briefly wash through the windows of the lobby in a silent farewell before he’s peeling away into the night back towards the glittering city center.

You remain at the entrance for several long minutes basking in the memory of Charles’ phantom embrace still clinging to your skin. Only once his Ferrari has faded into the distance do you finally turn towards the elevator up to your apartment — every footstep lighter than air in the wake of an evening that lived up to even your wildest dreams of romantic splendor.

The simple joy and humble pleasure of a perfect scoop of creamy gelato will always hold untold meaning now as the spark marking the start of something beautiful blossoming between you and Charles.

And, as you finally drift off that night with a permanent smile etched across your face, you know without a shadow of a doubt that no flavor in the world could ever compare to the sweet indulgence of a life together just waiting to be savored and explored.

***

The warm spring breeze carries the sweet floral scents of the Brera Botanical Garden through the air as you stroll hand-in-hand with Charles. His fingers are laced through yours, his thumb gently stroking over your knuckles. You can’t help stealing glances at his handsome profile — the defined jawline, those soft kiss-curled lips, those kind green eyes that always seem to be smiling even when the rest of his face isn’t.

“What are you looking at?” Charles says with an amused grin, catching you staring again. You just shake your head and squeeze his hand tighter.

“Nothing. Just admiring the view,” you tease. Charles laughs that bright, infectious laugh of his that never fails to make your heart flutter.

You come to a stop beneath a blossoming cherry tree, pale pink petals floating down around you. Charles turns to face you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Y/N … there’s something I want to talk to you about,” he begins, suddenly uncharacteristically nervous. You tilt your head curiously. “You know how passionate I am about racing, about Formula 1. It’s been my dream since I was a little boy.”

“Of course,” you nod, unable to stop a small smile. Charles’ love for motorsports is one of the many things you have come to adore about him.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Charles continues, taking both your hands in his. “And I’ve realized that I want to have something else in my life too. A … passion project, you could say. Something that’s away from all the spotlight and pressure.”

Your brow furrows slightly as you try to imagine what he could mean. Charles has spoken before about potentially getting more involved in charity work or environmentalism on top of his racing career. But the almost childlike excitement dancing in his eyes tells you this is something different.

“I’m going to open a gelato shop,” he blurts out finally. You blink dumbly.

“A … gelato shop?” You repeat slowly. Out of all the possibilities, that was definitely not what you were expecting.

“Yes!” Charles grins broadly, clearly delighted by your surprise. “Think about it,Y/N. What’s more perfect than gelato made right here in the heart of Milano? And I’ve already found the ideal location — a little shop just across the street from here. Can’t you just picture it?”

He starts gesturing animatedly, that bright smile never leaving his face as he outlines his grand vision. You can’t help getting caught up in his infectious enthusiasm, even if the idea still seems a bit random.

“I’m going to call it Lec,” Charles says with a proud smile. You let out an undignified snort of laughter.

“Lec? Like your last name?” You shake your head in amusement. He looks almost offended by your reaction.

“No, no, not just my last name,” he corrects you seriously. “Lec as in … our last name. Yours and mine.”

The words hang in the air as realization slowly starts to dawn on you. You open and close your mouth dumbly as Charles takes a deep breath, sliding off the path onto one knee on the ground before you. With shaking hands, he pulls out a small black box from his pocket and flips it open to reveal the most stunning diamond ring you’ve ever seen.

“Y/N Y/L/N … you are my world, my everything,” Charles’ voice is thick with emotion as he gazes up at you. “I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else by my side. I want to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night with you beside me forever.”

Tears are already welling in your eyes, one hand pressed to your trembling lips as you listen to the beautiful words.

“Will you ...” Charles’ voice catches in his throat and he has to clear it before continuing. “Will you do me the greatest honor and become my wife? Will you marry me?”

The last few words come out in a rush of breath. You’re vaguely aware of several other people in the gardens who’ve stopped to watch, but all you can see is Charles’ face — hopeful and vulnerable and so full of pure adoration for you.

“Yes!” You finally manage to choke out through your joyful tears. “Oh my god, yes! Yes of course I’ll marry you!”

Pure relief and blissful ecstasy bursts across Charles’ face at your answer. With hands trembling just as badly as yours, he eases the glittering ring out of the box and onto your finger where it nestles perfectly, the diamond catching the dappled sunlight.

Before you can even look at it properly, Charles is on his feet again, pulling you into his embrace and spinning you around in a deliriously happy circle. You cling to him, laughing and crying at the same time as he peppers every inch of your face with kisses — your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

Finally, inevitably, his mouth finds yours in a long, deep, loving kiss that has your knees feeling weak. You get lost in the warmth of his arms around you, the gentleness of his hands cradling your face, the tenderness of his soft lips moving reverently against yours.

When you finally part, you’re both smiling so much it almost hurts, foreheads pressed together as you share the same breath. Charles brushes away a few stray tears on your cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

“I love you so much, mon cœur,” he murmurs softly. You mouth the words back to him before stealing another lingering kiss.

Hand-in-hand once more, Charles leads you out of the botanical gardens and across the street. You come to a stop in front of a quaint yet sizable storefront, the windows covered in brown paper and a faded For Lease sign still hanging crookedly in the door.

“Here it is,” Charles says, gesturing up at the building with undisguised pride. “What do you think?”

You take it in slowly, trying to envision what the space might look like once renovated and filled with cozy seating and the alluring scents of freshly-made gelato.

You picture the two of you working side-by-side behind the counter when Charles doesn’t have a race, laughing and bantering as you serve up delicious treats for smiling customers.

It’s such an endearingly normal, domestic dream compared to the fast-paced frenzy of the Formula 1 lifestyle. But standing here with your new fiancé, it feels absolutely perfect.

“I think … I think it’s going to be incredible,” you lean into Charles’ side and wrap your arms around his trim waist. He responds by kissing your temple and pulling you closer.

“Just think,” he says happily, his warm breath ruffling your hair. “We’ll be the owners of the best little gelateria in all of Milano.

“Sounds like heaven,” you smile. “Just be sure to make plenty of hazelnut and tiramisu for me.”

“Done and done,” he promises solemnly. “Though you know vanilla will always be number one in my book.”

“Oh really?” You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “Is that so?”

Without warning, you loop your arms around Charles’ neck and pull him in for a long, lingering kiss. You can feel him melting into your embrace, his arms snaking securely around your waist.

When you finally manage to pull apart again, you’re both slightly flushed and out of breath. Charles’ usually perfectly tousled hair is charmingly mussed from running your fingers through it. He looks at you with such naked affection and desire that your heart flutters.

“You know what?” He murmurs huskily, resting his forehead against yours. “I take it back. You’re definitely my favorite flavor. And I can’t wait to start this next chapter with you, mon amour.”

And with that promise lingering sweetly between you, Charles takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply once more, pouring every ounce of his devotion into the embrace.

You can taste forever on his lips.

When you finally part, grinning giddily at each other, Charles takes your hand and leads you back towards your next adventure. Whatever lies ahead, you know you’ll take it on fearlessly and joyously, side-by-side with the man you love more than anything in this world.

***

The reception hall is a whirlwind of joy and celebration as you take in the scene, your heart overflowing with love and happiness. The elegant decorations, the twinkling lights, and the smiling faces of your loved ones surrounding you all blur together in a beautiful haze.

You can scarcely believe this day has finally arrived — the day you’ve dreamed of for so long.

You turn to Charles, his warm green eyes sparkling with so much love, and your breath catches in your throat. He looks devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his million-watt smile making your knees go weak.

This incredible man is now your husband.

“Hey you,” he murmurs, taking your hand and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “Having fun, mon amour?”

A joyful laugh escapes your lips as you nod enthusiastically. “More than I ever thought possible. I’m just … I’m so happy, Charles. I can’t believe we’re actually married!”

He chuckles, that rich laugh that never fails to make you melt. “Believe it, Mrs. Leclerc. You’re stuck with me forever now.” His expression softens as he cups your cheek tenderly. “I love you so much. I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

You lean into his touch, savoring the moment. “I love you too, Mr. Leclerc. More than anything.”

A throat clears behind you, and you whirl around to see Arthur, your new brother-in-law, grinning mischievously.

“If you two lovebirds are done making everyone else nauseous, it’s time to cut the cake!” He teases, jerking his head towards the lavish gelato cake that sits on the dessert table.

Charles throws his head back with a laugh. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have someone as amazing as my wife to make gooey eyes at.”

Arthur rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Whatever. Get your butts over there before I eat the whole thing myself.”

With a wink at you, Charles takes your hand and leads you towards the dessert table, the crowd of guests parting like the Red Sea to let you through. Your heart does a little flip as the magnificent gelato cake comes into view — a towering masterpiece of creamy gelato in vanilla, hazelnut, and tiramisu, all artfully swirled together and decorated with fresh fruit and chocolate shavings.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper in awe, giving Charles’ hand a squeeze.

He pulls you into his side with a content smile. “Not as perfect as you.”

The crowd applauds as you approach the cake, and a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles rises up. Straightening your shoulders with a grin, you pick up the gleaming cake knife and lock eyes with Charles, suddenly feeling bold.

“Ready to do this, husband?” You ask with a teasing lilt.

His eyes blaze with undisguised desire. “More than ready, wife.”

Together, you slice into the towering gelato cake, the creamy filling oozing out and already making your mouth water. Once you have a generous slice on a plate, you scoop up a spoonful and lock eyes with Charles again, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

His pupils dilate as he catches your meaning, a low growl rumbling in his throat. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, mon cœur.”

“Who says I can’t finish it?” You take a step closer, holding the spoonful of gelato up temptingly.

Charles tips his head back with a groan. “You’re killing me here.”

“Good thing you have me to bring you back to life then,” you quip, pressing the spoon to his lips.

He opens obediently, letting you slide the gelato into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His eyelids flutter shut as the flavors explode over his tongue, and he actually moans — deep and guttural and utterly sinful.

A choked sound comes from somewhere in the crowd. “Oh please, get a room!” Joris, Charles’ best friend and best man, calls out with a mixture of amusement and mortification.

Charles doesn’t even open his eyes, simply raising one middle finger in Joris’ direction as he savors the last of the gelato. When his tongue finally darts out to catch a stray bit on his lips, you feel an unexpected flare of heat low in your belly.

Okay, two can play at this game.

Deliberately holding Charles’ heated gaze, you dip your finger into the gelato drippings on the plate and slowly, so slowly, bring it up to your lips. You let the very tip of your tongue dart out to catch the sticky sweetness, swirling it around luxuriously. His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches you, jaw tense.

That’s it.

You slip your finger into your mouth fully, hollowing out your cheeks as you suck the gelato off with an utterly obscene sound. Charles’ knees actually buckle, and he grips the table behind him for support, pupils blown wide.

“You are so dead,” he growls under his breath, low and dangerous.

Unable to stop yourself, you let out a breathy giggle, drunk with a dizzying cocktail of desire and sheer bliss. Charles takes a half step closer, his eyes burning into yours. You quickly scoop up another fingerful of gelato, desperate to keep pushing those buttons and draw out that delicious intensity.

But before you can bring it to your lips, quick as a flash, Charles is on you. He drags you flush against his solid form, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to angle your mouth up to his. The scorching kiss steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to his lapels for purchase.

When he finally breaks away, his eyes are blazing with unconcealed want.

“You missed a spot,” he rasps.

Then he’s ducking his head, and with one torturously slow lick, he clears the stray bit of gelato from the tip of your nose. The heat of his tongue on your overly sensitive skin makes you whimper.

The catcalls and whistles from your guests fade into white noise as you melt against your husband, lost in the endless depths of his hungry gaze. Screw being appropriate — you’ll give them all a show to remember if you have to.

“Fuck, I love you,” Charles rumbles, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire.

Before you can respond, he’s kissing you again — deep and thorough and all-consuming. You sigh into his mouth, bunching the fine material of his tuxedo jacket in your fists to pull him even closer. His hand slides from your neck into your hair, cradling your head reverently as he pours every ounce of his love and passion into the kiss.

An eternity later, he breaks away with a ragged breath, resting his forehead against yours. “I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you?”

You can only nod breathlessly, already imagining the deliciously wicked things he has in store. As if in a trance, you allow him to take your hand and lead you towards the exit, shouting and wolf whistles following in your wake.

Just before you slip out of the hall, you hear Pierre Gasly’s teasing voice behind you.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, you two!”

Charles pauses only long enough to call over his shoulder, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“But there’s nothing you wouldn’t do!”

Then he’s sweeping you into his arms with a playful growl, carrying you into your new life together as man and wife. Peals of laughter and cheers chase you down the hall, but you only have eyes for each other in this perfect moment.

You’re married to the love of your life. You have forever with this incredible man. And if the wedding is anything to go by, forever is going to be deliciously amazing.

Literally.

[comfortless]

I already sent you an ask today so hiiii

(Alright so now I hopefully have your attention, imagine: ancient settling, mercenary könig is made prisoner and enslaved and reader, a cute noble girl, buys him to ☆have fun☆. He doesn't mind at all.)

Have a good day!

anon whoever you are… every message that you have sent has been like you putting a clawing animal in my brain. all of these concepts are so good. sorry it took me a bit to get around to this one. <:•)

captured mercenary! König x noblewoman! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. medieval au (so: gender role nonsense), slightly mean slightly pathetic König, very brief mentions of violence/beheading, masturbation.

“That one.”

You hear yourself speak without thought. Your voice is shy, almost. It’s unbecoming of your station to seem so meek… even as you eye the men lined up before you like cattle prepped for slaughter.

Prisoners, they were. All apart from the one you had chosen would be little more than toys for the executioner after what they’ve done: to think that such a little band of mercenaries would even be planning for a siege… ridiculous. Most of the men have already had their hair cut cleanly away from their necks in preparation for the blade that would be slicing past each vertebrae and layer of muscle to chop away their heads.

This one is saved only because he’s been stripped of his armors, and though his face is rather rugged… there’s strength beneath his skin and such a deep misery in his eyes it sets your chest ablaze with pity. He could be useful, a willing servant if you could only save him from what terrible thing haunts him.

Maybe it’s the old wounds that flare his skin with the raised flesh of scar tissue, perhaps it’s the harelip or the wild thing set between his thighs where he’s forced to kneel. It catches your eye, that last one…

The prisoner’s jaw sets when your finger does point his way, blue eyes narrow just a fraction as realization settles in the pit of his stomach. No freedom to be garnered here, no love, nothing but that blade he had intended to use against you sworn to you instead. If the giant spit at your feet then, it would be expected, welcomed almost with the way your chest roars with sympathy.

He only stares.

You pay off his captors with a few silver coins and watch as they lead him bound to your side. His arms are tied too tightly before him, muscles slack with exertion after trying to fight the ropes for what must have been hours. Whether he sees you as savior or something revolting remains unknown. He doesn’t speak, not even as a servant leads him into the back of your carriage and you step inside after him, holding up the middle of your gown as to not sully it with the dirt and old blood splattered over the stones layered for street.

When the horses begin to move you give the man a proper once over, hiding your smile beneath a handkerchief, free hand curled into the lap of your skirts. He’s not just tall and broad, but incredibly well endowed. Not just sad and downtrodden, but pissed, though the only tell remains his shaking fists. His gaze never meets yours for longer than a moment before it settles back to gaze at the passing tall grass and sheep prancing about the fields, but each time that it does… there is no denying the mixture of confusion, maybe even attraction upon his face.

Your home was something this giant had never had a taste of prior to you: a castle atop a hill, charming and stone with its high ramparts and blunt roof. You didn’t need his confirmation in words, though you do ask and get nothing in turn.

The carriage pulls you right through the gate and it is almost cute the way that this man’s eyes seem to wander as he takes it all in. There are other servants tending to the sheep and horses, the smell of fire and the chiming of blade meeting blade ringing out as men spar, there are cats to keep away pests and modest but cozy homes, a tavern, an inn all beyond the wall. A small city of your own: all for the perfect little noblewoman that you were.

The only thing that you lacked was the trained sword of a man to ensure your safety, and now you had that, too.

You explain to him his place here, the role that he would take for the price you paid as you both disembark from the wooden carriage. He would be fitted for armor donning your family’s crest come the morning, whipped into obedience should he dare raise a hand toward any one here. You even think to warn him of the executioner’s sloppy work, how he may even live with his head chopped only halfway off should you request it…. some horror you had heard one of the travelers speak of.

As the weeks pass, König does begin to settle immensely. His speech is disjointed and parsed, his mother tongue muddled with your own language in a way that is cute… terribly, horribly cute.

He’s intelligent and strong: spends much of his time out amongst the lower men aiding with the animals and teaching them the deft way he swings his blade. It is an art form in its own right, the way that he paints the air with swift strokes… For a woman to fawn over a man’s swordplay was absurd, but it was impossible not to enjoy when he taunts and jabs the way that he does.

He rarely wears that armor the blacksmith crafted for him, both a flattery and an insult. You don’t mind watching him best smaller men in solely his trousers, pressing their faces into the muck while he barks his insults to them in words they can not understand. To you, now, when he flashes the most beastly of grins in your direction and utters the words, “Verpiss dich.”

You aren’t even certain why you stand there rather than hissing out orders to have him taken away. Your stupid corset feels too tight, gown too small, and your chest aches. There's not been a thing you could do to have this man do more than simply tolerate you. He sleeps within his own room in the castle, eats his fill and then some, you talk to him and layer your words with praise. He has not once been punished for anything. Not even now.

“Come here,” you demand without thought, walking down the staircase to cross the yard with your hands balled into delicate fists at your sides.

Your giant only looks confused for a moment as he clambers off of the man he’s just wrestled to the earth and rights himself. His eyebrows raise, his nostrils flare… and then he laughs. At you like you’re the most puny of rabbits, hardly a threat. Your betters would have laughed too at just how fragile you sound, on the cusp of tears over what? Some ridiculous little crush on a captive soldier??

He eventually does as you ask, stomping over to stand before you- not kneel, he never knelt. If his height and stature were meant to intimidate… your god would have to forgive the thoughts that muddle your head then, like filthy water as you drink him in.

“Was…?”

So you explain to him as best you can just how insolent he’s being, how horribly he repays your kindness, how he would be dead on some shrouded mountain pass or have his body tossed into the river if not for you. You explain your heart out when tears come to your eyes and spring forth as your chittering continues, and you don’t even know if the moron can understand; he only stands there with the wildest grin on his face when he sees you beginning to sniffle and sob.

“Was?,” he demands again, blunt even as he takes your face into one of his large hands, turns your head to brush a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Why are you crying?”

“You need to learn your place!” And you know you’re being a hypocrite, that a proper lady should never allow a man to touch her like this, look at her the way that König does. You should call for a servant to have him dragged through the yard and whipped… or worse, but your voice only comes in a crestfallen whisper.

He shrugs those massive shoulders, rolls his neck and huffs a breath as he gazes down at you before his hand falls to his side and he merely walks away. That’s it.

Though you had the hopes that your warning had been taken seriously, the days following seem even worse.

König abandons his duties and takes up the most horrendous idea of courtship that he can muster. If courtship is even what it could be considered. It is more like a direct taunt, a jab now that he’s been made perfectly aware just how fragile the maiden he was sold to guard is.

He takes liberties once you’ve bedded down each night, your dresses stripped away to be replaced with a plain linen gown with nothing beneath: your only protection in the form of the wooden door between you two because König is no protector.

It always starts with the sound of spitting into his palm, then a drawn out sigh that rises to a near-animalistic groan. Sometimes he speaks, other times the soft, wet sounds rise in tempo until all that comes from his mouth are sharp hisses and whines.

This night proves to be the worst.

The wood creaks under his weight as he leans back against the door, stroking himself to the thought of you behind it. He makes it apparent when he breathes your name, low and shaky as you squeeze your eyes closed and pretend to not hear the words that follow.

“Scheiße… bet you’re tight,” he hisses between his depraved whimpers, the slick sounds increasing even as he rights himself to stand proper. You can almost hear the way he salivates, can almost imagine the way his jaw must fall slack and his eyes go dazed as he pleasures himself… you squeeze your thighs shut.

“Ja… you want it too, huh…” The bastard is most assuredly imagining you, knelt before him with the most helpless, reverent gaze as you plead for him. It should make you ill, yet it only stokes a fire in your belly, one that bridges between rage and need. “Ich will dich ficken…”

Your breath comes to a halt when your hand drifts beneath your thin gown, forcing yourself to listen as he brings himself to ruin in the halls as your finger presses to the spot that demands attention most of all. A fragile, shaking circle before your breath already begins to catch.

“Bitte…”

The brute sounds so helpless now, no longer the horrid thing that ordered you to “piss off” or scowled in your direction. He doesn’t know a thing about love… about how one should yearn for a maiden, only of spilling blood and seed. It’s only in the quiet of the night when the rest of the castle sleeps does he allow himself to be even this vulnerable… only his vulnerability seems even more terrifying.

His groans morph into pitiful sighs as he no doubt slows his motions, drawing out an impending orgasm in the hope that you will crawl to your door to let him in and fuck you rough on your bed.

“Just let me…”

Your thighs tremble as you weep between them in longing. The sooner it’s over the sooner you can close your eyes and drift back to sleep, no longer needing him the way he seems to need you now.

Your motions grow more heady, the patterns traced quicker and more deliberate as the heat rushes down further like the most vast wave of pure fire… When you tense, when your lips part to allow a low murmur of pleasure to slip from them, you’re met with laughter from the other side of the door.

“Ja… my lady… you do want it,” he hums as you draw your covers up and over your head in shame. You hadn’t been that loud, surely… but the way that he follows after, coming undone himself with a loud grunt as though it were some ridiculous competition…

“Let me fuck you next time,” he rasps, panting soft as he leans back. Depraved as he was, you were certain he was probably admiring the pearly paint he left along the stones. “That is my place, hm?”

[kpopnstarwars]

Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader

A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee

tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)

wc: 4.2k

part 1

Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.

It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.

Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.

Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.

Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.

Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.

Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.

It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.

Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.

There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.

Apart from you - hopefully.

Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.

A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.

Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.

The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.

You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.

Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.

‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’

‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’

Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.

A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.

You can’t get enough of him.

Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.

Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.

‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.

‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.

Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.

Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.

Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.

Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.

Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.

You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.

It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.

‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’

A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.

You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.

‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.

Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.

Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.

You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.

He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.

‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.

All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.

‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.

Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.

‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’

Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.

The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.

The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.

Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.

For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.

Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.

Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.

‘How are you, my little witch?’

You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.

One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -

A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.

Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.

‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.

He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’

You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.

‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’

Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.

They’re holding a knife.

It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.

‘Stand down,’ you snap.

The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.

‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’

You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’

As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.

‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’

‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.

He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’

‘...Yes.’

Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’

You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’

Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.

Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.

He catches up to you easily enough.

Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.

Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.

‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’

You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’

‘You evade my question.’

You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.

‘What do you - ’

You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’

He’s silent.

You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’

His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’

‘Exactly.’

You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.

He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’

Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.

‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’

He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.

You think this might be love.

It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.

In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.

Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.

‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’