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dumplingsjinson · 6 months

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List of “not-so-random suggestive and non-suggestive” prompts

“How was your sleep?” “Mm.. It was good. Better.” “Better how?” “Better because you’re here.” (THE WAY I GOT SO FLUSTERED WTF)

“That’s my girl/boy,” Character B murmurs in a hushed voice, stroking their fingers through Character A’s hair while Character A rests their head on their chest, trying to catch their breath. (THE SCREAM I SCRUMPT INTERNALLY, THE AUDACITY HE AUDACITIED??? WHAT THE FUCK??? EXCUSEEEE MEEEEEE??? BTW, SIR, HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS IN THE MORNING-)

“Fuck, you turn me on so much with the noises you make,” Character B groans, thrusting their hips up into Character A’s and Character A whimpering softly at that. (Okay so I added the fuck at the start because it’s hotter this way bUTTTT WKGKSKFS PLSSSSS I JUST- OH MY GOD, I think I just realised that dialogue to me is SO IMPORTANT LMFAOOO)

“There are two hot things in this room right now: you, and the temperature.” (LET ME BREATHE, DAMNNNN)

“Mmm, I’m gonna hog the bed so you can’t get on,” Character A murmurs, laying sprawled out on the bed. “That’s fine, I can just lay on you,” Character B says, making their way to the bed. “…Are you calling me a bed?” Character A questions as Character B gets on top of them, careful not to crush them under their weight. “Yeah, you're my bed,” Character B murmurs, snuggling close to Character A. (FUCKCKKCKXKDKKSKGKAKD HE’S JUST OUT HERE FLIRTING TO THE MAX WITH ME AND LEAVING ME SPEECHLESS TF)

“I told you my bed’s cozy,” Character B says, chuckling as they make their way over to Character A, who’s snuggled up under the covers. They pull the cover back and climb into the bed next to Character A, wrapping their arms around them. “And now it’s even cozier,” Character B murmurs into Character A’s neck. “Because you’re here?” Character A questions playfully. “Yeah,” Character B answers.

A laughter filled tickling play fight session somehow turning into them making out, turning into Character A straddling Character B, head thrown back in pleasure as they grind their hips against Character B’s while Character B holds onto their hips, thrusts matching the momentum of Character A’s movements.

Spending way too much time tickling each other, peals of laughter coming from them both as they both try to attack each other’s sensitive spots. (His laughter is so cute AND I REALLY MISS HIM PLS WJDSK)

Morning cuddles and kisses as sunlight spills into the room.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good once we get there, yeah?” (MY HONEST REACTION WAS LITERALLY “???” I JUST?? WHAT?? SINCE WHEN WAS HE- AND HIM SWEARING? HOT HOT HOT HOT WKGKAKS)

Character A taking Character B’s hand into theirs while they’re driving. “You can drive with one hand, right?” they ask with a little grin, and Character B chuckles and nods. “Of course I can.” (HIM DRIVING WITH ONE HAND IS SO HOT BYE)

Character B guiding the speed of Character A’s hips as Character A grinds against them. (can he PLEASE manhandle me-)

“Okay, I’ll let you tickle me wherever you want if you give me one kiss.” (He lied a few times AHAHA, dodged my attacks instead after I gave him his kisses bruhhh)

Character B lending their clothes to Character A since Character A’s staying the night. (The way I smelled like him AHHHH)

The soft “yeah?” Character B would mutter in response when they’re messing around with Character A and noises would fall from Character A’s mouth, involuntarily.

Stopping their play fight every now and again to kiss each other.

Character B flirting with Character A and Character A not knowing how to respond other than half groaning and half laughing and calling them insufferable (affectionately). (Like I said, I’m romantically constipated-)

Character B laughing every time Character A calls them annoying and insufferable whenever they flirt with them.

Character A leaning in to kiss Character B… And then using that opportunity to tickle them when Character B’s guards are down.

Them just laughing with each other at the dumbest shit until they’re out of breath; finding comfort and joy in each other’s company.

Character A teasing Character B with how ticklish they are on certain spots.

Character B tugging at the hem of Character A’s top, wanting to take it off, but Character A shakes their head and Character B immediately respects that by backing off a bit. (I’m including this because I don’t think people understand that any signs of no means no. Some people need to take notes for real)

“So… Are you going to stay over tonight?” “…Mm, maybe next time.” “You always say next time, though.” (EWLKNFWELN He really wanted me to stay, and I clearly folded so um pwnfewklnf)

“I’m sorry if I’m like… Slow with all of this? I’m not experienced with any of this, and I don’t know what I’m doing. And I don’t think I’m ready for… You know.” “And that’s fine. Like I said, we’ll take it slow; we’ve got all the time in the world to get comfortable with each other, hm?” (WHEN I SAY I WAS GOING WEKJFNEWJKNEWFLN WHEN HE REASSURED ME, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AHHH)

Character B climbing back into bed after taking their morning shower to get more cuddles in with Character A before they have to go to work.

“You can just change in here if you want.” (WO4HKLWFN THIS FUCKING MAN LMFAOOO, the way I didn’t listen and went to the bathroom to change because I’m still feeling too embarrassed to change in front of him even though he’s kind of seen me topless before)

Hugging each other a little tighter, and Character A mumbling, “God, I really don’t want to leave” before they part ways.

“The way you keep running around in my mind everyday… How dare you?” Character A mumbles. “Well, is there a problem with that?” Character B questions with a chuckle. (I’m bold for this one, praise me LKNEFKLNWG)

The constant check ins from Character B, to make sure Character A’s all good and well. (every prompt list has this because it’s something I’ll always fucking harp on about lmao)

Character B grasping Character A’s wrists so they’d stop attacking their ticklish spots, pulling them in for a kiss instead. (He did this SO MANY TIMES AND FAILED SO MANY TIMES AHAHA, I’m a sneaky menace)

Character A pulling the Spiderman kiss on Character B while Character B’s lying down. (I WANNA KISS HIM MORE FUCKSLKFNES’F)

Character A waking up in Character B’s clothes and in their bed, hair all mussed up and sporting a faint mark on their neck. (I think I uh… I think I like having marks on my neck?? Made by him, specifically, IDK wpeofnew;nf)

Get home safe! Love you lots and lots, Character B texts Character A. (THE WAY I SMILED WHEN I SAW HIS TEXT WHILE HEADING TO THE STATION AHAHA, it wasn’t even ten minutes since we parted and he sent me this and I was fangirling about it to my friends AHAHA)

“Aren’t you going to get up now? You gotta get to work,” Character A says, poking Character B’s side. “Mmm, five more minutes,” Character B murmurs, pulling Character A closer to them. (HE’S SO CLINGY AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH AHDFOEKNF)

Character A realising they might actually be falling in love, slowly but surely, with Character B. (YEAH SO THIS IS A REVELATION AND A HALF AND IDK HOW TO FEEL ABOUT IT)

#long post #based on personal experience 😮‍💨#so sorry for all of the commentary HAHAH #and yes before you say anything i’m living the fanfic life for you all LESNFNLK #cat guy chronicles #writing prompts #prompts #dialogue prompts #writing scenarios #otp prompts #suggestive prompts #smut prompts #fluff prompts #non-suggestive prompts

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wife-of-all-dilfs · 5 months

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Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

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lovebugism · 2 months

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❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜“i cant live without you” “don’t die on me, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet” “i lied i never hated you”

eddie x reader enemies to lovers 🥹🥹

pls enjoy this absolute heartache of a fic :D — you and eddie hate each other until he almost dies (angst, enemies to lovers, cw for mentions of gore, 1.1k)

“Wanna make out?” Eddie had asked you, some hours ago now, when you first arrived at the Upside Down version of Skull Rock. You’d just narrowly survived a gang of demobats, and the stale air smelled distinctly of copper pennies. He managed a smug smile anyway. “I mean, we might as well. Looks like we’re gonna die out here, anyway.”

You scoffed and rolled your tired eyes. The annoyance you felt for him then momentarily distracted you from the fear swirling in the pit of your stomach. “I’d rather,” you’d quipped.

You feel a little like you’ve prophesized something now.

Eddie bleeds out in your arms with a hundred little bites on his stomach that were supposed to be yours. He’d distracted the circling demobats when you twisted your ankle, too hurt to run away. And now he’s dying. And it’s all your goddamn fault.

You sit with him while Dustin rushes into the Creel House, in search of help from the older crew. You watch him attentively over your shoulder until he disappears behind the rotted front door. When you turn back to Eddie, you find his eyes have fluttered shut.

“Eddie—” you call for him, clearing your throat when it comes out garbled. “Eddie! Hey!”

“Hm…” he hums tiredly in response, eyes still shut.

You sigh with the subtle relief that he’s not dead. The breath catches in your chest. You try to fight away the panic attack clawing behind your ribcage, even though it makes everything around you seem more and more distant. You try to stay as present as you can despite the horrors swimming all around you — for Eddie The Freak Munson.

“You have to stay awake,” you tell him, voice thick with emotion. “Open your eyes.”

“I’m just… I feel a little tired right now,” he mumbles, slurring slightly.

Your chest wrenches. He’s getting paler and paler by the minute. The tourniquet you made from the bottom half of your shirt is now soaked with deep red blood. Panic burns a wildfire in your chest because you’ve done everything you could think to do.

You can’t lose him. That’s all you’re telling yourself now. You can’t lose him, you can’t lose him, you can’t lose him.

“I don’t care. Keep your eyes open, alright?” Your heart wrenches again, with something short of hope this time, when Eddie’s eyes flutter open. They’re glassy and dilated, but the deep chocolate of them hasn’t changed. You muster a small smile. “There you go, Eds. There you go— Now, just keep talking to me, okay? Keep talking.”

“I’m tired,” he mutters under his breath, too weak to do anything more.

Your face screws together as you choke back a sob. You swallow down every instinct to cry. You’ll cry when this is over, you tell yourself, when Eddie’s safe and back in Hawkins.

“I know, Eddie. I know,” you babble through stinging tears. “But you gotta— you gotta keep talking, alright? It’ll help you stay awake. And I need you to… I need you to stay awake for me, okay?”

He nods. At least, you think he’s nodding, because the movement is terribly faint.

His eyes fall shut again. You feel the loss of his melted chocolate gaze like a stab in the chest. Your hand grips his jaw, a little less than gentle.

“Eddie,” you bite through gritted teeth.

“Mm…”

“If you die, I swear to god, I will fucking kill you.”

The familiarity of your aggression reminds him of home. He opens his eyes and cracks a small, barely-there smile. Blood glistens on his mouth. “I thought you hated me?” he slurs in an inaudible mumble.

“I do,” you tell him without thinking twice, laughing through the sob in your throat. “But I’ll love the shit outta you if we make it out of here together.”

Together, you say, because either both of you make it out or neither of you do.

His grin widens softly, chapped and lopsided. “Metal,” he murmurs.

A whimper sounds in your throat when his eyes flutter shut again. “Eddie…”

“‘M sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, breathing sharply through his nose.

It’s getting harder and harder for him to breathe. You can tell by the harsh rise and fall of his chest. There’s little oxygen getting to his brain, accompanied by the weeping bites on his stomach— where the fuck is Dustin Henderson?

“I don’t know if I…. If I’m gonna make it outta here, babe…”

Your chest tightens. He only ever called you babe to piss you off. You wonder if he’s still being the annoying asshole you knew back home or if the term of endearment is too engrained in his head.

“Don’t say that.”

“If I don’t—”

“Eddie.”

“If I don’t make it out,” he repeats, sterner this time. He drags a sharp breath in and opens his eyes, just barely. “I want you to know that I never… I never hated you… ‘M just a liar… And a total fucking coward…”

“You can make it up to me when we get back home, okay? You just gotta stay awake.”

His lip quirks into a faint, crooked smile. “I’ve been dyin’ to kiss you since ninth grade… Did you know that?”

“I know,” you nod with an emotional laugh.

“I did make it kinda obvious, didn’t I?”

“You can kiss me when you get better. I swear.”

Eddie nods. You feel him grow heavier and heavier in your arms. His smug smile starts to fade, and you panic. “Eddie? Eddie, don’t— don’t die on me, okay? Please. We haven’t— We haven’t gotten to the good part yet, asshole. You have to stay awake.”

You shift him in your arms, trying to sit him up more when he slumps. He does little to fight you. He doesn’t have the strength to anymore.

“‘M sorry, babe,” you hear him whisper.

“No— No, don’t— Don’t fucking say that,” you scold bitterly, less angry at him and more at the rest of the world. It should’ve been you lying here, after all, not him. You’d trade places in a heartbeat if you could. “You can’t die, you asshole! How am I supposed to— fucking— keep going without you annoying the living shit outta me?”

“Henderson’ll annoy you for the both of us,” he manages to joke as life spills from the weeping wounds on his stomach.

“Fuck that. It’s not the same— I need you, Eddie. I need you, okay? I can’t— I can’t fucking live without you,” you cry over his pale, bloodied body.

You hear yelling and a set of rushed footsteps. “Eddie!” Dustin calls as he dashes down the decrepit porch steps of the old home — with Steve, Nancy, and Robin following close behind.

The sight of them makes you sigh. Your chest starts to sparkle with a hope you’d thought you lost — damn near aching when Eddie’s glassy eyes flutter open once more.

The fucker grins weakly up at you. “I knew you had a crush on me, babe.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti

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b1rds3ye · 10 months

Text

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod x you #task force 141 x reader #los vaqueros x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #john mactavish x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rodolfo parra x reader #rudy x reader #/*avery actually writes*/

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freebreadmoon · 3 months

Note

is there anyway you can write a cute, fluffy little story for Walker Scobell?

YES OMG I HAVENT BEEN ACTIVE BC I HAVE MIDTERMS

warnings: fluff, reader plays annabeth (i love leah dont come for me), no use of y/n, reader and walker aren’t dating but are obvi crushing

requests are open!!

You and Walker were filming a buzzfeed puppy interview, sitting in the middle of the floor.

Walker sat with his legs crisscrossed, smiling wide at the brown spotted dog that nuzzled his leg. “Is it on? Oh, hi, I’m Walker Scobell, and I play Percy Jackson.”

“Hi,” you introduced yourself, “I play Annabeth Chase,” you picked up the fluffy fured black one that was by your foot, “and your watching buzzfeed!” You put a thumbs up at the camera, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

“Wait I wanted to say it, I’m literally the main character—“

“But I’m the best character. Walker, you can say it at Vanity Fair.” He rolled his eyes at you, smiling slightly.

“Okay, moving on! um…what’s the question? What was your favorite scene to film…um…oh thats a hard one. I’m gonna say…either the fight with the Ares kids in capture the flag, or falling out of the arch. The harness thing was annoying to put on, but the other parts were fun.” Walker was only half paying attention, preoccupied by the dogs.

“I think the tunnel of love scene, or the one where Annabeth pushes Percy in the water, ‘cause I got to push Walker really hard.” You glanced at him, watching the smile curl onto his face.

“Yeah. We did like 15 takes of that because she kept laughing.” Walker laughed, shaking his head. “Actually, she laughed a lot. We had to retake lots of stuff ‘cause of her, especially the tunnel of love scene. The boat flipped and she wouldn’t stop laughing.” He shifted closer to you, messing with the puppy you’re holding.

“Oh! the next question…what’s your opinion on each other? Um…walker is the best blonde dude ever i think. like he’s literally my kid i swear, and he was honestly the best choice for percy. i think he’s the reason i even got to be annabeth, im really greatful for him. Aryan is super sweet and cool, he’s my best best friend, we do the stupidest things together, and I can’t imagine a world we aren’t honorary siblings.” You scratched behind a puppy’s ear, letting it lick you.

“Well I was just gonna say you’re awesome but…I guess I think we make a great team on-screen as well as off-screen. She’s a true friend. If it weren't for her, I don't know what I'd do, y'know? She’s like my very own real life Annabeth." He glanced up at you subtly, wanting to gauge your reaction, smiling in victory when he noticed the red tint to your cheeks.

“The…the next one says, how do you feel about fan support? is it overwhelming? Well, my answer is yes, sometimes. Especially with people who are really like into the book to the point where they hated the casting over looks.” You had started to speak a lot quieter as Walker drifted closer, trying to get the puppy off your lap.

“I don’t think much of it.” Walker shurgs. “Only really the edits that I see anyway, those are fun.” He smiles encouragingly at you , finally meeting your eyes.

“…Yeah. The edits.” You smile at him, referring to the ship edits. You’d talked about it in multiple interviews, and you had a favorites folder for them on Tiktok. You raised an eyebrow at Walker, who continued to move closer until his head was on your lap, giggling softly and starting pet his hair like you did the puppys fur.

“Okay, last question…have there been any memorable moments on set? Um…probably when i first met her. I just got the feeling she was gonna be Annabeth, she gave me this ‘what is he doing?’ Look, and it just clicked.” He stayed with his head on your lap, turning so his head is on your stomach when puppies come and attack him with licks.

“They think you’re one of them!” You push him off a little so the puppies can get to him. “And my answer…um…I think when Walker gave me the piece of banana that was in my hair in the show. He kinda just tied it in and left my set trailer, and it stuck. So if you guys wondered what the weird blue fabric in Annabeth’s hair was, it was not in fact a design choice, it was a Percy choice.” You turn so the camera can see the small braid in your hair with the bandanna piece at the end.

“And Percy’s got one too, if you look hard enough.” He lifts one of his feet, showing the vans he wore during filming, and the flimsy piece of bandanna tied through his top shoe hole. You shake your head, laughing at his insistence in staying with his head in your lap.

While you layed on his bed, you scrolled through your fyp, stopping when you see the familiar scene of you two in the buzzfeed room, with his head in your lap. Nodding your head to the song in the edit as you scrolled through the comments.

“IRL percabeth?” He questioned from beside you. You looked at him, not realizing he had started paying attention to you, jumping to get your phone from him.

“No, I’m commenting! And reposting!” He laughed, rolling away from you. You got off the bed behind him, giving up taking the phone and blinking when he simply commented ‘real’.

“Well, so much for ‘it’ll blow over’.” You rolled your eyes, knowing the dating allegations will only get worse after this. Walker smiled triumphantly, waiting for the responses to come in.

taglist: @persassyxo @diorlorenzo @ilovewalkerscobell @paytonthereader @platypusbearrr @kissatelier @riptidelor

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #x reader #walker scobell #grover underwood #percy jackson x reader #walker scobell x reader

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luvring · 11 months

Text

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #hinata x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #ushijima x reader #kuroo tetsuro #bokuto kotaro #akaashi keiji #hinata shoyo #miya atsumu #miya osamu #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu multi chara posts u mean the world 2 me #when no one has my back...i know u do.. can i get an amen ?!

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scuderiahoney · 4 months

Text

All You Got

Charles Leclerc x teammate!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You hate Charles Leclerc. The feeling is mutual. He’s made that clear from the very beginning. enemies to lovers anon I hope you’re still here and I hope I got this right!

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: alcohol/intoxication, mild swearing, mild car crash (everyone is fine), panic attacks, comments about sexual activities (but no actual sex/smut)

Everyone in the entire world seems to love Charles Leclerc. Honestly, you can’t blame them. Objectively, you get it. He’s the total package- good looks, kind, generous, rich. They fall at his his feet, and they worship the ground he walks on.

Everyone except for you.

To you, everything he does rubs you the wrong way. Charles Leclerc annoys you to no end. You can’t even pinpoint what it is, just- you can’t stand him. Which is becoming a problem, seeing as he’s your teammate, so you have to deal with him constantly.

Charles was a constant thorn in your side when you were just competing against each other from separate garages. Now he’s your paddock next door neighbor, your supposed collaborator, and the only person who you can truly be compared to. Equal machinery and all that. The truth is, he’s good at what he does, which only makes it so much worse.

You’re having a good season, a great one, even. You’re not a rookie, but it’s your first year with Ferrari, your first year with a car that isn’t a tractor. It’s just that you’re constantly being compared to and overshadowed by him. It’s awful and exhausting and you sit in the briefing before the race glaring daggers at the side of his head.

He’d slowed you down in Q3. You were on a flying lap and he got in the way, left you starting in 9th when you were on track for your best qualifying yet. He’d said it was an accident, and everyone else believed him. Including your own race engineer. You think maybe if you stare hard enough you could actually light all the product in his hair on fire. Then he has the audacity to come up to you after the meeting, to lay his hand on your upper arm softly. You wrench yourself out of his grip, turn to him with a snarl. He must take it as surprise rather than what it really is, because he has a soft smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, again, about quali,” he says, and you spot a camera over his shoulder and fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you, yes?”

“Crash out at the start,” you tell him, raising one brow. There’s a smile on your face and venom in your words. “And take Max out with you.”

“Anything but that,” he says.

He winks before he breezes past you, and if there hadn’t been so many people around, you think you may have actually slapped him this time.

…..

You collapse into a chair in a swanky restaurant that night, resting your chin on closed fists, elbows on the table. Lily, jumps when you do. Alex is sitting across from you, doing a bad job of hiding a laugh behind his hand.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you tell them, knuckles digging into your cheeks. “I’m going to pass all the cars between us tomorrow and ram him into the wall.”

“No, you’re not,” George says as he sits down, Carmen following behind. “Because when you do pass all those cars tomorrow, you’re going to want to stay in the race.”

“I was going to qualify second,” you groan. “I was, seriously-“

“I know,” George says, patting your shoulder. The waiter has appeared at the end of the table.

Alex points at you. “She’ll have a shot of tequila, please.”

“She has to drive tomorrow morning,” Lily reminds him.

“And we have to sit through dinner tonight,” George says.

You slap his shoulder, glaring daggers at him, now.

“Did he apologize?” Lily asks.

“Of course!” You snap. “Because he’s fucking Charles Leclerc, and-“

Before you can launch into one of your tirades, Lily waves her hand. “Forget I asked. Never mind. This subject is banned until the weekend is over- we’re all here, this is supposed to be a nice dinner.”

You sigh and slump into your chair. “Okay, mom.”

Once the conversation starts, though, and you have your shot of tequila, you forget about Charles. You’re here to spend time with your friends, not worry about your teammate. It’s the first time in a while that both of their girlfriends have been able to make it to the same race. You’ve been looking forward to it all week, and you refuse to let Charles sour it. Besides, they’ve all heard it before, they don’t need to hear you complain again.

The next day, when you take 5th and Charles takes first, you don’t let him see you cry. You sneak out of the celebrations as early as you possibly can and head back to the hotel.It’s just so frustrating. You’re trying so hard, giving it your all, and it’ll never be enough. You want the podiums, the trophies, the champagne spraying in your face. You want it all, everything Charles has. He takes it for granted.

When you open your hotel room door, there’s a giant bouquet of flowers on the dresser. For a moment, you think maybe it’s from your family, or maybe George and Alex, a sympathy present for a race that held so much potential. You slip your finger under the flap of the envelope and pull the card out of the white flowers.

Sorry about Quali,

You throw the flowers and the note in the trash and cry yourself to sleep.

…..

Lily tried to convince you that the flowers were actually supposed to be an apology, but you’d refused to see it as anything other than what it was- a way to get in your head. So at the next race, you leave it all on the track. You manage to qualify 4th- not the best you’ve ever done, but you feel pretty good about it. You feel even better that Charles is starting in 7th. He’ll be stuck in the midfield, in the dirty air, while you fight with the big dogs. You’re on cloud nine, floating around the garage, thanking your crew and your engineers and offering drinks on you if you get a podium on Sunday. It wouldn’t be your first, but it would be your first in a while, and it would really crush Charles, you just know it.

“Congrats,” he says, standing next to you in the media pen.

You think he waits to talk to you until there’s cameras around. It makes him look good, being nice to his teammate. You can play the PR game too. You plaster on a bright smile. Behind Charles, Alex raises his brows at you. You tone down the smile and he gives you a thumbs up.

“Thanks,” you say, shrugging slightly. “Sorry about seventh.”

He shrugs. “Could be worse.”

You head into the lion’s den just after that, hit with a barrage of questions about every aspect of the weekend. How does it feel to be starting fourth? Good. Do you feel good about your chances tomorrow? Yes. How’s the car feel? Good. Are you hoping for a podium? Always. What did you give Charles to convince him to let you qualify higher than him this weekend? What?

The reporter who asked it is sneering at you. Your media handler balks at the question, fumbles to grab your arm. She’s afraid you’re going to snap, but to be honest, you’re too dumbfounded to find the words. Maybe he doesn’t deserve a response anyways.

“She didn’t give me anything,” Charles says, grabbing the microphone from your hand, and now you’re seeing red for a different reason. “She didn’t need to. She did it all on her own.”

Which is true, and nice of him to say. Objectively. But he’s not saying it because it’s true, or because he wants to be nice. You can already picture his devoted fans, clipping the video and making TikTok edits that make him look like a saint. He is, in their eyes. In everyone’s eyes.

You leave the microphone with him and stalk back to your driver room.

You run into Charles in the hallway later, when you’re slinking your way to catering to try and find something good to eat. He’s just- there, all of the sudden, broad shoulders taking up all the space. You try to slip around him, but he moves with you.

You look up at him, raising your brows and throwing your hands up. “What, Leclerc?”

He raises his brows, too. “Just wanted to say sorry. For what he said. It’s not true, you know.”

“Yes, Charles, I know I didn’t… blow you or whatever to get you to let me qualify better,” you say, and he rears his head back. “Can you move?”

“Hey,” he says, voice soft. “Look, I just wanted to say-“

“I think you’ve said enough,” you snap. “You said it all, live on camera. The whole world heard it.”

“I was just trying to stand up for you.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you say, throat feeling tight. “I’ve been doing it my whole career. No need to step in now. And honestly, we both know you get off on being the savior, so cut the shit.”

You finally find a gap and slip around him. You walk out of the garage and all the way down to Williams. Nobody stops you when you head to Alex’s room- he’s there, and George is too.

“We were wondering when you’d show up,” George says, as Alex holds his arms out wide. “Fucking bullshit, the whole lot of it.”

You nod and collapse into Alex’s chest. Neither of them comment on your tears.

“At least Charles stood up for you,” George says brightly.

“Fuck off,” you say, and Alex slaps his shoulder for you.

…..

They call a red flag three laps in, and your team calls you into the pits before you can even figure out what’s going on. You’re in third, having moved past Lewis in the opening chaos. Your heart sinks, knowing that when the race restarts you’ll have lost the lead you’d built up. You search the big screens as you pull into the pit lane, trying to figure out what’s happened, and then your heart sinks even more.

It’s a Mercedes, crumpled against the barriers. They only show it for a second, and you can’t hear any of what the commentators are saying. You hadn’t caught the number or the helmet, and- it’s either Lewis or George.

As much as you like Lewis, you’ve been friends with George since you were little. He and Alex had taken you under their wings, accepted you when a lot of the others wouldn’t. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as they help you climb out of your car.

You flip your visor up and look to the nearest mechanic. “Who is it?”

He stares, blankly, and you already know.

“Who is it?” You ask, louder, looking around the room frantically.

“S’George,” someone finally answers.

“Is he-“

“We don’t know yet,” someone says, gently. “Just-“

The panic claws at your chest. You haven’t felt like this a long time, not since Lily called you from the hospital when Alex had appendicitis. You can’t breathe, can’t see, can feel your fingers.

There’s a ripple of noise, applause from the crowd. You look at the TV, see George, standing strong and holding up a thumbs up. It should be a relief, but the panic doesn’t fade. Suddenly someone’s hands are on your shoulders, guiding you into the hallway. Fingers brush against your jaw, unbuckling your helmet and wiggling it off your head. You gasp for air, and strong hands hold you steady.

“Breathe, breathe, it’s okay, he’s okay,” Charles says.

You should be shocked it’s him, but right now all you can feel is panic. You grab onto his wrists, looking for an anchor in the storm. He doesn’t let go, just holds onto you, squeezes your shoulders until you start breathing slower and slower. He only drops his grip when you drop yours. You wipe tears and snot and sweat from your face and sigh.

Suddenly it hits you- it’s Charles, holding onto you, witnessing your panic attack. You take a couple steps back.

“It’s okay,” he says again, reaching out. You brush him away. “Hey, how about we go sit, yes? Have some water?”

“I’m fine,” you sniffle.

“You’re not.”

“Why do you care?” You ask, tears springing to your eyes again.

“Because you’re my teammate,” he says. “Because your friend crashed and you are upset.”

You roll your eyes. Charles has the audacity to look confused. Like he doesn’t know.

“You don’t have to act like you like me, Charles. There aren’t any cameras around,” you snap.

Charles blinks once, then again. “What?”

“You can drop the act,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. “I already know you hate me, you don’t have to pretend. You can go.”

Charles looks utterly and completely perplexed. For a moment, you falter. He hates you. Why does he seem so confused? It’s not that difficult to understand. Why had he even come back here with you in the first place? He could’ve let one of your crew members help you, or left you to deal with it alone. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t hate you,” he says, voice soft. “Why would you think I hate you?”

“You’ve hated me since I got here,” you remind him. “Actually, since before I even signed the fucking contract.”

“What are you talking about?”

You stare at him, wide eyed. Is it possible he doesn’t even remember? Maybe he hates you that much.

“When I came to the factory for contract negotiations,” you start, “you made it very clear I was the last possible person you wanted as your teammate.”

You’d been leaving the factory. He’d stopped you in the hall. Sounds like you might be my new teammate, he’d said. Hopefully, if it all goes well, you’d replied. Any advice?

He’d looked around, checked to see that nobody was there. Then, voice low and serious, arms crossed, he’d said, this is the last place you belong. If you know what’s best for you, you will not sign that contract.

You’d left that day heartbroken and with a vendetta against him.

Charles’ eyes go wide when you repeat his words back to you. “I did not say that.”

“I think I’d remember,” you tell him, trying again to shove past him.

“No, no, I mean- I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, insistent, grabbing onto your arm gently. “I- that was before they hired Fred, yes?”

“Yes?” You answer, furrowing your brows at him.

“And before they changed the staff, before they-“ he sighs. “I had a shit year. I was worried the next was going to be the same. I was trying to warn you.”

Now it’s your turn to blink once, then again. “No, you…”

“I swear,” he says. “On my life, I swear.”

He draws a tiny cross with his finger, right over his heart. You take a step back and drag a hand down your face. Your head is spinning, tilted on an insane axis.

“You thought I hated you, all this time?” He says, brows furrowed. “I sent you flowers, after the quali thing-“

“I thought you were playing mind games!” You cry out.

He’s reaching for your arm again. This time you let him. His fingers dig into your skin pleasantly- not enough to feel bad, just enough to know he’s there. It’s like the fight has suddenly left your body. He doesn’t hate you. He sent you flowers because he really was sorry.

And you threw them in the trash.

“So when I stood up for you with that reporter, you thought…” he trails off, then laughs. “What, you thought I was- this is why you reacted so badly. This explains so much.”

“Yes!” You say, nodding. “Why are you so fucking ominous with your warnings? Why were you so cryptic?”

“English is not my first language and I had to be careful about how I said it, there could have been people listening!” He says, laughing again. “You didn’t listen, anyways.”

“No, because then I wanted to prove to you that I could handle myself, that I deserved the seat!”

“Of course you deserved the seat,” he says, wide eyed. “That was never a question.”

The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Then you double over in laughter, tears streaming down your face for a different reason. Charles joins you, his laughter mixing with yours for the first time ever. The noise of it sends a jolt through your heart.

He doesn’t hate you. How crazy is that?

…..

When you run into Alex in the paddock later, he’s staring like you’ve grown a second head. Actually, with the intensity of his stare, you think you may have grown two extra heads. Maybe even a third eye. He comes to a stop in front of you, and you cock your head at him.

“Hey, Al,” you greet him. “Have you seen Georgie? He’s not at Merc.”

“Yeah, he’s… he’s at the stewards, doing a debrief,” Alex says. “He said he’d meet us at the driver briefing.”

“Oh, cool,” you say. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s fine,” Alex says, eyes flickering across your face.

“That’s good. I’m glad,” Charles says from his spot next to you.

His arm is slung around your shoulders, his race suit tied around his waist, just like yours. You take it in from Alex’s viewpoint- the proximity, the fact that you’re even letting him touch you, and the look on his face makes sense.

“Hey, did you know Charles doesn’t actually hate me?” You ask Alex, and next to you, your teammate laughs.

“I told you that a million times,” Alex deadpans.

“Huh. Weird.” You shrug. “We should go, the briefing starts in five minutes.”

Alex trails behind the two of you, quiet the whole way there. Charles peels off when you arrive and stops to say hi to Max. George is already sitting down in a chair near the front. You sit down next to him, eyes tracing over him like you’re looking for injuries. Alex sits on his other side.

“I’m fine,” George says, nudging your shoulder lightly.

“Excuse me if I’m worried,” you say with a roll of your eyes.

Alex opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, someone sits down next to you and elbows you lightly. It’s Charles, a cold water bottle in hand, extended towards you. You take it eagerly. His knee nudges against yours, and you nudge him back. You thank him, opening the water bottle and taking a drink.

“Mate, I think I hit my head harder than I realized,” George whispers to Alex.

“Nope, you’re seeing correctly,” Alex says, holding his hands up when George turns towards him. “I don’t know either!”

…..

It turns out that when you’re not busy thinking Charles hates you, and hating him back, he’s actually pretty fun to be around. The two of you have nearly everyone else bewildered for the next few races, because you’re suddenly attached at the hip. You’ve always been civil in public, but this is a different story.

In briefings, Charles saves you a seat, and Alex and George have to fight over who gets to sit next to you. You eat lunches and dinners together in the paddock, out in the open at a patio table. Charles brings you coffee in the mornings, and you bring him pastries. During breaks, the two of you can often be found hunched over your phone, watching YouTube videos together. You have a surprising amount in common. You wonder how you never saw it before.

Charles even takes you with him to play padel one morning, brings you a half hour early to try and show you how. When George and Alex show up to play against you, they stare at you in confusion for a solid thirty seconds.

“You don’t understand,” Alex says over lunch with you and Lily later that day. “He had his hand on her waist.”

Lily is the only one who hadn’t been surprised. She shrugs.

“He was correcting my posture,” you say. “Alex is just mad that I beat him.”

“Charles beat me, you were just on his team,” Alex corrects. He’s not exactly wrong. “Come on, like, two months ago she hated his guts. Tell me this isn’t crazy, Lil. I think we need an intervention.”

“You know, I don’t think you’re supposed to talk about the intervention in front of the intervention-ee,” you say, stirring your pasta. “Intervention-ette?”

“She’s fine,” Lily says, smiling at you. “She’s just finding out that hate and love are a lot more similar than you’d think.”

You drop your fork, wincing when it clatters. “I don’t love him.”

Lily cocks her head at you. You freeze. Alex is looking back and forth between the two of you like it’s a tennis match. You can feel your face growing hot.

“I don’t,” you repeat. “We’re friends, that’s all.”

Lily blinks, feigns surprise. “I never said anything about romantic love.”

You swallow. “Yeah, but that’s what you meant-“

“That’s what you assumed I meant,” she says, and you blink.

There are butterflies in your stomach- where did those come from? You definitely don’t love Charles. Like Alex said- two months ago, you hated him. Well, you hated that he hated you. You hated the way you thought he was treating you. But now, in a different light, his actions seem a bit endearing. You’re just swept up in the new friendship, that’s all. Lily’s reading too far into it.

You tell her as much, and she drops the subject. Alex seems happy to move on, a bit unprepared to handle the whole conversation. But Lily watches you, and you can’t help but feel like maybe she knows something you don’t.

…..

It sticks in your head, is the thing. Hate and love are a lot more similar than you think. And to be honest, it sort of makes sense. Both very strong emotions, both making your chest feel tight and your cheeks feel hot. You’re not in love with Charles, though. You can’t be. He’s just- a friend. He’s a friend, and it’s new, and of course you’re going to spend time together. You’re getting to know each other! This is normal, this is teammate bonding like you were supposed to do when you joined the team.

It’s not weird that Charles introduces you to his family when they come to one of the races. It’s not weird that you’re inviting him out for drinks when you go out with George and Alex after a race. It’s not weird that you start actually playing padel and asking him to help you practice- it’s fun, and he’s good at it, that’s all.

Then you’re out at a club in Monaco one night, surrounded by other drivers. You go to leave, Lily tugging on your hand. The two of you are having a sleepover without Alex. You’re saying your goodbyes, waving and smiling and-

Charles grabs onto you, hauls you into a hug. He’s a little tipsy, you think, but not drunk. You laugh and lean into the hug, wrap your arms around him, breathe in the smell of his cologne and laundry detergent. Then he pulls away, puts his hands on your shoulders, and kisses both of your cheeks.

Butterflies erupt in your stomach. Lily has to drag you away as you giggle before you make a fool of yourself. Charles waves and smiles brightly when you turn around. You burst out onto the sidewalk and cover your face in your hands. Really, it means nothing. It’s just his way of greeting people or saying goodbye, it’s a thing he does. But your chest feels warm and your head is swimming, and it’s not the alcohol.

“Oh, shit,” you say to Lily, who’s smiling at you.

“Love and hate,” she reminds you.

…..

You swear Lily to secrecy, and though she loves Alex, she would never sell you out, thank god. You’re determined to act like everything is normal. You can’t be in love with your teammate. That would be crazy. It would be awful. It would be everything that everyone has ever said about female drivers, all confirmed. You’d get torn apart on the internet.

It’s not easy, though, because it’s Charles. Because he’s sweet and kind and handsome, and he cares about you. He doesn’t hate you. He wants to spend time with you, all the time. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but you think they’ve got it backwards. Maybe there’s a second part- presence makes the heart go crazy.

When you qualify in pole position for the first time in your F1 career, you have a panic attack. It’s a massive one, one that has your legs giving out and leaves you hyperventilating. It’s bad enough that Charles almost goes and gets George or Alex, but you beg him to stay with you, so he does. Eventually, he just wraps you up tightly in his arms and holds you there until you can breathe again.

“I’m not going to be able to do it,” you sniffle, as he runs his hand over your hair and rocks you from side to side. “I’m gonna crash on the first turn and then everyone is gonna be right, and I’ll lose my seat, and then-“

“No, amour, that is not going to happen,” Charles soothes, chest rumbling against you. “It is not. You are going to do just fine.”

“But what if I don’t? What if I can’t win, what if I don’t do it-“

“Then you will try again next time,” he says, so sure of it, like he can see the future. “You are starting on pole tomorrow. It’s scary, I know. But it’s just another race. You just… go out and give it your all. The same way you do every weekend.”

“You’ll keep them away from me?” You ask. Charles is starting third.

“No,” he scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his lips. For just a moment, your heart breaks. Then, he says, “I will not need to. You will be so far ahead you’ll forget anyone else is even there.”

You laugh, press your teary face into his chest. “Shut up.”

…..

You check your rear views before the race starts, something comforting running through your veins when you see Charles behind you. You can’t see his face, can barely see his helmet, but you see the red. Then the lights go out, and he disappears in a blur. Give it all you got, you hear, unsure if it’s your race engineer or you or a voice in your head. You hold your breath for the first few turns, maybe for the whole first lap. And then your race engineer is talking about gaps and clean air and tire management, and you’re looking ahead, trying to see what car you need to try and pass next, trying to tell if you’re in DRS range, and then-

There’s nobody in front of you. Clean air. You’re in first. You’re leading the Grand Prix.

When you come careening over the line at the end of the race, when you see the checkered flag first, when you spot your crew on the pit wall, you swear your heart is going to beat out of your chest. Your race engineer is yelling in excitement. You think you’re yelling too, but you have no idea what you’re saying. It doesn’t matter.

You pull the car into the first place slot and climb out. You have to wrack your brain to remember what you’re supposed to do- it’s been so long since you’ve won a race, back when you were still in F2. Hug the team, get weighed, shake hands, grab the hat- Someone grabs your arm. You spin around and come face to face with Ferrari red. Charles.

He pulls you into a tight hug. Your helmets knock together. He’s saying something, over and over again.

“-told you, I told you, I knew you would do it,” he says. “I’m so proud of you.”

Charles takes your helmet and balaclava for you when you finally get them off. He takes his off too, and his face is red, dimples deep as he grins at you. He’s finished 7th, he tells you. Got passed in the first lap and never recovered.

“-told you you didn’t need me defending,” he says, and you’re laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You did so fucking good-“

The butterflies are going crazy in your stomach. You want to kiss him. The helmet has left a little indent on his cheek- you want to run your finger over it. But there are so many cameras and people watching, and suddenly you’re being pulled away from him, sent to the cool down room. Then it’s shaking hands with Max and Lewis again, watching the race highlights, basking in the excitement of it all. There’s the podium, the champagne, the trophy that you don’t let go of until you get back to the Ferrari garage. The giant group photo with the trophy, more champagne dumped over your head, Charles lost in the sea of red somewhere. It’s all such a blur.

You finally stumble back to your driver’s room, in a rush to change out of your race kit and grab your stuff. Someone has rented out a bar- they apparently did it when you qualified on pole, and didn’t tell you for fear of jinxing it. You text George and Alex, tell them where to meet you. With your stuff in hand, in a pair of sweatpants and a Ferrari sweatshirt, you finally stop and look in the mirror.

F1 Grand Prix winner.

There’s a knock on the door. You open it and find Charles standing there, in a very similar outfit. The line on his face has faded, but his hair is still a mess. You step back from the door and give him room to step inside. He’s staring at you, a soft look on his face. You’re holding your breath again. It’s the first lap. You just have to make it through the turns, get out ahead into clean air. His lips are parted, eyes wide and sparkling.

His hands are shaky when they cup your face. Yours are even shakier when you fist your hands in his sweatshirt. But the kiss he pulls you into is steady and sure and true. You melt into him, shoving your hands under his sweatshirt as he pulls you close with an arm around your waist. You reach up, thread your fingers through his hair, let his tongue slip into your mouth.

When he pulls away, his eyes are wild.

“We have to go,” he says, squeezing your hip. “You have a party to be at. Also, you are so pretty.”

You can remember the way he looked at you at the start of the season. How you thought the fire in his eyes was going to burn you alive. You’d stoked your own fire to burn him up first. Now you’re blazing, and you never want the fire to go out.

“I can’t believe I thought you hated me,” you say, muffling a laugh into his chest. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Of course,” he says. He cups your face in his hands again and presses another kiss to your lips. “And tomorrow, you are coming on a date with me, right?”

You laugh, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Of course.”

“Perfect,” he says, kissing your forehead and then letting you go. “Come on, winner. You have so many people waiting to buy you drinks.”

…..

When you walk into the bar hand in hand with Charles, Lily slams her hand down on the table.

“Pay up, boys,” she says, a wide grin on her face.

“Never in a million years did I see that coming,” George says.

“I’m never betting against Lily ever again,” Alex adds.

Max leans down over the table, holding his hand out, too. George and Alex groan and start pulling cash from their wallets.

“Hate and love,” Max says, a smirk on his face. “Very thin line, huh?”

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