“On The Night I Feel That Thing Again, The Hunger That Overtook Me On The Beach, I Know This Would

“On the night I feel that thing again, the hunger that overtook me on the beach, I know this would have happened anyway.”

little treasures, life's pleasures

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Now that Soap knows when to pay attention, he realizes you and Ghost aren't as subtle as you think you are. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: mentions of blood, injuries, swearing Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one.

You don’t use your married name, Soap discovers.

Honestly, he gets it; Simon Riley is allegedly dead to the world with a seemingly endless list of enemies who’d love to get their hands on anything they could use to bring down The Ghost and, based on what Soap saw in your file, you’ve acquired quite the list of enemies yourself. If he were in either of your shoes, Soap would probably do the same.

He stands to the side, leaning with his back to the wall as Price talks about…something? Soap knows he should be paying attention- he had fully intended to, he swears- but then you and Ghost showed up, sitting down right next to each other. There’s an appropriate amount of distance between your chairs, but at the top of the meeting, Ghost folds his arms and leans back, long legs spread just wide enough for his knee to lightly tap against yours, and Soap immediately loses all interest in everything else.

He keeps his eyes on Price, giving the illusion that he’s listening, but angles his head just enough to see you and Ghost through his peripherals. You’re both staring straight ahead, fully focused on whatever Price is talking about, but every so often Ghost shifts just so and nudges his knee against yours. It’s a subtle movement, not something you’d notice if you weren’t looking for it, and happens once every fifteen minutes or so.

Around the forty-five-minute mark, Price asks you a question and you lean forward, answering to the best of your knowledge. Ghost shifts, sitting up a little straighter, watching as you and Price go back and forth. When you’ve finished talking, and Price is satisfied with your answers, you lean back in your chair and Soap sees Ghost's knee nudge against yours once more. He catches your quick glance over to Ghost, though he’s back to paying attention to Price, and the way you try to hide your smile by pretending to scratch the tip of your nose.

The next time Ghost shifts, you meet him in the middle and set your knee against his, staying that way for the remainder of the meeting.

If Soap thought Ghost's hovering was bad when you were recovering from your leg injury after Las Almas, he doesn’t want to know what Ghost will be like after this.

He’ll probably move his bed into the infirmary, Soap laughs to himself as he wraps bandages around your poorly patched head. The ambush had taken the team by surprise, with a private quickly ushering you away for safety. Unfortunately, “safety” turned out to be in the direct line of an oncoming grenade and the ensuing explosion knocked you head-first into a nearby humvee.

You don’t remember much after that. At some point after the fight, you're picked up, then placed in the passenger seat of the humvee. Someone orders you to talk Soap through bandaging the bleeding slice on the side of your head before Soap appears holding a roll of gauze and a canteen of water.

(Soap assumes it’s to give you something to concentrate on so you don’t fall asleep and worsen your concussion, but you know it’s so Ghost can find the private in charge of your safety and give him the dressing down of a lifetime.)

“You’re wrapping my eye, Soap,” you groan, leaning slightly away from him. He curses under his breath, unraveling the last loop of bandages.

“Sorry, Doc. Not as good at this as you,” Soap jokes.

“You were doing fine until you tried to turn me into a pirate.” Soap scoffs in mock offense and playfully nudges your shoulder. He readjusts the bandage near your left ear, moving it up just slightly when he sees the thin black lines peeking out from the bottom. Curiosity overtakes him, as he “adjusts” your bandages again, lifting the bottom to reveal a simple outline of a skull he knows all too well tattooed in black ink just behind your ear.

“How’re we doing?”

Soap slides the bandage back down at the sudden sound of Ghost’s voice as the Lieutenant approaches the humvee.

“All good to go,” Soap says, clapping his hands and stepping back. You feel around the bandages, humming in satisfaction.

“Not bad, Soap,” you smile at him, “keep practicing and you might put me out of a job.” You give him a wink before pushing forward to stand on your feet. You stumble only a little, using the humvee door for balance and Soap doesn’t miss the slight way Ghost’s hands flinch to help you before you right yourself.

“Five minutes and I’ll be ready to move,” you nod to Ghost.

“I’ll hold you to that.” There’s a brief moment, where Ghost’s intense gaze focuses directly on you, eyes moving back and forth between your head wound and your face. His shoulders tense, hands flexing into fists before he looks towards Soap and the moment’s gone.

“Let’s go, Sergeant,” Ghost calls, walking past Soap towards the other vehicles. Soap follows, turning back just once to see the private who had been with you approach you sheepishly, eyes cast down at the ground. You set a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, saying something Soap’s too far away to hear, and turn to lead him back to your vehicle.

It isn’t his intention to end up in the infirmary first thing in the morning, but Soap’s day seems to be off to a particularly shitty start as he wakes up with the mother of all migraines. He’s tempted to power through it, but as soon as he sits up the world spins, and feels so nauseous he considers it a miracle he didn’t immediately puke right there.

It takes him a while to make his way to the infirmary, but he gets there without incident. One hand rubbing his temple, Soap leans forward to push the infirmary door open. It swings open before he can reach the crash bar and he nearly falls forward, almost colliding into Ghost.

“Screamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap curses, stepping back to allow Ghost out of the infirmary.

“You alright, Johnny?”

“‘m fine, Lt,” Soap sighs, giving Ghost a half-smile and lazy thumbs-up. Ghost doesn’t seem to believe him, but then again, Ghost’s face is just like that so Soap’s not sure if his excuse works. “Just wanted to say mornin’ to the Doc.”

“Right…” Ghost’s eyes travel over Soap, narrowing slightly as he looks back up at Soap’s face. His eyes seem darker, Soap thinks, and when he looks closer he notices the crease of fresh paint on Ghost’s eyelids. They stand for a moment, silently scrutinizing each other before Soap breaks the tension.

“You been up a while?” Soap asks even though he knows the answer. It’s not uncommon in their line of work to have uneven sleep patterns, but Ghost has one of the most fucked up sleeping schedule Soap has ever seen; Soap isn’t sure he’s ever actually seen Ghost sleep for more than a thirty-minute power nap.

“For a few hours. The Doc needed my help with something,” Ghost shrugs, “heading down to the practice range now, if you care to join?”

“Sure, I’ll be there in a bit.”

Ghost nods, starting down the hallway, “Take your time,” he calls back towards Soap, “no sense in rushing. We both know I'm the better shot anyways.”

Cheeky fucker.

Soap rolls his eyes, pushing the infirmary door open and stepping inside. He finds you at your desk in the back, sorting through reports, and sipping from a small mug filled with steaming tea.

“Mornin’, Doc.” You look up in surprise, smiling as Soap pulls up a chair on the other side of your desk.

“Good morning! Something I can help you with?”

“Got anything for a migraine?”

“Ouch,” you grimace at him, “lemme see what I got for you.” You down the rest of your tea, setting the mug back on your desk as you begin rifling through the drawers. Soap exhales in relief, scrubbing a hand down his face and pressing into his closed eyes to try and distract from the pain. He opens one eye as you hum, but you’re still looking through your desk, picking through pill bottles.

Soap takes the time to look over your desk; you have a system of organized chaos composed of stacks of folders, sticky notes, two mugs, an impressive collection of colorful paperclips, a pile of labeled pens, and-

-Wait.

He looks back, checking to make sure he isn’t seeing things, and, yes, two empty mugs are sitting atop your desk. He knows which one is yours- it’s the same one you always use- the adorably round one painted to look like a sheet ghost (a joke Soap is just now getting), but the solid black one next to yours is unfamiliar.

“Aha!” You find the bottle you’re looking for and hold it out to Soap. “Take two of these, and grab some food. It should kick in in about thirty minutes to an hour.” Soap reaches to grab the pill bottle, but his attention is pulled towards your hand that appears to be smeared with a black…something? He takes the bottle and examines the faint black fingerprints staining the orange plastic.

“What happened?” he asks, nodding toward your hands.

“Oh!” You examine your hands, rubbing some of the excess stuff off. “One of my pens broke and the ink got everywhere. I thought I got all of it, sorry-” Soap shrugs noncommittally, “-guess we’re both having one of those mornings, huh? Here, let me get you some water to take those with.” You stand, grab both mugs, and disappear to the other side of the infirmary. Soap pops the pill bottle open, eyes roaming over your desk as he fishes out two of the chalky blue pills.

With the mugs gone, he has a better view of the right side of your desk and, more importantly, what had been sitting behind them: an opened and well-used circular tin of standard-issue black camouflage face paint. He doesn’t know how he didn’t put two-and-two together as soon as he saw your hands, but he’ll blame the migraine in this case.

The Doc asked me to help with something, my arse.

It’s one of the hottest days on record so, of course, it only stands that today would be the day for the A/C to go out.

You’ve had more people coming in and out of your infirmary in the last six hours than you’ve had in the past six months. Handing out ice packs like candy on Halloween and treating multiple cases of almost-heat stroke, you’ve been nothing short of slammed since you walked into the infirmary this morning. Like everyone else, you’re miserable in the sweltering heat, your jacket hanging wide open and sleeves rolled up above your elbows. It does little to help.

“Got a delivery for you, Doc,” Soap calls out, waltzing into the infirmary during the first lull you’ve had since morning. He holds out a tall thermos, shaking it so you can hear something sloshing inside. He’s abandoned his ACU jacket, standing there in a black cotton beater, smiling widely, but you can see the beads of sweat rolling down his face and collecting on his collarbone. “Ice water, fresh from the mess.”

“John MacTavish, you are my hero.” You snatch the thermos from his hands, gulping down the chilling water and letting out an obscene groan.

“Well, it’s nice to finally be appreciated,” Soap winks. You hum, flopping down into an empty chair and leaning back to take another swig from the thermos.

“Any word on the A/C?” you ask between frantic sips. Once you’ve had your fill, you hold the thermos loosely in your hand as you lean back in your chair.

“Nothing yet. Price said…” Soap trails off as you grab the collar of your own beater and pull at it in a poor attempt to fan yourself. It’s not so much the action that catches his attention, but the small metal chain around your neck with two solid black rings hanging from it. Soap’s never been married before, but he knows a wedding ring when he sees one. Though the fact you’re wearing both rings only leads to more questions. He supposes Ghost has never seemed the type to wear jewelry. Then again, Ghost never seemed the type for marriage, either.

“Price said…?”

“Huh?” Soap snaps his eyes back up to your face, praying that you hadn’t just caught him staring near your chest, but you have your head leaned back with your eyes shut tight and the frigid metal of the thermos pressed against your forehead.

“You said, Price said…and then stopped?”

“Right! Right, yeah, he said it should be fixed by this evening.” You groan in disgust and sluggishly sit up in your chair. You move the thermos from your forehead to your neck, sighing as the chilled metal meets your overheated skin, but all Soap can focus on is the necklace that now hangs outside of your shirt. The rings clink together softly as you move, setting the thermos down and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“I-”

Soap turns as the doors swing open and another medic rushes in. “Incoming, Doc: two more passed out on the practice range!”

Soap turns back to you and finds the necklace tucked back into your shirt as you chug the last of your water. You toss him the empty thermos with a thankful smile.

“No rest for the wicked, eh Soap?”

Missions don’t often go wrong for the 141, but it does happen on occasion. However, they’ve never had a mission end with this many injured before.

You already dismissed Price, his injuries treated with strict orders for three days of bed rest, at least. Gaz had been a bit more extensive and, while you were tempted to keep him overnight, he assured you he was fine enough to sleep in his own cot. You let him go but stressed that if he felt off in any sort of way, to hightail it back to the infirmary.

Which left Ghost and Soap. Between the two of them, it took you and two other medics a full thirty-six hours to finally get them stable and it was another full day before either of them woke up. You let them rest, waiting until they’ve gotten enough strength to be relatively back to normal before you tell the other medics you’ll take over and they can worry about other patients.

You wait until the three of you are alone to lay into them, a week’s worth of built-up frustration, stress, and worry spilling out of you.

“Why is it always you two? I swear, every heli Price gets in is shot down and crashes in some fiery explosion, and still, you two manage to outdo any injury he’s ever gotten!”

Soap, at least, has the sense to look ashamed as you pace around the room, airing every grievance you can think of. Ghost’s eyes follow your every step, but he says nothing, taking every insult you throw. Your rant lasts for nearly an hour before you collapse into a chair and cover your face with your hands, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyelids. They can hear you taking deep breaths, counting backward from ten under your breath.

“Sorry for worryin’ ya, Doc,” Soap speaks softly. You sigh, dropping your hands to your lap.

“S’alright, I just…want you to be more careful.” You don’t look at either of them as you sit up, one hand coming up to massage your neck. Guilt crawls up his spine as Soap takes in the deep bags under your eyes and the weighted hunch of your shoulders. “Try and get some rest, both of you. We’ll see how you’re feeling in the morning.” With that, you head back to your desk, busying yourself with catching up on reports.

He isn’t sure what wakes him, but when Soap opens his eyes, it’s nearly pitch black with the clock reading 3:11 a.m. in bright red. He shifts, trying not to tear his stitches as he gets more comfortable, and turns to his right to check on Ghost. He finds the curtain between their beds drawn just enough so that he can barely see Ghost’s head from where he’s laying and a soft light from one of the bedside lamps glowing behind it.

“Two’s the perfect number, in my opinion.” That’s your voice, murmuring softly from the other side of the curtain. Quietly, and carefully, Soap pushes himself up further in his bed, sitting up so he can angle his head to see around the curtain. When he does, he immediately sinks his teeth into his cheek to keep from making noise.

Ghost is sitting up, propped up by an army of pillows and you’re sitting on a low stool on the right side of his bed with your back to him so you can stretch back and lay your head in his lap. His right hand is draped over you, lightly running his fingers over the set of rings on your necklace as you talk.

“I think three would be too many, plus then we’d have to deal with the whole middle child syndrome thing.”

…what are you talking about?

“Two’s it for you, huh?” Ghost asks, the tiredness evident in his already gruff voice.

“Yeah-” you turn your head and smile up at him, “-a boy and a girl. Not sure about names, though. For a girl, I was originally thinking Kate, after Laswell, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am about it. Then I was thinking we could name her after one of the guys, but the only one whose name would even work would be Kyle’s; we could turn that into Kylie. What do you think?” There’s a long silence as Ghost stares down at the rings sitting against your chest. It lasts so long, Soap starts to think Ghost has fallen asleep when the man suddenly gathers the rings in his hand, staring down at the black metal in his palm.

“Spent a lot of time thinking about this, have you?” he asks. When you don’t answer, he calls your name, quiet but firm, and you sigh.

“It’s just a fantasy,” you whisper, ”like how people talk about what they’ll do when they win the lottery.”

“So, you don’t want-”

“With you, of course, I do.” One of your hands slides gently up his torso, stopping at the extensive bandages wrapped around his chest, while the other absently fiddles with the hair on the left side of your head, skirting over the scar left by the humvee. “But do you honestly think we’ll live long enough for it to happen?”

The room lapses into silence, the only sound a soft echo of the ticking clock beside Soap’s bed. I shouldn’t be listening to this, Soap thinks to himself. He carefully maneuvers himself back down the bed, going even further to lay facing away from the curtain, and you, and Ghost, and any talks of children and impossible futures. He squeezes his eyes shut in a futile attempt at sleep, but his mind is going a million miles a minute and Soap knows he won’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.

Several long minutes pass by in the quiet dark, before Ghost speaks again, “What would you name him?”

“Hm?”

“The boy, what would you name him?”

Your answer is instant.

“Thomas.”

10K notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

10 months ago

🎃Wildcard | Jason Todd x Reader🎃

↳ Pairing : TitansDCverse!Jason Todd x Virgin!Reader

↳ Rating : E (18+ minors dni‼️)

↳ Summary : A round of Cards Against Humanity gets a little wild during “Game Night” at Titans Tower

↳ W.C : ~3.4k

↳ A/N : welcome to spooky season. this is my first ever fic for kinktober🧡👻 idk if this is controversial buuut I love that actor’s portrayal of Jason🫣

↳ Tags + Warnings: dubcon elements, oral (male receiving), face-fucking, orgy, stripping, degradation (“slut”), coercion, alcohol consumption (beer), teabagging, bullyish!jason x shyish!reader, reader wears glasses, reader is a virgin, jason is kinda a dickhead lol, side characters (rachel, rose, gar, and conner) are there, for sake of convenience they’re all 21+

“Oh come on,” Jason groaned exasperatedly as you set your glasses on the coffee table. “Glasses don’t fucking count!”

After a successful mission and saving the world for the hundredth time, the Titans decided to unwind in the best way they knew how: a night in with board games and beer.

As usual, Jason had tried to make the games a little bit more exciting by adding a “fun twist”. Jenga became a drinking game; drink if you make the tower fall. Uno had become “draw or dare”, you could choose to draw four cards or get off scot-free by doing a dare.

The “grownups” of the team—Dick, Kory, Hank, and Dawn— had excused themselves to do “grownup things” leaving you and the remaining group of young adults in the living room. Currently, you were now in the middle of another particularly heated game of Cards Against Humanity, the interesting twist being the person with the best card could choose for someone to strip an article of clothing.

Jason had been targeting you the whole night; teasing you for the baggy clothes you always wore. Purposely, just to annoy him, you’d only taken off your accessories and your zip-up hoodie.

Admittedly the clothes you wore didn’t really fit you right. You’d opted to wear oversized sweaters over fitted shirts, and unflattering pants over a more hip-hugging and slimming fit. Before you became a Titan, you were shyer than you were now. It had only been recently when you started to come out of your shell and get closer to your teammates.

“Be for real. Glasses do so count!” You retorted. You had all but discarded your outer layers and were now left in pants and a tank top. You could take up a few turns with your socks and shoes if you needed to.

“Why do you guys wear so many layers?” Gar piped up. All he had on were his boxers and a single sock. Conner, who was sitting next to him, was equally fucked, only, with no socks as a buffer.

“Because we play idiotic games like this,” Rachel remarked dryly while drawing an extra card from the pile.

You and Rachel were the only ones currently safe from any unnecessary exposure. Rachel did wear a lot of layers, and despite having lost multiple rounds, still looked very much clothed. Rose sat far off on the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal looking on with about as much judgment as a girl with one working eye could.

“You know, offer still stands. You can still join us, Rose,” Jason addressed the grey-haired, eye-patch-wearing girl without looking up from the cards in his hands.

“Hard pass. I’d rather watch you losers get destroyed.” She then unceremoniously returned to munching on her cornflakes.

Your gaze settled on Jason who’d shed his leather jacket and still remained in a plain black tee and jeans. He was unfairly attractive in the most basic of clothes. And though you hated his playground jibes and dirty humor, you couldn’t help but develop a little bit of a crush on the messy-haired boy. When his eyes caught yours, you could see the wheels in his brain practically turning as his smirk grew wider.

“How about…” He started slowly, “Boys versus girls. If you guys win, then we’ll get naked. If we win, you guys get naked.”

Of course he would suggest that, you thought to yourself glumly. The thought of showing your naked body to your crush didn’t excite you, it only made you more nervous.

“You’re just saying that ‘cuz you’re losing,” you said, masking your anxiety with a chug of your beer, “Conner’s literally only got his underwear left.”

Conner, hearing his name, suddenly perked up. “For the record, I have x-ray vision. I can already see everything anywa—” Gar nudged him in the ribs to keep him from talking.

Jason shook his head. “It’s no fun if we already know who’s gonna win. Let’s vote on it then. Who here agrees to a wildcard match?” He raised his hand, and predictably the two other boys followed suit. “And who wants to play the way we’ve been playing; the boring virgin Y/N way?” He taunted cheekily.

You felt your cheeks warm again. He was never letting you live down the fact that you had confessed you were still a virgin during a past game of “Never Have I Ever”. You raised your hand and looked around for support. “Rachel,” you hissed desperately when you found she had not raised her hand.

“Seriously? They suck at this game. It’s not like they’re gonna suddenly win out of nowhere," Rachel whispered back.

“In that case, I’ll play too,” Rose hopped off the counter and plopped on the couch next to you.

“So nice of you to finally join us,” Jason crooned. “I’ll let you do the honors.” He passed her the deck he’d been shuffling for her to deal and sat back.

After Rose had dealt all the cards, you looked at your hand. The deck you were playing with was a custom-made deck that Dick had ordered to round out the Tower’s impressive board game collection.

As a collective, you all pooled in ideas resulting in a deck of cards ranging from the peculiar to the mundane; from “taking shots off Nightwing’s ass”; to “Batman’s Worst Nightmare”; to names of each of your superhero aliases including all of the Justice League. For some reason, however, all the cards in your current hand were names.

“Make me laugh,” Rose ordered primly as she set down her card and folded her arms in expectation. It read:

“If I could fuck anyone right now, I would fuck ______”

“Damn,” Rachel sounded impressed, “that’s certainly one way to start a round.”

Gar immediately threw his card down, followed by Rachel, then Jason. Only Conner and you were left.

“Time’s ticking Y/N,” Jason tapped a nonexistent watch on his wrist. Usually you would fire a comeback at him, but this time you could only frown as you chose your safest option and slid it tentatively over to the pile in the middle.

“Time’s up, Conner,” Rose said as she gathered the cards. He passed it over face down, obviously not very happy about his choice.

“Okay, we have a ‘Wonder Woman’, a ‘Poison Ivy’….” She glanced around the room to see if anyone would give themselves away. “A ‘Robin’—wait...” She barked out a laugh. “I can’t not address this. I pick this one. Who fucking put down Robin?”

The room erupted into fits of laughter rivaling a high school classroom as they watched you sigh and bashfully raise your hand.

“Oh, would you now?” Jason raised a curious eyebrow at you.

“I-in my defense, there’s more than one Robin,” you sputtered pitifully before he could tease you further. You watched him stand up and begin to raise his shirt, giving you an eyeful of v-line and toned midriff. “W-what are you doing! I didn’t pick you!”

Despite being only in a tank top, you felt yourself getting hot. Gar and Conner had equally toned bodies, but they weren’t affecting you the way Jason had been. Just to spite you, he kept his eyes on yours as he raised his shirt as suggestively as possible, bringing it up over his head and tossing it in a pile on his leather jacket.

“Just giving the person who wants to ‘fuck me right now’ a little preview.” He said, smile smug like he was doing charity for letting you see his 6-pack.

Yea, real fucking Mother Theresa.

“Well, too bad I can barely see it.” You waved a hand in front of your face, “No glasses remember?”

“Come sit on my lap, mama, I’ll give you a closer look.” Jason plopped back on the sofa, abs flexing as he reclined with his legs spread wide, inviting you to sit with a pat on his thigh and a wicked smirk to match.

“Ugh, gross,” Rose made a face but appeared to be humored by Jason’s antics.

“Anyway,” you interrupted desperately trying to change the subject. “Since I won, technically that means the girls won too. Rules are rules.”

You had barely even finished your sentence when the boys immediately moved to take off their clothes. Your mouth went dry as they sat nonchalantly before you now, cocks resting against their stomachs.

In any other situation, you’d probably find this extremely inappropriate. They were your teammates. Sure, you lived together and had walked in on the occasional member changing or just getting out of the shower, but you were a bit buzzed off of the booze already, and this was different— you couldn’t help but stare.

“So uh…what now?” Gar’s nervous laugh broke the silence and everyone turned towards him; he blushed under the newfound attention.

“New game?” Conner suggested. He appeared to be just as clueless as Gar but with less of the blushing.

Rose looked over at you and Rachel for guidance, but seeing as neither of you knew how to react, the grey-haired girl merely shrugged back at the boys. “I’m down.”

“Ok, new game,” Jason agreed. “If you can make all of us cum in 10 minutes then the girls can get TV remote control privileges for the rest of the year.”

“All of you including Conner?” You asked brow raised, “He’s a super, that’s not fair.”

“What? It’s not like he has ‘super cum control’ too.”

“Actually, yea I—”

“Don’t answer that,” Jason cut in, annoyed. “Ok fine, I’ll give a handicap. If you can make one of us cum in 5 minutes untouched then the TV’s all yours.”

“Do you think we’re stupid, Todd?” Rachel narrowed her eyes at him.

“Well…” He paused and tapped a finger to his chin to consider Rachel’s rhetorical question, flinching playfully when she raised her fist to jab in his direction. “Ok ok, but 5 minutes is a long time!”

“I meant the untouched part.”

“Your handicap is you can’t touch us, and our handicap is Logan.” He jabbed a thumb to gesture at Gar who looked like he was meditating to calm himself down. “He’ll probably reach the big ‘O’ before he reaches nirvana.”

“Deal, but if it’s gonna be like that then let’s raise the stakes a little.” Rose countered. “Not just remote control privileges. We get control privileges. Over you guys. If we win, you have to do whatever we say for the rest of the year.”

Jason fished his phone out from the pocket of his jacket and set the timer for 5 minutes. “And if we win, the same for us too.” He started the timer and sat back.

You, Rachel, and Rose made a beeline for Gar, who’d still had his eyes squeezed closed in the middle of the sofa.

“Fuckin’ hell, I should’ve known you’d try ‘n cheat,” Jason grumbled and stopped the timer. “No double or triple-teaming. One to one only and I get to choose the pairs.”

“And why should you be the one to choose that?” You turned toward him, trying (and failing) not to look at his dick. It was long and thick, with a slight curve and a pretty pink color at the tip.

“‘Cuz you wanna fuck me so bad,” he simpered, an impish grin playing on his lips.

“Oh god,” You rolled your eyes.

“Let him choose,” Rose challenged unfazed at Jason’s constant goalpost moving. “Whatever strategy he thinks he has isn’t gonna work.”

Jason ignored her and carried on with making the pairs. “Rachel and Conner, Rose and Gar.” He pointed directly at you, “You and me.”

Upon his directions, the three of you moved to stand in front of your now-designated partners. Finally satisfied, Jason set the timer again and pressed start. Almost immediately Rachel and Rose set to work on their mission, stripping their clothes down to their underwear. You tentatively followed suit, shimmying out of your jeans and kicking them aside. Jason eyed you, fully reclined in his seat with his hands comfortably behind his head.

“Well, this is gonna be easier than I thought,” He yawned, looking as nonchalant as ever.

“I doubt your porn-addled brain has ever seen a real woman before, Jason.” The taunts you directed at him should’ve sounded more confident, but instead were dulled by your nervous fidgeting at the hem of your shirt.

This was the first time you’d ever been half-naked in front of a boy. And not just any boy, but a boy you liked. But the way he always seemed to tease you and make sexually insensitive jokes at your expense made you anxious. It wasn’t overt bullying, but the little comments he would sneak here and there were beginning to eat at you. If you showed him any more of your body, would he make fun of you even more?

“Trust me, I’ve seen plenty,” He assured, “But how ‘bout you jog my memory and demonstrate?” His gaze moved down your chest and back up to your eyes, daring you to take it off.

You fidgeted again under his stare, feeling a sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. It was a mix of anxiety, embarrassment, and something else you could quite place. When you glanced over to the other pairs, Rachel had already taken her top off and Rose was in the middle of a strip tease.

“Four minutes,” Jason announced, with a bored expression.

Feeling a sense of urgency, you pulled off your tank top, exposing your lacy bra. When his dick twitched, both your eyes shifted to the hardening situation in his lap. You could see him fighting the urge to touch himself now, and that gave you a burst of confidence.

Rachel and Rose were now in between Gar and Conner’s legs, not touching them, but teasing them by blowing hot air on their cocks. You followed suit, with only three minutes left you had to do something. After all, forfeiting your will to the whims of three boys with raging hormones didn’t seem like a fun idea, especially since you knew how playfully vindictive they could get. They’d probably try and make you human furniture or whatever other sick and twisted thing they could think of. You shuddered at the thought of the kind of torture they could come up with.

You sank to your knees and sat between Jason’s legs. You watched him involuntarily swallow and sit up straighter, pulling his hands down from his head to steady himself and clutch at the couch cushion beneath him.

“Three minutes,” Jason glanced at his phone, but he wasn’t as confident as he was before. If anything, he seemed much more distracted by your presence at his feet.

Satisfied with his change in demeanor, you only smiled at him, fluttering your lashes at him as you brought your mouth closer to his balls. You opened your mouth and exhaled softly.

He hastily brought a hand to his cock—beads of precum already spilling from its tip—and made minute motions with the pad of his thumb to calm himself down. His chest raised with shallow breaths as he looked down at you now, eyes heavily lidded with lust and wanting.

“Fuck it—” He hissed and without warning, reached his other hand around the back of your head, pushing your nose into his balls as he began to jerk off. Your eyes widened, taken by surprise at his sudden actions.

From where you were kneeling you could already see Rachel and Rose giving their partners full-on blowjobs, completely forgetting the game they had agreed to earlier. The sensation in your stomach moved down to your clothed sex, and you could feel a tingling sensation as he rubbed your face obscenely against his balls, moaning with need.

“Open your mouth —oh fuck— please.” His voice sounded strangled as he held you at the base of his cock, masturbating desperately to chase his release.

You obliged his request, opening up and taking his balls into your mouth, looking up at him as you felt his grip on the nape of your neck tighten. He was clearly getting off from the sight of you beneath him, massaging thoroughly with the flat of your tongue. He brought your head back and, with his other hand, held his cock by the base.

He groaned again when he saw your lips now glossy with spit. “Open f’me again, baby?” he asked despite the fact that the tip of his cock was already being pressed to your lips. Your cheeks warmed as he let out a moaning “fuuuck” when you opened your mouth again to allow him inside. He pushed your head down deeper to take all of him in, and your eyes began to water as the tip of his cock grazed the back of your throat.

“You don’t know how fucking pretty you look with my cock in your mouth, Y/N,” he murmured, releasing the pressure off your head for you to catch your breath. He let out a short laugh as if your gasping for air was funny to him.

“Had no idea you were such a fucking slut under all those clothes. How’re you a virgin when you’re takin’ my cock this good, hm?” His voice was gentle and soft but borderline condescending as he spoke.

Jason brushed away a tear from your eye and leaned over to bring you into an open-mouthed and sloppy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. A string of saliva connected at both of your lips when you separated.

“Gonna fuck that pretty little mouth of yours. Keep it open,” He instructed. Within seconds he was guiding your head back on his cock, bucking up into your mouth and against your throat. You made a garbled sound, which only seemed to make him thrust harder.

“Oh fu— that’s so fuckin’ good, baby keep doin’ that,” he moaned, though you weren’t doing much except letting your head loll up and down like a brainless doll with the support of his hand at the back of your neck.

The living room was now filled with the pleasured moans of the three boys and the gagging ‘gluck gluck’ sounds of the three girls as each of them fucked into your mouths, getting off on the lewdly slick sounds of their cocks pistoning in and out in a relentless rhythm. Your mouths became just another hole for them to fuck.

“Shit—” His hips stuttered; he was close. He brought both hands to your head pushing it down so your nose pressed against his base. “You know how to swallow right, baby?” He grunted.

You couldn’t respond with words readily—your nose was plugged and his cock clogged your windpipe— instead, your throat closed over his tip, as if a Pavlovian response to his question. He groaned and not shortly after, you felt his hot cum shooting down your throat.

When his softening cock finally left your mouth, you swallowed his sticky release as best as you could with your punished throat. He swiped some of the cum the had dribbled down your lips with his thumb and pushed it past your lips, making you suck it.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he said breathlessly as he watched you suck his thumb, mesmerized by the way your eyes locked on him. A loud moan from Gar interrupted, making both you and Jason tear your eyes off each other. The green-haired boy was currently stroking his cum onto Rose’s waiting tongue. About a minute later, Conner came too.

It was only then that you realized that Jason had come the fastest; faster than the “handicap” he’d claimed Gar to be.

“So…I’m guessing that means we won?” Rachel had already started pulling her clothes back on. Since she started dressing, everyone else mundanely followed suit.

Jason tugged his jeans back on, “Sure. Fine. Whatever, we’re all yours for the next three months,” he sounded less than enthused but still took the time to find your discarded tank top and jeans and toss them over to you as well.

Rose threw her shirt back on and adjusted her eyepatch. “Girls, what are we thinking? Anything we want our new servants to do for us?”

“Hmm…” You tapped your chin in mock thought, giving Jason a sly look that could give one of his own cheeky smirks a run for its money. “Oh, I‘ve got a few ideas.”

©️ blackreaderfics // dividers by cafekitsune & poison-aesthetics

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

seb x reader with prompt " kissing their helmet for good luck before the race" any seb era (you choose) i hope you like the prompt :) <3

♡ Helmet Kisses [1.1K] I couldn't decide which era of Seb I wanted to do; so here's all three!

♡ Red Bull Racing Era

Back in his Red Bull Racing days, Sebastian was known for having a string of lovers; different girls would show up to the race every so often, but never in the Paddock.

Until of course, you came along.

You were the rationality to his chaotic energy, the calm voice in his head before he’d scream down the radio on a particularly bad race.

Also, the first girl he had in the Paddock.

Let’s start by saying the team adored you. Finally, Sebastian would show up on time to meetings and wouldn’t start causing chaos during one of Horner’s speeches.

On the race evening, prior to his second World Championship, he’s all smiles, before walking onto the grid, hopping into his car.

You at this point, were shyly standing alongside some of the other garage guests; you weren’t too sure what the media would think of ‘Vettel’s new lady, the one who’s stuck around.’

Until there’s a sudden motion from one of his mechanics, motioning at you.

For a second, you don’t think to move, until he shouts your name, waving wildly for you to come over to the car.

You can feel your heart race, feeling like the eyes of every driver, mechanic and fan were on you. The only solace you had was Lewis and Mark, having been introduced to Sebastian’s close friends earlier in the weekend.

When you reached the Red Bull, the mechanic pats your back. You barely notice it, attention drawn to your boyfriend’s helmet-clad head.

‘You didn’t give me my good-luck kiss!’ He huffed, lifting his visor so his blue eyes could meet your own.

You can’t hold back the laugh this time. ‘Didn’t you win here without me last time?’ You question the logic. Sebastian simply huffs, not wanting to listen to logic, instead, folding his arms and pouting like a child.

You end up caving, leaning over the side of the RB7, pressing a kiss to the side of his helmet.

You don’t miss the cheering from the rest of the grid as you duck your head, cheeks blushing from the interaction as you walk off the track.

You also don’t miss Sebastian’s shout of ‘I want a proper one when I win!

♡ Scuderia Ferrari Era

You hadn’t been able to attend the opening race of Sebastian’s first year with Ferrari; something you’d felt awful about, knowing it was his dream to race for them.

So here you were, clad in red, engagement finger resting on your left hand, ready to support your husband-to-be.

He’d been aggravated, Lewis and Nico finishing 30 seconds ahead of him in the opening race had driven him insane.

He knew he could do better.

So, when he came into to garage, clad in his red fireproofs, (ones you could have fantasies over,) his game-face was on.

You knew better than to interrupt the ins and outs of setting up the car.

Sebastian had barely spoken to you that morning; he’d held your hand firmly when walking to the car that morning.

Even in the car, your usual chat and singing along to his ancient music was replaced by a silence.

The only form of comfort you had been able to offer him was a hand resting on his leg as he drove; a silent promise you would be here for him, not matter the result.

It wasn’t until one of the mechanics walked past, holding Sebastian’s helmet, that you spoke up, asking if you could give it to him.

He obliged; in his mind, anything to cheer up their driver before the race would be a good thing.

You had held out the helmet, his eyes widening when he saw that it was you handing it to him.

Before handing it to him, you lifted the helmet to your face, kissing the part of the helmet where his lips would usually be on his face.

You grinned, handing him the helmet, winking as you handed it over.

‘That’s your good luck kiss. Go out there and get that win.’

There was a massive cheer around the garage as they finally saw Sebastian break into a smile, the first one of the day.

Even Kimi had started grinning, knowing how in love his teammate was.

After the win he scored that afternoon, the mechanics insisted you joined them for as many races as possible.

♡ Aston Martin Era

Of course, you were there for Sebastian’s final race. The day had been overwhelming.

Even though you hadn’t been by his side for the entirety of the day, you had been around the Paddock; your three-year-old daughter clad in Aston Martin merch.

The whole family had to be there for Sebastian; it was his last race after all.

It had been more emotional for you that you’d realised.

Charles had come up to you, tears in his eyes as he thanked you for looking out for him all those years, even after Sebastian had left Ferrari.

You didn’t expect the warm hug from Christian, who wished you both the best and had promised the second your daughter got into karting, he would be signing her to Red Bull.

Of course, Sebastian had given both his girls a kiss before stepping into his car, nestling in his seat for the last time.

You’d sat in the garage, your daughter on your lap as you pointed to where he was listening to his mechanic; her eyes widened upon seeing her father in the cars she’d seen all day.

His race engineer nudged you, motioning towards your husband.

‘Go on. Give him one more for old times’ sake.’

You laugh, getting up from your chair and scooping up your daughter, walking through the grid.

She of course, gives her Uncle Mick a wave, having spent most of her afternoon coaxing him to play imaginary games with her.

Sebastian clocks the two of you coming across the grid, even though he’s strapped in, he turns his head.

You can’t see the grin on his face, but you know it’s there.

Leaning over and kissing the side of his head, it’s as if all of them years had been taken back, back to when you and Sebastian were just kids; the first time you’d ever been seen with him.

You seem to fly through the years with that one kiss, before leaning up, ready to walk away, until the wiggling girl in your arms whines.

Giving her a questioning look, she leaned down, arms guided by you, as she pressed a sloppy kiss to her father’s helmet.

Sebastian’s heart melted.

His girls on his final race, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

☽ [If you have a headcanon/drabble idea, thought or request, feel free to send it here!] ☾

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

Pay No Attention to the Magizoologist

Theseus Scamander x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Requested by anon!

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: Y/N and Newt have been friends for a long time, and for almost as long, Y/N has also had a crush on Newt’s older brother Theseus. Years and years later, after their Hogwarts days, several run-ins with Grindelwald, the death of Leta Lestrange, and the wedding of Queenie and Jacob, Newt is still subverting Ministry rules in the name of helping his creatures. And, as usual, Y/N is an accomplice in his schemes. So, when Newt goes running out the door with his creatures and Jacob in tow, it falls to Y/N to distract Theseus and keep him from following Newt’s trail. And this distraction might just lead to a bigger change than any of them bargained for.

Word Count: 2,439

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Keep reading

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

Only The Best For You

Kimi Raikkonen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: dad's best friend!kimi, reader is 20/21 - reader is old enough to make her own decisions, your dad isn't pleased with the gift, one mention of alcohol and one mention of death, sexual tension, kinda power imbalance, kimi gives into the intrusive thoughts, nipple play, fingering for like 0.2 seconds, one use of the word 'daddy' in a sexual way, penetrative sex (p in v), gagging, finger sucking, 'whore' used in a sexual/degrading term.

Word Count: 2,400

Author's Note: for all my dad best friend freaks and the kimi whores, this one's for you <3 -- also ignore that it's gucci in the pic but it's something different in the fic loool I couldn't find a different pic I liked.

merry smutmas series

Kimi spends the holidays with his old friends. He doesn’t forget you; bringing you exactly what you had been wishing for and you make sure to thank him.. properly.

An old L/N family tradition.

Since you were a child, your parents and grandparents allowed you to open one gift from them on Christmas eve, letting you enjoy the magic of Christmas a few hours early.

You were grown up now, in college and your grandparents had sadly passed on but your parents kept the tradition going. You had come home for Christmas break and it was Christmas Eve. Your parents have just finished dinner and you have moved to the living room.

It was yourself, your parents and your dad's best friend, Kimi. You had known Kimi your whole life practically but he was always away racing so you never saw much of him until lately, now that he's officially retired - for good this time.

"Shall we open gifts?" Your father asks, walking into the living room. He passed a glass of what looks like whiskey to Kimi, who was next to you, before sitting beside your mother.

She looks over at her husband. "Honey, isn't she too grown for that?"

Your father rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "It's a family tradition, now hush. Go pick a present."

Your mum picks first, picking one from your father that just so happened to be the new perfume she wanted. Your father was next and he picked out one from you. It's a story book he used to read to you as a kid, you had written all of your favourite memories of the two of you inside of it. You made him cry, both you and Kimi laughing about that.

"Go ahead, sweetheart." Your father nods towards the tree, you move from the couch to the floor, kneeling in front of the tree to pick out a gift.

A gift sticks out to you; red wrapping paper with little elves of it and your name written in cursive across the front of it. You pick it up, shaking it a bit to see what was in it.

It felt hard, as if it was a box. You looked towards your parents, "is it from you guys?"

Your dad looks towards your mom; she took care of all of the holiday shopping. The woman shakes her head, "it's not from us, sweetie."

The gift on your lap when you glance over your shoulder at Kimi. He gives you a small smile, so small you almost miss it.

He nods towards the gift, waiting for you to open it. You rip the wrapping paper very carefully, revealing the red box underneath; the gold lettering was cursive - Cartier.

Your jaw was already dropping, looking back at the man. "You didn't," you say and he nods again, waiting for you to open the box to see what was inside.

"Kimi, what did you do?" Your mother asks, looking over at your father. He was never one for brands or jewellery, he didn't realize that buying something there automatically was an expensive purchase.

Lifting the cover carefully, the velvet black fabric inside the box held a white gold chain, blue sapphires set along the entire thing.

If your jaw wasn't already on the floor, it would be now. "Kimi!" You turned to face the man, setting the box on the couch carefully. "You did not!"

"I did," he nods. He's always been a man of very few words; more of an action rather than words type of guy.

"What is it?" Your father asks and you hand the red box over to him for him to see.

He shows your mother as he holds the box, he doesn't realize that he's holding a little over €40,000 in his hands at the moment. "Oh Kimi, it's beautiful." Your mother gushes, handing it back over to you.

You were still on the floor, admiring the necklace in the box. "Well, turn around." Kimi says and you do, sitting just between his legs.

He reaches over to take the box from you and carefully takes the chain out of its box before you lift your hair. Kimi leans forwards and you can feel his fingers brush against your skin and his breath on your shoulders when he loops it around your neck and hooks the clasp.

"It looks gorgeous on you, darling." Your mom says, smiling at you.

Your phone's in one hand and your other hand gently touches the chain, straightening it as you admired how it looked on you. "Kimi, this is too much. It's so expensive." You whisper to him and he shrugs.

"How expensive are we talking?" Your father finally speaks, looking over at his friend.

Kimi answers nonchalantly; "Like.. €40,000."

Your father instantly sits up, his jaw hanging open. "What?! Kimi, are you out of your mind?"

"Please," he looks over at his friend in disapproval. His hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb passing over your soft skin. "She's a good girl, she deserves it."

You can't help but shift a bit when he calls you a good girl, the words hitting you right where you shouldn't. It was wrong, he was your father's friend and you were.. well, you were attracted to him. You couldn't deny it; Kimi was an attractive man and despite his lack of words, he was very charming.

"Y/n, say thank you. You can't not say it when he's spent so much." Your father tells you, and you turn around to face Kimi.

"Thank you, Kimi," you smiled at him, sitting on your knees when you reached up to give the man a hug. His arms wrapped around you, his warm hand pressed to your back. "You're welcome, angel."

Another nickname that hits you in all the wrong places.

As the night goes on, your parents head up for bed as do you. Kimi was the last one to bed from your understanding and as the house grew quiet, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep.

You find yourself sat on your bed, pjs on - a tank top and a pair of shorts with a €40,000 chain around your neck.

It was nearing 3am, the witching hours as your mum says. You find yourself getting up and heading downstairs. The initial thought was to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water but you got side tracked when you see a light coming from Kimi's room.

You knock, peeking around the space left between the door frame and the actual door. "Come in," he waves to you and you step in, shutting the doors behind you. The TV was on, a rerun of some show you couldn't quite place was on.

"What are you doing up?" He asks, glancing at his phone to check the time. "Do you know how late it is?"

"I couldn't sleep," you tell him, looking over at the TV. "Can I join you?"

He shrugs, nodding towards the empty space next to him. You quietly make your way over, sitting next to him on the bed. Kimi don't miss the way your shorts hike up when you crawl over to the empty spot; it's so wrong for him to be looking at you like that but can you blame the man? You were gorgeous and you were in his bed after all.

The two of you sit quietly, watching as the show rolls on into another episode. You unconsciously play with the chain, shifting it back and forth slowly.

Kimi looks over at you, smiling to himself; you were the picture of beauty.

"You're staring," you mumble, glancing at him. He smiles, like actually smiles. "You're beautiful."

Your cheeks are red, you hope that the light coming from the tv isn't bright enough for him to realize that just yet.

"It looks good on you," he says, "like it was made for you."

"Blue has always been my favourite colour." You smiled, glancing down at the chain. "Did you pick it yourself?"

He nods, "I saw it and thought of you, I figured you'd like it."

"I do, very much." You look over at him, Kimi smiles at you and your hand shifts from your thigh to his, rubbing along it softly. Kimi's brows furrow ever so slightly. He doesn't say anything, hoping that you'd stop if he ignores it.

You were persistent.

Your hand travels higher, about to rub over the ever so evident bulge in his shorts but Kimi catches your hand, holding your wrist. "We can't, y/n."

"Why not?"

"It's wrong," he whispers, glancing at the door - you weren't sure if he wanted you to leave or if he was catching to see if it was locked. You wiggle your hand from his grasp, Kimi lets out a small breath of relief; see, the man was stupid enough to think you were stopping.

You didn't stop. Instead, you got on his lap, straddling him with your hands on his shoulders. Kimi's hand rests on your lower back as he looks at you.

"Let me thank you properly," you whisper, lips ghosting over his.

Kimi reaches up, his lips pressed to yours but he's yet to kiss you. "You don't have too."

"I want to.. I want you," you mumbled, finally kissing the man. Your hand cupping his jaw, Kimi's hand slips under the tank top you had on and slides up your back to undo your bra but finds you don't have one on.

Kimi pushes the straps of your tank top down off your shoulders. You sat comfortably on his lap, letting him have his way with you and the man wanted one thing. He leans forward, arms wrapped around you as his lips wrap around your nipple.

“Kimi, fuck- please.” You mumble, your hand tangled in his blonde hair, tugging on it. As such as you loved the attention, you needed him.

He glances up at you, watching as your eyes fluttered shut. He groans when you pull on his hair a little harder but what's a little pain when he's making you feel good?

It was heavy, heated.

His hands on your body, pulling you over and onto him. You were perched on his lap, Kimi's hands on your ass when he kissed you again.

Not a word is spoken between the two of you and what little clothes you had on was gathered in a pile on the floor when he rolls you two over. You were flat on your back with Kimi settled between your legs.

“Please,” your hand rested on his jaw, “daddy, please.”

The pet name makes his cock twitch; it's sinful, so sinful in so many ways but he couldn't care less. You drove him mad.

His hand slips between the two of you, his fingers rubbing slow circles on your clit. Your hips lift, wanting more from him.

Kimi’s hand wandered a little lower, a finger pushed in slowly. He can feel how wet you are, wrapped around his finger and he smiles.

He moves his finger slowly, curling it. He takes pleasure in watching you, seeing how your face twists and how your body reacts to his touch.

"Please," you whimpered, "don't make me wait."

Kimi can't bring himself to say no to you.

He sits, pushing his shorts down and you get the hint, getting on top of him. Your hands grip on his shoulders, balancing yourself. Your knees on either side of his lap, Kimi's hand reaches under you to help you, the tip of his cock brushing against your clit, making your hip shift forward a bit. His free hand on your hip as you sink down onto him, his name tumbling from your lips.

You take a moment to get used to the feeling, your eyes fluttering shut as he rubs along your lower back, leaning into you to kiss down your neck.

You rock your hips forward and Kimi's head drops back, his eyes now closed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” His hand pats your hip, “made just for me.” He tells you, your lips now on his neck - a trail of marks and sloppy kisses being left along his neck.

He pulls one of your legs up forward, pulling you down further. “Fuck,” you breathe, his thrusts faster and harder. How you wished you could scream his name right now. Kimi's hand drops between the two of you, rubbing your clit.

Your head falls back, manicured nails digging into his pale skin when he hits the spot he was looking for. He watches as you bounce on his lap, the sapphires around your neck bouncing in rhythm with you. His fingers that were previous on your clit now shoved into your mouth to muffle the sounds tumbling from your lips.

Your brows furrowed, an excited look on your face despite it all. You can feel his cock twitch in you, his lips next to your ear when he leans in.

"You've got to be quiet, angel. Wouldn't want them to catch you being a whore for me, hm?

You mumble something along an okay, your hips bucking, telling him you want more. Your tongue laps around his fingers, Kimi watches as you suck on them. There's a wicked smile on his face, his hips lifting to meet you halfway.

He lets you take over, setting the pace and using him for your own pleasure. Kimi leans forward as his lips wrap around your nipple. His tongue lapped over your nipple, biting on it softy; just enough to get you to arch your back, pushing into him.

“Come on darling,” he mumbles against your skin, now kissing up to your collarbone. Kimi's hand behind your neck to pull you down for a kiss. “Want you to cum for me.”

His arms wrap around you when you drop against him, your face buried against his shoulder, biting down to muffle the sounds. “Good girl,” he hums, rubbing your back.

Your heart beats out of your chest as you catch your breath. Kimi smiles, kissing along your shoulder. "Feel good?" He asks and you mumble something, your head resting on his shoulder.

"I take it I should spoil you more often, hm?" He chuckles, making you smile when you sit up. Kimi straightens your necklace, kissing your chin.

You shake your head and smile. "Don't have to spoil me for me to do that."

Kimi smiles at you, giving you a kiss. "Merry Christmas, y/n."

"Merry Christmas, Kimi."

taglist: @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @forza55 @norrisleclercf1 @allalngthewtchtower @therealcap @burningcupcakefire @stargirl36 @brettlorenzi3 @guiseppetsunoda @magnummagnussen @flippingmyshit @savrose129 @lovelytsunoda @irda12-blog @dhhdhsiavdhaj @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @f1lovers22 @toomuchdelusion @eviethetheatrefreak @faye2029 @lillians-world-is-f1 @chalando1604 @lenaxwbr @im-obsessed @potashiuhm @lcxlerc16 @enjoythebutterflies3 @lillyfootballsworld @micksmidnights @mashtonbunny @chrlsleclerc @logischeroktopus

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slapmewithacroc

7 months ago

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

I screamed!!

Never Say Goodbye - Part 5

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,800 Warnings: **(Trigger warning) physical assault, mentions of blood, language.

Part 5: Self-Defense

Your scream muffled as another hand grabbed your arm, pulling you tight against someone’s chest.

Terror was a living thing inside you. It paralyzed your heart and lungs and mind, but thankfully not your instinct to get away.

You thrashed and kicked over a lamp trying to escape the hold. You were all but dragged across the living room and into the kitchen. There you caught a glimpse of your attacker through a reflection on the microwave—it was a man and he was tall and blonde.

Your mind finally cleared of your panic just enough to remember the years of self-defense your dad had taught you. So you used your somewhat free arm to grab the man’s hand and bite down hard.

He yelled in pain and loosened enough for you to throw an elbow back into what you hoped was his face. (It was his throat, but you didn’t know or care at the time.)

You were able to scrape a bit of freedom, getting just a few steps away until he grabbed at you again. This time he forcefully turned you around and slammed your head on the counter. Your senses fuzzed as you slipped and fell into a heap on the ground.

You struggled through a haze of pain to open your eyes, but your vision was blurry. Your face felt wet. And for a second, all you could see were shapes.

Those blurred edges cleared up when the man knelt down and took your throat in his hand. You blinked through a few drops of blood dripping down your face, when you finally saw his. And you recognized him.

But then he started squeezing. The panic started in earnest as you clawed at his hand on your throat. Behind him on the counter were the kitchen knives, but you couldn’t even get up, let alone reach.

He had you pinned on the floor and you couldn’t fucking breathe.

Dean was in a panic.

One moment he was washing his and Sam’s dishes in the kitchen, teasing his girl. The next, the icy grip of your fear (and your scream) squeezed around his heart like a vice. He’d felt the intensity of your fear before, but not like this.

The force of it actually made one of his knees buckle and he accidentally cut himself with a small steak knife he’d been washing. Fuck!

But the pain persisted. It brought him down as he tossed the knife into the sink and clutched his chest.

He could only try to make sense of your thoughts. You were instinctively imparting to him one after the next, but it was a blur of jumbled words and emotions that he couldn’t make out.

You couldn’t hear him calling your name either. All that came through his connection with you was your terror.

And then…nothing at all.

It terrified him into stillness.

Dean slowly raised himself into a sitting position on the floor, and he called your name, repeatedly.

Hey, can you hear me?

After along moment, he realized that the silence didn’t mean you were gone. He could still feel you. You were just in shock. Frozen.

Sweetheart, you with me? he pressed. You finally roused enough to reply.

Yeah…I’m…here.

Good. Dean closed his eyes and released a breath. Fuck, sweet relief. He sat up against the kitchen cabinet. His hand was still bleeding all over him, so he held it closed with his other hand.

Good. I need you to tell me what happened just now. Are you hurt?

You looked down at the body in your kitchen: Danny Schmitt. He laid face down on the yellow tile with a chef’s knife lodged deep into his spinal cord.

Your throat and neck hurt (along with your head), so it was a good thing you didn’t have to speak to communicate with your soulmate.

Someone broke in, and…

You realized that your hands were shaking. As you saw again in the microwave reflection, tears streamed down your face. You had a stream of blood drying on your forehead and down your cheek.

And you had no idea what to do next.

Dean swallowed a surge of protective anger and nervous suspicion, trying not to assume the worst.

Did he hurt you? he asked.

He um…he’s dead. And I…

Your reply shocked him, but he let out another relieved breath. He carefully picked himself off the floor. Okay, call 9-1-1.

My…my dad is a cop. I have to call him.

Interesting.

Good. Call him now, Dean said. But what’s your address? I’m coming now.

On shaking legs, you left the kitchen to find your phone—in your purse in the living room. There was broken glass everywhere.

What’s your address? he asked. I’m coming now.

You froze, clutching your phone to your chest. No.

No? What do you mean no?

Fear and shock were making your erratic, but all you could focus on was the fact that you were in absolute shambles. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want to meet him like this—with literal blood on your hands.

No, you repeated.

This isn’t up for debate. His tone was firm and worried. Don’t do this to me. Come on.

He called your name, but you stubbornly shook your head.

And you shut down the connection between you two. You didn’t know you could do that, but you did. And then you sat on the couch and wept.

Dean was paralyzed with shock. I can’t believe she just did that.

You were still terrified, probably hurt, and now he couldn’t get to you. He didn’t even know your last name. He didn’t have your number or anything to go on.

“Shit!” he growled, slamming his good hand on the counter.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby asked from the doorway. He took in the blood on the floor and Dean hunched over the sink with a bleeding hand.

“Think you can guess, right?” Dean snapped, gesturing to his hand. That was frustration enough for anybody, but he knew that Bobby didn’t totally buy it.

Right now, he didn’t care. He had to find you somehow. Right fucking now.

Your dad’s embrace was warm, protective, tight with worry and relief simultaneously. You sat in the back of the paramedic truck while they wrapped your injured head and checked your vitals. Jack was patient as he went through the questions he needed to ask about your attacker.

Your house had already become a crime scene, swarmed with police personnel. They’d already taken the body out of the house.

The paramedic advised getting you to the hospital for a head CT. Your father agreed, but you held onto his arm.

“Can you give us a minute?” you asked the paramedic. The woman was probably just a few years older than you. She nodded and went to connect with her partner on getting ready for your transport. Slowly, you got off the back of the ambulance.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Jack said in alarm.

“Dad, listen to me,” you said. You guided him closer to the house and away from his unit of policemen. You opened your coat enough to give him a folded towel. He took it and unraveled it, revealing the bloody knife.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “Okay, don’t worry. This is standard self-defense.”

“Dad, I don’t remember grabbing the knife,” you said.

Jack rested a hand on your shoulder. “That happens. You’re in shock—”

“No. I don’t remember because it was never in my hand,” you whispered harshly. “I didn’t grab it. The kitchen knives were too far away. It’s impossible!”

“Okay, calm down,” your dad said gently. “You…you’ve been through a lot. You’re just in shock. You’ll get checked out at the hospital, but when all this clears, you’ll be fine.”

“Think what you want, Dad. But when they dust that knife for fingerprints, they’re not going to find mine,” you snapped.

Slowly Jack’s expression dimmed from patient to understanding. At the very least, he finally believed that you believed what you were saying–that you had no idea how that knife ended up in Danny Schmitt.

After discreetly taking a quick look around, Jack held out the knife to you, hilt first. He looked into your eyes. “Grab it.”

You released a breath and, for the first time, took it in your hand. You held it at the angle you would’ve needed to stab the knife downward. As if you had really stabbed that man.

Then Jack took the knife back.

“It’s cut and dry this way,” he told you. “Self-defense.”

You nodded, even though you regretted the motion immediately. The left side of your head ached terribly.

“This place is still going to be a crime scene when we get you out of the hospital,” Jack realized.

“I could ask Bobby if I could stay with him,” you said.

“No,” Jack said firmly. “The last thing you need is to be around that drunken idiot. No, you can stay with Jody Mills. She’s good people.”

“Dad,” you tried, but he was already calling Jody over.

“Hey Jody, can she stay with you tomorrow? I’ll bring her over once we’re done at the hospital tonight,” Jack said. Jody nodded and rested a hand on your shoulder.

“Of course, hun. Call me when you’re on your way,” she said. Jack nodded, and Jody got back into the fray of policework in your house.

You glared at him. “I’m not a kid. I can make my own decisions.”

Though you rubbed at your aching head. Jack ushered you to the ambulance and the paramedics strapped you in.

On the bumpy ride to the hospital, you felt terrible. Not just because your body was a walking welt, but because you shut him out of your mind. Whatever his name was.

You craved feeling his presence. Even though you still didn’t know what your soulmate looked like, you could imagine what it would be like to be held by him. Comforted, safe, with that deep voice like rich whiskey and still somewhat boyish, to tease a smile onto your face.

You wanted to open the connection and say, I’m sorry.

You almost did. But right now, you were a coward that let your fear win.

You kept the connection closed.

The next morning, Sam and Bobby sat at the kitchen table with mugs of coffee. They shared a mixed look of confusion and annoyance as they watched Dean make a pan of scrambled eggs.

It was the aggressive stirring and none-too gentle banging of various spices and cooking utensils that had them concerned (and significantly weirded out).

When Dean served up the food and set down their plates with a clang, Sam looked up at his brother with a raised brow. Dean didn’t notice though. He just sat down and tasted the eggs. A bit dry. Goddamn it.

“Dean?” Sam tried.

“What?”

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” Dean said. Even he knew it wasn’t convincing, but he didn’t care. His mind was too preoccupied with what happened with you last night. His connection with you was still on radio silence. He heard and sensed nothing at all…

And he was worried.

He debated going through the old-school yellow pages for every person with your name in Sioux Falls, but that could be hundreds. And he didn’t know your last name, or anything concrete about you except…

Shit, I’m a freakin’ genius! he thought. Dean remembered one thing: you were a student at the University of South Dakota. History major.

“Well, I’m gonna head out,” Bobby said. “Got a sixteen-wheeler to fish out of a gutter.”

He purposefully didn’t mention the tense atmosphere, but he gave Sam a look. Work it out, it said.

Dean turned to his brother after finishing up his coffee. “Look, before we hit the road, I’ve got something to take care of.”

“Oh yeah? Is it whatever’s got you on edge right now?” Sam asked.

Dean kept a stubborn lid on it. “It’s just an errand I’ve gotta run.”

“Uh-uh.” Sam shook his head. “What’s going on with you? Where are you going?”

Dean got up and ignored his brother’s questions. He didn’t know why his instinct was to keep this to himself, but it was easier than explaining the mess he’d gotten himself into.

Sam followed him into the living room and watched Dean grab his phone and the keys to the Impala. So Sam grabbed his wallet and phone too.

Dean shot him a firm look. “Stay here, Sam. It’s no big deal.”

“If it’s no big deal, then I’ll just come with.”

Dean made a sound of aggravation. Sometimes, Sam could be a massive pain in the ass. Dean’s lips were tight as he left Bobby’s house and headed for the Impala. Sam was hot on his heels. They got into the car and soon enough, Dean drove onto the highway going south.

“So where’re we going?” Sam asked.

Dean shot him an annoyed look, but his brother was unrepentant. So he gave up. “To the university.”

Sam had to think for a moment. “Of South Dakota?”

“That’s the one,” Dean said flatly. He stared out at the road ahead.

Sam had a feeling this wasn’t hunting-related, or Dad-related.

“What, are you scoping out chicks or something?” he asked, only half serious. He watched his older brother’s expression tighten.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

Dean glanced at Sam, then made a sound of both frustration and defeat. “Chick. Not chicks.”

“Excuse me?”

“As in singular chick,” Dean emphasized. “A girl, Sam. My…well, not my. Not yet anyway—”

“Dean,” Sam interjected. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m looking for someone, okay?” Dean snapped. “You could say I’ve been hearing thoughts that ain’t mine, if you catch my drift.”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t compute. He stared at the side of Dean’s face, burning a hole in his head.

“Damn it, would you just say something? My head’s about to spontaneously combust,” Dean snarked.

“Your soulmate?” Sam clarified. “Your damn soulmate. You couldn’t just tell me that?”

Dean shot him a defensive look. “It’s a little personal.”

Sam released a frustrated sigh.

“Fine. You know where she is?”

“Kind of,” Dean admitted. “We haven’t met in person yet.”

Sam blinked in confusion. “Okay…this still doesn’t entirely explain why you’ve been so on edge. Damn near crazy.”

Dean hesitated, but eventually he explained.

“Something happened to her last night. Some guy broke into her house.”

Sam frowned in concern. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Well, she’s alive. But she isn’t fine,” Dean said. “Anyway, I just want to be sure.”

Sam’s eyes widened a fraction, both incredulous and recognizing his brother’s knack for downplaying these things, like he had with Cassie.

Well, it didn’t matter. Sam wasn’t going to let Dean let go of his happiness this time.

After you were cleared to go home from the hospital with a concussion, but nothing else majorly wrong, your dad dropped you off at Jody Mills’ house.

You liked Jody, but you didn’t appreciate your dad controlling the situation—and by extension your life, as he usually tried to do.

So once you’d said goodbye to Jody and her husband when they left for work (and to drop their son off at pre-school), you took your keys that Jack had left you, grabbed your bag, and snuck out of the house.

It was more effort than you should’ve exerted, but you walked the two blocks home. Then you grabbed some more clothes, toiletries, and your car keys.

While the brothers Winchester searched for the university’s History department, Dean continued to beat himself up internally. Sam noticed his brother’s less than peppy attitude and shot him a questioning look.

“I should’ve just gone to meet her the first night she reached out,” Dean muttered. “I should’ve told her my name, at least.”

He should’ve reached out four years ago, when he had the chance.

“You didn’t even tell her your name?” Sam asked. His surprise was followed closely by anger. “You’ve got a chance here that not many people get in life, and you’ve been playing games.”

“I’m not fucking playing,” Dean shot back. “Do I really gotta remind you what Dad went through after Mom died? Not to mention how freakin’ insane our lives are. How can I seriously bring someone else into this?”

Sam understood how Dean felt, to a degree. He felt guilty for what happened to Jess every day—for not being there. He’d loved her with everything he had, and he still missed her. He wouldn’t stop hunting the Yellow-Eyed demon until he avenged her.

But he wasn’t like Dean.

Jess hadn’t been his soulmate.

Sam had a feeling Dean was hesitating because of something else. Something deeper than Dad’s example. Something that had a lot more to do with how Dean saw himself.

So as they walked down the hall towards the Dean of Ancient Studies’ office, Sam held Dean back a second by his arm. He was gentle, but firm.

“Dean, most people spend their whole lives looking for this, waiting for this to happen to them,” he said. “How can you shut her out?”

Dean slipped his arm out of Sam’s grip. “Right now, she’s the one shutting me out.”

Sam frowned, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to reply. He followed Dean over to the office and watched him knock on the door.

A woman answered. She looked refined, with her pencil skirt and severe heels. Her thin blonde hair was twisted into a tight bun, peeling back the skin of her face. She also looked irritated to be bothered by anyone.

“Yes?” she asked. Dean glanced up at the name plate on the wall. Dr. Helen Birch.

“Hi there, Dr. Birch. We’re looking for a history major, graduate student,” Dean began. When he gave her your name, she recognized it instantly.

“Yes, she’s my graduate assistant. She’s not in today,” said Dr. Birch. “She had an accident last night, poor thing.”

“Well, wasn’t really an accident,” Dean said, his mouth quirking humorlessly. “Someone broke into her house and attacked her.”

Dr. Birch nodded.

“A hellish thing, to be sure. But she sounded all right on the phone this morning,” she said, adjusting her Prada-framed glasses. She released a hum of a sigh. “Though you know, my husband died last year. I still came to work bright and early the next day.”

Dean’s gaze hardened, and Sam knew the tell-tale signs that his brother was about to lose his temper.

He laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder and cut in quickly, “Well, we’re her cousins. We just wanted to grab some of her things for her.”

Dr. Birch pointed at a room to the left of her office. “That’s her office right there. Give her my best for me.”

“We’ll do that,” Dean smiled thinly, but he allowed Sam to pull him away towards the office. Sam gave him a warning look.

“That lady’s lucky I’m a gentleman,” Dean muttered. “Freakin’ old bag.”

She wasn’t that old, but Sam wasn’t going to point that out.

“Just calm down,” Sam whispered back. They squeezed into the closet-like office and went over to your desk, where Sam sat and opened up your laptop. It was password protected. He worked on cracking it while Dean surveyed your work desk.

It was very organized. Your notebooks were piled neatly with various pens and highlighters in their own container. He felt bad about this, but he looked through the drawers next and found an old picture. He had a feeling it was of your parents when they were young. It was even labeled on the back: Jack and Christine — November 1985.

“Sam.” Dean showed him the picture. Sam nodded, taking the hint. He thought for a moment, then tried Christine as the password.

It wasn’t a match…until he tried Christine85.

Then the home screen finally booted up. From there it wasn’t hard for Sam to get into your email so they could find your full name. Next, he found your address from a PDF scan of a payroll stub in your documents folder.

“You’re too good at that,” Dean said. His guilt was growing; normally he would have no compunctions about rifling through people’s junk, but this was your stuff. They were invading your privacy to the nth degree. This is an emergency, he rationalized.

“There,” Sam said, after taking pictures with his phone. They knew exactly who you were and where you lived.

“How do you want to play this?” Sam asked, once he and Dean were on the road back to Sioux Falls.

“Let me handle this,” Dean said. It was a delicate thing. Their plan was essentially dropping in on you, whom he’d never officially met, after stealing your private information. Not to mention, you’d already gone through a lot in the past 24 hours.

Dean shook his head. “Let’s just regroup at Bobby’s. I’ve gotta think.”

An hour later, they were pulling into the driveway at Singer Salvage. Next to Bobby’s truck was a blue Camaro.

“I guess his niece dropped by again,” Sam said. Dean was curious, but that was quickly swallowed up by his ever-mounting problem: going to see you. How the hell am I gonna do this?

His mind was so consumed when they walked in, that he almost missed seeing Bobby’s guest in the kitchen.

You were sitting with Bobby at the kitchen table, drinking lemonade. Sam and Dean shared a curious look though, because you had a bandage on your left temple and scattered bruises on your neck and arms, but you still looked friendly, casually dressed in jeans and a soft college shirt.

Dean noticed your pretty face, the shade of your hair, your curves…but he narrowed in on the shirt. It read University of South Dakota.

His heart started to beat faster, though he didn’t realize it.

“Boys, this here’s my niece,” Bobby said. When you stood up and greeted them with your name, Dean knew it was you—the girl he’d practically been scouring the entire state for.

His brain caught up with his heart, which had already recognized you from the second he stepped through the door. Your name fell from his lips, and then your head tilted curiously, like you’d recognized his voice.

Finally, finally, the bond between your souls flared in his mind and warmed through his chest. You’d opened the connection again, and he felt your shock, your recognition, your wonder. Dean grabbed ahold of that pulsing thread of energy.

Hi, sweetheart, he said with a crooked smile. Except, you didn’t exactly have the reaction he was expecting.

You gasped and nearly dropped your drink.

All three men lunged to help you, but you caught the glass yourself. “I got it!”

You then set it down carefully on the table.

“What’s happening here?” Bobby asked. He seemed very confused. Dean couldn’t blame him. He only just now realized that Sam and Bobby were still in the room watching their little movie play out.

Bobby turned to you next. “You know Sam and Dean?”

You wiped your hands on your jeans, looking embarrassed. You gestured vaguely at Dean. “Well, just…kind of…”

“Me,” Dean said, pointing at himself, then at you. “I’m…we’re…”

Because Bobby was smart and intuitive, his face slackened in realization. “Hells fuckin’ bells.”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded with a smile.

Meanwhile, you and Dean took each other in. Slowly you approached each other from opposite sides of the room.

Your gaze fell to the cut on his hand, which he’d bandaged up last night.

“Are you okay?”

Dean gave you a rueful look. “I’m the one who needs to ask you that.”

Your eyes lowered as you bit your lip. “I’m fine.”

Dean would be the judge of that. He drew close enough to examine the gauze bandage on your head. His hand raised to ghost along the bruises on your neck. It stirred his protective, righteous anger again, but he did his best to put a clamp on it for your sake. You were a scrapper, a survivor, and for that he was proud of you.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“The meds work just fine,” you said with a smile, but it soon fell as you chanced looking up at him. Dean looked into your eyes for the first time. They were beautiful, but sad and contrite.

“I’m sorry for shutting you out,” you said.

Dean huffed. “Yeah, that wasn’t pleasant.”

Behind him, Sam snorted and gave his brother a pointed look, which Dean ignored.

“I know. I was just…scared,” you admitted, gesturing with a hand to your injuries. “I didn’t want this to be the way we finally met.”

Dean could understand that. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Still, can we keep the heart attacks to a minimum?”

You smiled again, and it reminded him of all the times you’d teased him through his mental connection with you. “No promises.”

Then you stared up at him with more of that wonder on your face.

“What?” Dean quirked a smile. You were starting to blush; he could see the faint pinkness spreading across your cheeks.

“You’re…tall,” you said.

Dean grinned. “Just tall?”

You crossed your arms in amusement. “And other stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s nice. Poetry, really,” he teased. “Definitely uh, putting that college stuff to good use.”

Sighing a laugh, you covered your face with a hand, fighting further embarrassment. It made Dean chuckle.

“All right, just teasing,” he said. “No need to hide.” He bypassed your hand to prop a finger beneath your chin so he could see your face. You met his gaze, waiting somewhat patiently while he looked you over. He could feel the heat rising off your cheeks though, and his smile deepened. You were adorable, and all too easy to tease.

But you were also beautiful.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Dean found himself leaning down to brush his lips with yours—

Until your voice stopped him. “I, um, have to go. Take a shower.”

Your eyes were wide and somewhat nervous. Dean backed off, cursing inwardly at himself. His hand fell from your face.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Need help?”

Your lips fell open in a soft “o” shape. Once Dean realized what he’d said, shock gripped both of you.

“Up the stairs,” he clarified. “The shower’s upstairs.”

Behind him, Sam made a pained face—like he was watching a car wreck and couldn’t stop. It made you smile, despite your lingering embarrassment.

But for Sam, he’d never seen his brother tripping up this bad over a girl. Usually he prided himself on being “Señor Smooth” (Dean’s words, not Sam’s).

Meanwhile behind you, Bobby rolled his eyes at you both.

“Sure, thank you,” you said.

You took Dean’s hand as he led you up the stairs. Maybe you shouldn’t have been trying to climb stairs with a concussion, but the pain medication really was helping you enough to be functional. Besides, Dean was supportive and went slow to help you.

When you made it to the top, you let go of Dean’s hand to grab your bag of clothing from the guest bedroom. When you came back, Dean was still waiting outside the bathroom with his hands in his pockets.

He really was tall, you thought. His grip while helping you had been gentle, but you’d felt the strength in his arms. You knew he wasn’t going to let you fall.

There were so many things about him that you hadn’t expected. His green eyes and sandy brown hair, his boyish, charming smile, his confident swagger, his lips…

“I’m sorry for putting Sam out of his room,” you said, mostly so you would stop staring. Dean rubbed the back of his neck.

“Nah, Sam’s like a dog. He can sleep anywhere,” he said. “On the floor, even.”

You laughed, though you tried not to at Sam’s expense. Dean smiled at the attempt.

“So, you’re Dean, the traveling exterminator,” you said.

His smile kicked up into a smirk. “Guilty.”

Your lips curved, a bit shy, but also a bit mischievous. He had spent a long time playing games with you. Now it was your turn.

You leaned up toward him on the tips of your toes, so you could reach his lips. With a raised brow, his body bowed towards you.

Once your lips were just a whisper away from his, you stopped.

“Good,” you said simply.

And you closed the bathroom door in his face.

AN: Okay, so an action-packed chapter for ya. And yay, they finally meet! Dean also encounters the infamous Dr. Birch, Jody Mills makes a brief cameo, plus Sam being a supportive brother.

One thing I want to note, in case people have questions about "Jess not being Sam's soulmate" here. I just really couldn't do that to him (losing his soulmate in his 20s on top of everything else). It was really so I could keep things open for Sam, not anything against Jess as a character.

That being said, let me know what you think about the first meeting!

To keep reading: PART 6

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

This thing keeps on growing! Thanks to everyone following this story so far.

@curlycarley @buckywenal24 @jamerlynn @iprobablyshipit91 @globetrotter28 @deamus-liv @irgendwas122 @deans-spinster-witch @dogbarkbark4445 @my-proof-is-you @vera0124 @deans-baby-momma @lacilou @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @happygoodvibe

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slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

PROTECTIVE SHIELD| K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Pairing: Protective!Kimi x Sunshine!driver!reader

Summary; You always have a smile on your face, even through the struggles of being the only female driver but when it feels like the entire media is against you it’s hard to keep that smile on your face but Kimi won’t allow it to disappear, he’s always there protecting you.

Warnings; fluff, mistreatment of women

F1 Master List

You had fought to get in the position you were in today and you had done it all with a smile on your face. It was easy back then, when there was less attention on you and less people questioning your every decision or underestimating your talent compared to the other drivers on the grid simply because you weren’t a man.

You were known for your smile, the way it was always present with everyone you spoke to and no matter the question you were asked but people seemed to take it as an invitation to say whatever they wanted as though it had no affect on you.

It didn’t in the beginning.

But as each of the questions piled on top of each other, the strain made it harder to maintain the smile, your struggle was hard to notice because you did such a good job of hiding it but one person did.

Kimi Räikkönen.

Whilst he was quiet, he was observant.

To him only a fool would think your smile was real. There was clearly such a huge difference between you being happy and you pretending to be happy.

There were no more sparkles in your eyes or twitch of your nose and it enraged him.

It was infuriating, knowing that the journalists and media had managed to ruin the pureness in you.

He wasn’t going to allow them to destroy you of everything you were.

You normally didn’t mind the driver’s press conferences but lately they’ve been…. hard.

The questions lately have hardly been about driving, instead about your possible challenges against the other drivers or if you feel as though you’re at a disadvantage.

You don’t. You’ve said countless times that you don’t feel the need to be treated differently in any sense and that you being female added no extra struggles in your opinion.

It seemed the tipping point for Kimi with these questions was when a female journalist asked not only peculiar but disturbing question.

You smiled at the woman as she stood up, thinking you’d get a real question about driving but that smile soon faded as she opened her mouth.

"Hi, this is a question for Y/N. As a woman, I was curious as to whether it’s more difficult for you to finish a race during the time of the month when you’re menstruating?"

You hated it. You hated that just because they’re a woman they think it excuses the questions they’re asking.

Beside you Kimi scoffed loudly, the most noise he’d made during the entire conference. "What sort of fucking question is that?" He stared straight into the woman’s eyes with a face as hard as ice.

The woman seemed taken back by him and started stuttering. "I-well-I was just-"

Kimi shook his head "We’ve been sat in these chairs for half an hour and not a single one of you imbeciles has asked her a real fucking question about the car or the race. All of you have sat there and just questioned her ability to do her job as if any of you know a thing about racing."

Kimi stood up from his seat and gestured for you to get up as well from where you were sitting in pure shock, lips parted and eyes wide you did and followed him out of the room, ignoring the fact that you weren’t meant to be leaving any time soon.

He was raging, he had sat and watched as your smile dimmed with each question; anger building inside until he just couldn’t keep it to himself anymore.

You had to run to catch up with him, he was walking so fast, fuelled by his anger. Your body was still in shock from the way he had spoken and stood up for you but you caught his arm which caused his footsteps to pause.

You looked up at him in silence for a moment, contemplating what to say as he looked down at you with those piercing blue eyes.

"You didn’t have to do that," you settled on saying.

Kimi huffed, glancing away for a short minute before returning his gaze back to you. "I did, I wasn’t going to sit and let them speak to you like that, you deserve better."

You shrugged and smiled weakly "It’s how it’s always been, they’re not going to change and I’ve accepted that."

"You shouldn’t need to," he argued before grumbling under his breath and reaching out to cup your cheeks, keeping his gaze locked with yours. "They’re taking away your smile and I’m not going to let them. You’re beautiful and your smile is beautiful, I’m not letting them take that away from you."

You blinked up at him in shock whilst trying to process his words, raising your own hands up to wrap around his wrists to keep his in place.

Eventually, you smiled and leaned into his touch. "Thank you."

He gave you that half smile you knew so well before pulling you into his embrace "Don’t listen to anything they say, they don’t know you."

You wouldn’t. You wouldn’t let them knock you down, not when you had Kimi there to stand in front of you like a protective shield or hold your hand as you walked through the media storm.

You could do anything with him beside you, you could even keep your smile.

2K notes View Post

slapmewithacroc

1 year ago

im very in love with book jamie at the moment…