#not the rake buddy... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whateverloomis · 6 months ago

Text

🖤 Dilf!Billy Loomis x Dilf!Stu Macher x AFAB reader (Stepcest)

Here it is cuties, part two (part one) <33 The thirst for dilf!Billy and Stu is intense with this one. Hope y'all enjoy ;)

Important: The image of the dress is only to show what I described in the fic. It's not intended to set a specific body type for the reader.

Tag list: @toxicanonymity @lyl1pad @elmoispookie

Warnings: Stepfather!Billy Loomis, age gap (middle aged Billy and Stu. Reader in their 20s,) AFAB reader (they/them used,) predetermined outfit, cheating, alcohol consumption, weed use, fingering, p in v, oral (both receiving, masturbation, rough sex, unprotected sex, daddy kink, lots of teasing, revised: January'25

Word count: 2.1k

After two weeks of nearly getting caught fucking your stepfather on your mothers bed you thought it would serve as a lesson and it totally wasn't.

You hadn’t gotten the chance to have sex with Billy again but that didn’t stop you from brushing your hand over his crotch whenever you walked past him, and it sure didn’t stop him from hugging you from behind and giving your tits a few squeezes while you cooked before your mother walked in the kitchen. Also, why would you waste an opportunity to makeout with him on the couch during movie night while your mother was in the bathroom? You were playing with fire. Getting caught was a stone's throw away but neither of you cared..

The third week after your little adventure you found yourself annoyed as you set up the whole house for a work party your mother was hosting. It was her boss's birthday and since she’s the manager and employee with the biggest house it was basically a default that most activities happened at your place.

That’s also how you met Stu Macher…

It was around the time Billy and your mother started living together. There was a small get together out by the pool and you were inside serving yourself a much needed glass of wine. As you poured the drink Stu walked in to get himself a beer from the mini fridge.

You made brief eye contact with the man and didn’t make much of it until he walked over to the kitchen counter to grab a red solo cup.

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking?” he asked you jokingly, but you could tell it was more than a casual comment.

“I’m legal if that’s what you’re asking” you answered, sassy as ever.

Stu found your little attitude amusing and held the conversation a bit longer than intended.

“You’re a feisty one, huh?” he countered and chuckled.

You couldn’t help but smirk. The dimple that his smile revealed, his natural flirtiness and his goddamn height was a mixture that excited and peaked your interest.

“And that seems to interest you” you continued and he leaned against the counter.

“You caught me there” Stu said and took a swing of his beer.

“Aren’t you supposed to be outside with your work buddies?” you asked before taking a sip of your wine. The cool and tart taste soothed your body.

“To be honest with you, I’d rather be at my house but y’know, gotta pretend that I like these people to keep a good appearance at work” he answered and you nodded.

“Cheers to that” you said and clicked your glass with his beer bottle.

“You wanna get out of here?” Stu asked jokingly and hell, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat if he was dead serious about it.

“Why would I leave with a stranger?” you flirted and he smiled wide, those goddamn dimples on full display again.

“It’s Stu. Stu Macher” he said and looked out to the backyard as someone calling him.

“See you around, Stu” you closed the conversation and walked past him towards your room.

The man stared as you walked all the way to the hallway, raking his eyes all over your body. He would’ve taken you right then and there had it been another situation, and you sure as hell would’ve given in without hesitating. You even had a wet dream that same night about him fucking you on top of that kitchen counter…

As you arranged the bottles of liquor on that same counter, you remembered that moment and bit your lip at the memory. You even got wet at the thought and it enhanced as you felt Billy wrap his strong arms around your middle.

“I better not catch you drinking any of that tonight” he whispered in your ear and you pressed your ass against his crotch.

“Why? Am I getting in trouble if I do, Daddy?” you asked innocently and the man hissed.

“You’re getting fucked tonight if you keep teasing me like this” Billy replied while squeezing your waist.

“Can’t wait” you said and pushed your back against his chest, enough to move him and give you space to escape his grasp and walk to the backyard.

•

It was 11pm and everyone was tipsy enough to talk freely and be loud. You would be cooped up in your room having a solo smoking sesh if you didn't have entertainment. Two men to play around with. Billy and Stu, to be exact.

You decided to wear something provocative enough to get both of their attention throughout the night. A silk, olive green dress with thin straps and lower back cut.

You decided to go braless as well, your buds visible in an almost classy way. Underwear was out of the question too, easy access was your fun little secret. Even if you didn't get your way with any of the men of interest, at least you could fuck yourself with your favorite toy without the hassle of taking your clothes off.

Outside, you were leaning against the rail of the porch, just enough for your dress to hike up below your ass cheeks. A glass of wine in one hand and a vape in the other. You had a nice buzz coursing through your body and the cool air felt like a wave washing over you.

“Mind if I join?”

Behind you Stu was standing closer than expected. His button shirt had the sleeves rolled up and you couldn't help but look at his strong arms.

“Not at all” you answered, voice soft and inviting.

The man smirked and stood next to you; “Nicotine?” he asked, pointing at your vape.

You chuckled and shook your head no, “Weed. Want a hit?” you offered, which you rarely did but this was a special occasion.

“Sure,” he answered and took a hit from the device, releasing the smoke slowly.

You bit your lip at the sight, it looked hotter than it should've and you were already starting to grow wet between your legs. His proximity was enough to do so, but that sight really did it for you.

Little did you know, Billy was observing you from inside the house pretending to be involved in a conversation between 3 people. You caught his eyes and thought it would be fun to get him a little jealous and rile him up a bit.

As you made small talk with Stu, you got touchy with him on purpose as well as purposely bubbly and flirty, giggling and laughing loud enough for Billy to hear.

“You have the cutest laugh” Stu pointed out and you blushed, covering your mouth while you gasped, hitting his arm playfully.

“Having a good time?” Billy approached Stu and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezing tightly.

Stu glared at him subtly before catching your stare. Both men were scanning your body, looking from head to toe shamelessly.

“A great time now that you joined us,” you said boldly and he chuckled.

Stu took note of your flirtiness, confirming what Billy shared about you two earlier that night…

“Wait, on your wife's bed?” Stu asked, laughing. Definitely interested in the whole situation.

“Yeah, that little cunt is to die for. Nearly ended up knocking them up.” Billy continued, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Damn, I'd do anything to get a piece of that.” Stu said while staring at you from a distance. Billy enjoyed the view as well and he definitely had to fuck you that night or else he'd go insane.

“We could tag team for sure. A little more alcohol and weed will do the trick.” Billy confirmed and the men were both set on fucking your brains out…

Which is exactly what happened.

You don't know how you ended up in your room with your stepfather and his best friend, but there you were, on your bed straddling Billy's lap, making out furiously while he groped your ass.

Stu was sitting on your office chair enjoying the view of your now hiked up dress. Booty on full display for him.

You moaned into Billy's mouth as you started to grind against his clothes cock, desperate to have him inside you.

“Fuck, you look so good for us.” Stu said while unbuttoning his jeans, his hard cock finally being released from being trapped in his pants. Of course he didn't wear underwear.

You shook your ass to tease him and Billy spanked you. A warning from his part.

“You save that little attitude for me” he said and you smirked, loving how possessive your stepdad behaved with you.

“I was just playing around, Daddy” you teased further and he pushed you off his lap, pinning you against the bed, his large hand reaching between your legs.

Billy used his middle and ring finger to rub your clit in circular motions. Ring finger decorated with its rightful marriage ring, of course. A sinful display.

He collected your slick from your entrance, dipping his fingers just enough before sliding them back up to your clit.

You were sensitive at the start of the night, but after the alcohol, weed, the teasing… fuck, you could cum just by Billy rubbing your most sensitive spot between your legs. He was borderline torturing you with his slow, methodical movements between your legs.

You ended up grinding against his fingers, trying to feel them deeper inside you but the man wasn't going to please you. No. He needed you to be desperate for him, and that you were.

Finally breaking, you grabbed Billy's hand and pushed his fingers inside you. The long, pathetic, whiny moan you released made both Billy and Stus cocks twitch. Your cute noises affected them the same way and that did it for the man above you. He turned you around and unbuckled his belt quickly, followed by the zipper. He didn't bother to lower his pants much and released his cock enough to bury himself inside your cunt. You were soaked and the stretch felt incredibly good, especially when he bottomed out.

Thank Gods he positioned you on all fours because Stu was right in front of you. He was pumping his cock at the same speed Billy thrust inside you. He imagined how good your cunt must feel around his 8 incher, and you shared the same thought.

“You're such a slut” Billy grunted and pushed your head against the mattress, “Fucking your stepfather again and letting his friend join?” he continued and this time he pulled your hair back, your head facing forward to meet Stus gaze once again, “Pathetic” Billy finished and you bit your lip before sticking your tongue out for Stu. You needed to feel him inside you too and the man understood your message clearly. He walked towards you, cock in hand and rested the tip on your tongue. You purposely drooled and felt him harden further at the sight. You knew exactly what you were doing and he did too.

In a second Stu slid his cock inside your mouth and thrust in unison with Billy. You were stuffed and it felt incredible from both ends. Your eyes rolled back on their own as you felt your orgasm building. You needed to cum and that night you sure as hell didn't want Billy to pull out, so you made sure you squeezed him good when you came.

Reaching under your pillow, you pulled out the vibrator you were using the night prior and placed it on your clit, hitting the perfect spot and combining both pleasure points. The way you squeezed Billy's cock while you were reaching your high made it impossible for him to hold back.

“Fuck baby, keep that up and I'll fill you up real good,” Billy moaned and you whined around Stus cock. The vibration of your voice nearly pushing him over the edge.

After a few more minutes you came around your stepfather's cock, moaning around Stus cock again as he came inside your mouth. You swallowed as much as you could, the rest dripping all over your bed.

Finally, Billy came and he didn't care about pulling out, much to your liking. He thrust hard enough for the skin on skin contact to echo around the room as he filled you up with his seed, both of you moaning and groaning non stop.

When he pulled out his cum dripped out of your cunt and he spread your thighs to get a good look, chuckling at the sight

•

“You're leaving?” You asked Stu, pouting.

“My wife is waiting for me, don't wanna get home too late.” He said while buckling his belt.

When the man looked up, Billy was crawling between your legs ready to clean his mess with his skilled tongue. Stu chuckled while fixing his hair with his large hands.

“Don't have too much fun without me” he said.

“Get out” Billy said, half serious, half playful before licking a stripe along your slit.

Stu was already getting hard and had to hide his half boner before walking out of your room.

#billy loomis smut #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader #ghostfacesmut #billy loomis x reader #scream (1996)#billy loomis x you #stu macher smut #stu macher x billy loomis #stu matcher x reader #dilf Billy Loomis #dilf Stu Macher

1K notes · View notes

svtiddiess · 7 months ago

Text

Sex Education

Synopsis: In all your years of education you learned that there are many methods to study: flashcards, study groups, the pomodoro method etc. But you find that practice is better than theory. And what better way to study Biology than practice with your study buddy?

Pairing: loser!virgin!med student!Mingyu x afab!med student!reader

Genre: smut, slight crack, med school! au, mini-series

Rating: mature

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: pet names (puppy), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, size kink, choking, loss of virginity, sub!Gyu, big dick!Gyu, loser!Gyu, riding, masturbation, lemme know if I missed anything!

Note: Thank you so much for helping me with the synopsis my twin @tomodachiii! As promised, here's sub!Gyu.

Thank you so much to @onlymingyus for beta reading!

Read part 2 here!

Click here to join my taglist!

Read on ao3

Reblogs are appreciated ♡

.ᐟMinors/blank/no age indicator blogs will be blocked.ᐟ

Mingyu.

That's the only thing on your mind right now—nothing else, just Mingyu. You should probably be paying attention to the lesson, but how could you, with the hot nerd sitting right within your line of sight? Okay, maybe you chose this seat specifically so you could look at him without getting caught, but still! He’s a distraction you’re more than happy to have.

You rest your chin in your hand, sighing as your eyes trace over his figure. He’s built like a Greek god—strong, tall, with perfectly styled black hair, and his large square glasses barely hide his handsome, tan face. Oh, what you’d give just to see him without those glasses on.

You’ve known Mingyu since middle school. You never really interacted, but you definitely noticed him around. Back in school, he was known as the nerdy kid with glasses and a scrawny, lanky frame to match. Shy and awkward, he was an easy target for bullies. But over the years, his muscle mass increased, and his frame filled out. It seems he’s been putting in serious hours at the gym, and it’s definitely paid off.

Although he’s the most handsome guy in med school, he’s still incredibly shy and reserved, keeping his circle small and close-knit. Despite numerous people, especially girls, trying to get closer to him, he just pushes them away. That’s why, despite your massive crush, you haven’t made a move. You’re too scared he’ll shut you out and avoid you for good.

You can't help but bite your bottom lip and squeeze your thighs together as you rake your eyes over his bulging biceps, his shirt barely able to contain the muscle. Just one chokehold; one chokehold is all you're asking for, really. You sigh once again, knowing that you'll never be able to have him.

Your train of unholy thoughts is abruptly interrupted by the sound of your professor calling your name. Startled, you sit up and look towards him.

"Miss Y/N, are you even paying attention?" Prof. Choi huffs, crossing his arms.

"Of course I am, professor," you reply, flashing the sweetest smile you can manage.

"Then, for the third time, please answer the question on the board," he says, gesturing to the problem.

"Uh…" you trail off, completely lost.

Prof. Choi sighs and tells you to see him after class, to which you reluctantly agree. You sink into your chair, dreading what’s to come. Shaking your head, you let out a sigh and shifted your gaze back to Mingyu, watching in awe as he effortlessly answered the very question you stumbled over. Tall, muscular, hot, and smart—he really is the perfect guy.

You grumble as Prof. Choi calls your name, sabotaging your plan to slip out of class. Sighing, you drag yourself over to his desk, only to be surprised when Mingyu joins you. You glance between Mingyu and Prof. Choi, waiting for an explanation.

"Y/N, I’ll get straight to the point—you’re failing this class," Prof. Choi says. "At this rate, I’m not sure you'll be able to move on to the next year."

Well, it’s not your fault that a hot distraction named Kim Mingyu exists.

"That’s why I’ve assigned Mingyu here as your tutor to help you pass," he says, nodding toward Mingyu.

Your eyes widen, and you struggle to suppress a smile. Mingyu tutoring you? Spending time alone with him? This feels like a dream come true. You silently thank both Prof. Choi and the heavens for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Mingyu gives you a shy smile. "I hope we can get along well," he says, extending his hand.

You gratefully take it, noticing the blush coloring his cheeks.

"Please take good care of me, Mingyu," you say, beaming, already looking forward to your tutoring sessions.

You smooth out your skirt one last time before opening the door for Mingyu. You made sure to wear your sluttiest outfit today. After insisting that your brain works better when you study in your room, Mingyu shyly agreed to hold the tutoring sessions there.

You smile and step aside to let him in, watching as he sheepishly steps into your house. Making sure your ass is sticking out, you made him follow you upstairs to your room.

You sat down on your bed, subtly raising your skirt, and gestured for Mingyu to take a seat next to you. He awkwardly took his seat and started pulling out his notes.

He keeps his eyes on his notes as he starts explaining today’s lesson—something about the Krebs cycle, though you’re not really listening. You’re too busy admiring his handsome face. You twirl a strand of hair and blink sweetly as you ask (hopefully relevant) questions, but he barely glances at you while answering.

After what feels like hours of studying (it’s been 30 minutes), you whine and beg him for a break, and he blushes as he agrees.

"Would you like some snacks? Or maybe water or juice?" you ask, perking up.

"Just a glass of water is fine," he mumbles, still focused on his notes.

You nod and grab a glass of water for him and a snack for yourself. Returning, you hand him the water with a smile, which he accepts with a quiet “thank you,” while you peel your banana for your snack.

You lick the tip of the banana before biting down on it, smirking when you see Mingyu gulping at your actions. Noticing you looking at him, he blushes and quickly averts his gaze.

"Want a bite?" You offer him with a sultry smirk.

"N-No, thank you," he mumbles, his ears turning red.

You giggle as you finish your banana and scoot a little closer, prompting him to continue the lesson. But he’s a stuttering mess, tripping over his words and repeatedly asking for more water to soothe his suddenly dry throat.

After stuttering his way through, Mingyu finally managed to finish the lesson. Sore from having hunched over, you stretch, not so subtly pressing your chest against his arm. Mingyu flushes, quickly gathering his notes and mumbling something about being late for a gaming session with Wonwoo.

You see him out, throwing in a wink and waving goodbye. You watch as he stumbles a bit while getting onto his Vespa and driving off. Chuckling to yourself, you can't help but smile at how cute he is.

The rest of the tutoring sessions go the same way: you not-so-subtly flirt with Mingyu, while he either purposely ignores it or remains completely oblivious. You even try to out-slut your outfits with every tutoring session, but nothing seems to work.

One night, after yet another session, you lie in bed, frustrated that Mingyu isn’t picking up on your very obvious hints. Who knew the loser nerd would actually turn out to be a huge loser? You sigh, but him being a huge loser is what you find most endearing about him.

You bite your lip, remembering what he wore today—a black polo that stretched perfectly over his muscles, jeans that hugged his thighs just right, and of course, those thick black frames.

You can't help but sneak your hand down your torso as you remember how his arm felt pressed against your boobs. They felt so strong and firm, you bet that he could easily carry you and fuck you mid-air.

You shiver as your hand sneaks under your panties. You circle your pussy, collecting your arousal before pushing a finger into your hole, sighing at the slight stretch. You moan at the thought of Mingyu's fingers being way bigger than yours. His fingers would stretch you out so well before he finally fucks you with his huge cock.

You insert another finger and start thrusting your fingers, moaning out Mingyu's name. You imagine him hovering over you as he relentlessly thrusts into you, groaning your name right beside your ear. He'd growl as your fingers rake his back, leaving angry red marks. You'd wrap your legs around his hips and push him in deeper, making him breed you.

Your other hand circles your clit as you feel yourself getting to the edge. You imagine him thrusting from behind as his large bicep chokes you, putting just enough pressure to heighten the pleasure. He'd whimper and moan in your ear, letting you know how good you feel wrapped around him. He'd fill you up with his cum, again and again, and again, until the sheets underneath you are soaked with your mixed fluids.

Your breath hitches as you cum, whispering his name like a prayer, hoping that if you say it enough times, he’ll appear before you and make your dreams come true.

But he doesn't, and you're left lying in bed, sticky, sweaty, and alone.

You yawn for the umpteenth time as Mingyu drones on about anatomy; you're sure your brain has shut down by now. You sigh as you lean back onto the bed, too tired even to sit up.

"Mingyu, can we please take a break? I don't think my brain can take any more of this," you groan, resting your arm over your eyes.

"U-Uh, yeah, sure," Mingyu mumbles, fiddling with his notes. "We could always switch to a different topic if you want a change of pace…"

"What's the next topic?"

"The reproductive system."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and a smirk paints your face as an idea pops into your head. You sit up and grin at Mingyu.

"Sure, let's learn about the reproductive system."

Happy that you're finally interested in a topic, Mingyu gathers his notes and starts to explain. After about 15 minutes of explanation, you put your hand over his and gently push away his notes.

"Mingyu, I don’t understand the topic at all," you say with a pout, shifting to sit directly in front of him. His face turns bright red, clearly flustered. "I think it would help if we put the theory into practice so I can learn better," you purr.

Mingyu stumbles over his words, stuttering, his brain clearly short-circuiting. You giggle at his flustered state and shift to sit on his lap, your legs on either side of him.

"Will you let me use you to put the theory into practice, Mingyu?" you ask, tilting your head with a pout as you gently cup his face.

"I-I’m not sure h-how…" Mingyu stammers, swallowing hard.

"Oh, you poor thing," you coo. "It's okay, I'll guide you, puppy. Will you let me?"

He licks his lips and lets out a shaky breath before giving a small nod.

"Don't worry, puppy, I'll make sure to take good care of you," you hum as you gently remove his glasses.

He blinks and looks up at you, lips parted and cheeks flushed. You take a moment to admire his handsome face without the glasses. Cupping his face, your eyes trace over his features—his strong jawline, his parted lips, and the small mole on the tip of his nose. Unable to resist, you lean in and place a gentle kiss there, making him shiver.

"Can I kiss you, puppy?" You whisper.

"P-Please," he whimpers, and you can't help but smile over how pathetic he sounds.

You lean in and press your lips against his, and he kisses back desperately, hungry for your lips. You chuckle into the kiss, his inexperience showing with every hesitant movement. When you pull back, he leans forward, chasing your lips and letting out a soft whine when you don’t return the kiss.

"Puppy, if you don't behave, I will punish you," you scowl, furrowing your eyebrows.

"'m sorry," he mumbles with a pout.

You plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose, then slowly run your hands down his torso, gently squeezing each muscle through his white polo. He moans and shivers under your touch, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Puppy works hard in the gym, hm?" You giggle, squeezing his chest slightly harder, eliciting a gasp from him.

You giggle, then start slowly dragging your hands to his arms, squeezing his biceps.

"God, your arms are so big and strong," you moan, squeezing him hard. "I want you to choke me, puppy. Can you do that for me? Choke me with your biceps?"

Letting out a shaky breath, he nods. You shift, pressing your back against his chest. He gently puts you into a chokehold and squeezes his arm slightly. Your eyes roll back, and a moan slips from your lips when you feel his biceps push against your throat.

You can't help but feel small in Mingyu's hold; he's just so big and beefy. You grind your hips against him, and you feel his grip faltering. He whimpers and pushes his erection against your butt.

"P-Please, I can't. I-It hurts," he whimpers against your ear.

You sneak down your hand and palm him through his jeans, making him groan and buck your hips against your palm.

"Need me to take care of your problem puppy?" You giggle, palming him roughly.

"Please," he strains out, choking back a moan.

He releases you from the chokehold, and you quickly clamber over to grab the bottle of lube you've stashed on the side table. You look over to see that he's already pushed his jeans and boxers down and freed his aching cock.

"Impatient are we now, puppy?" You chuckle, making his cheeks heat up.

Locking eyes with him, you give him a sultry look as you slowly peel off your panties but keep your skirt on. He gulps hard, shifting in place, anticipating your next move.

Biting your lip, you slowly crawl back over to him. You pour lube all over his cock and give him a few pumps, he whines your name and bucks his hips, making you giggle.

"Gonna make you feel so good, puppy," you whisper as you shift to hover over him.

You grab onto his shoulders and slowly sink onto his big cock, the stretch making you moan out loud. Mingyu whines and groans under you, his hands fly to your hips, fingers digging into you.

"F-Fuck," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth slowly envelopes him.

Your mouth goes agape, and your eyes roll back when you feel his tip kiss your cervix.

"M-Move, please move. I-I can't," he begs, muscles straining under you.

You slowly lift yourself and slam back down onto him, making the both of you moan out loud. Slowly picking up your pace, you start riding him. He becomes a blubbering mess under you, moaning your name and whining at how good it feels.

"Look at the mess we're making, puppy," you pant out, lifting your skirt and showing him the sticky mess forming at the base of his cock.

He looks down at where both of you are connected and moans. He starts picking you up and slamming you down at an animalistic pace, his hips meeting you halfway. You squeal at the feeling of him rutting into you.

Unable to hold back any longer, he cums hard, filling you up to the brim with his seeds. Desperate to reach your high, you continue to ride him despite his chokes and whimpers. You capture his lips into a messy kiss to distract him from the overstimulation.

"C-Circle my clit," you mumble in between the kiss, and he complies, his hand immediately sneaking down and rubbing your clit in circles.

You yell his name as you cum around him, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Mingyu moans, and a few tears slip from his eyes at the feeling of you squeezing him with a vice-like grip.

You both take a moment to catch your breath, your head resting on Mingyu’s shoulder as he leans back against the headboard. Licking your lips, you cup his face and look into his dazed eyes.

"You did so well, puppy," you coo, watching him blush and give you a fucked-out smile.

"But I don't think I've fully understood the topic yet. Maybe we should go over it again, just to be sure," you say before smashing your lips on his again.

Taglist: @tinyelfperson @gyuguys @stay-tiny-things @unlikelysublimekryptonite @miyx-amour

@iamawkwardandshy @codeinebelle @brownbunnyb @do-you-remember-summer-127 @sclovreina

@theidontknowmehn @aliiikareed @jennwonwoo @toplinehyunjin

2K notes · View notes

cece693 · 3 months ago

Text

So I just read a fic on Tumblr about reader acalling their lover 'bro', 'dude', etc. and I thought it was hilarious. Like it's something so harmless but your lover sees it like betrayal. I couldn't think of a person who would allow such a thing, but then comes in Joe Goldberg :)

You’re My Bro—Wait, What?

pairing: joe goldberg x male reader tags: 'bro' zoned, power bottom Joe, no explicit smut but mentions of it, reader is amused, Joe is not, casual turned into relationship, Joe monologuing

You’re starting to think Joe might be just a little too possessive—but hey, that’s half the fun, right? The two of you are standing at a crowded bar, shoulders touching as you each cradle a drink, when one of your friends strides over. You see Joe tense the moment they look between you and him, curiosity shining in their eyes. “So are you guys—?”

“Buddies,” you blurt, before you can think of something more diplomatic. Joe’s entire posture goes rigid as a steel rod. You can practically hear him grinding his teeth.

(Joe's inner monologue): You have got to be kidding me. First, “friend.” Then, “buddy.” Now, “bro.” Every time he does this, it feels like I’m being listed on some discount website: ‘And here’s my pal Joe, 50% off while supplies last!’ Doesn’t he realize he’s basically advertising that he’s still on the market? Am I a placeholder until some new fling shows up? Because I am definitely not a placeholder.

You finish the interaction with your friend, laugh awkwardly, and they move off to join the crowd. You turn to Joe, but he’s already looking at you with that borderline laser-focused stare. “Hey, buddy,” you try, testing your luck with a playful grin. Joe’s brow twitches, and you mentally kick yourself—buddy is basically the forbidden word at this point.

(Joe's inner monologue): He’s doing it on purpose…right? He must be doing it on purpose. Is he oblivious, or am I supposed to interpret this as some twisted come-on?

“Not now,” he says under his breath. “We’re going somewhere quieter.” He practically grabs you by the wrist, weaving through the bar crowd, until you’re both in a dimly lit corridor near the bathrooms. The incessant clacking of pool balls and muffled Top 40 hits fade behind the hum of neon beer signs.

You watch Joe pace in a tight circle, raking his fingers through his hair. It’s endearing and simultaneously a bit intense—like he’s one step away from either kissing you or strangling you. (In Joe’s defense, that’s basically his resting expression.) “Okay,” you begin, leaning back against the wall, “what was that about?”

He whirls on you, eyes narrowed. “You keep calling me your buddy. Or your pal. Or your bro. I’m not some backup plan you keep on the sidelines until you find a better guy to binge-watch Netflix with.”

You chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Dude, it’s just—”

(Joe's inner monologue): Oh, now I’m ‘dude?’ Fantastic. Might as well just write ‘NOT AVAILABLE FOR COMMITMENT’ on my forehead.

“It’s not just anything,” he hisses, crossing his arms. “I’m pretty sure after everything we’ve done—” He lowers his voice, leaning in. “After letting you do literally every position we saw in that questionable YouTube video—maybe you could stop calling me bro.”

You open your mouth, realize no words are coming, then awkwardly clear your throat. “Alright, maybe I have been a little casual about this, but that’s only because we’ve never had the talk. I didn’t think you’d want me shouting from the rooftops about how we’re—”

Joe cuts you off, stepping closer. “And maybe I don’t want a rooftop announcement. But I do expect more respect than a frat-house label.”

(Joe's inner monologue): Just say it. Just say you want me. No big speech, no elaborate plan—just an acknowledgement that I matter. That’s not too much to ask… right?

“Fine,” you admit, swallowing your pride. “You matter. I’m not looking for anyone else. I’m not hooking up with random guys. But, Joe, you gotta give me a little grace. I’m not great at labeling…this.” You gesture between the two of you.

Joe exhales loudly. “Right. Labeling is apparently your kryptonite. Noted. Just...can we skip this weird in-between? Because every time you say ‘bro,’ it sounds like you’re flipping the sign on the door from exclusive to vacancy.”

You sigh, stepping in closer, placing a hand on Joe’s waist. “Dude—I mean—Joe, you’re not replaceable.” You soften your voice. “I’m not looking to replace you. I’m not looking for anything new. I’m good right here.”

He stares back at you, arms still crossed, but his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back up. Before you know it, the tension in that cramped hallway flips from charged anger to charged…something else. Joe’s eyes flash with a challenge, and you swear he’s daring you to make a move. You lean in and give him a slow kiss, feeling him momentarily stiffen before melting against you. It’s kind of funny—he’s so prickly about your label issues, but the second your lips meet, he’s turning to jelly. Well, controlling jelly.

He tugs on the front of your shirt, yanking you closer so your hips align with his. You groan against his mouth, the adrenaline from the argument still spiking through your veins. “Still want to argue?” you tease, pulling back.

Joe’s cheeks flush, but his gaze is steady. “Oh, I can argue and get what I want,” he mutters.

There’s a momentary scramble of limbs, heated looks, and the two of you decide that maybe the corridor behind the bathrooms isn’t the best place for what’s about to happen. Next thing you know, you’re ducking into the single-occupancy restroom—fortunately not locked. You twist the lock shut behind you while Joe promptly shoves you against the sink, eyes blazing.

(Joe's inner monologue): We’ve done this in decent places: my apartment, his place, that weird bookstore corner once (don’t get me started). But a bar bathroom, mid-argument? Maybe it’s not the classiest setting, but I need him to understand: I might be the one on my back, but I’m the one running this show.

He’s on you again—biting kisses, needy hands. Every swipe of his tongue is laced with frustration, wanting to prove a point. The comedic reality that you’re in a dingy bathroom, complete with flickering fluorescent light and a questionably stained sink, is not lost on either of you. But you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Joe’s breath is already ragged when he spins around, shoving you onto the closed toilet lid. He straddles you, controlling the angle despite being underneath—or, technically, on top—of you. You blink up at him, a little stunned by how quickly he’s taken charge.

(Joe's inner monologue): He might be bigger, physically stronger, but I’ve never had trouble taking the reins. Because if I don’t, he’ll probably just keep calling me ‘pal’ until the day we die.

His lips brush your ear. “You’re gonna remember who I am after tonight,” he murmurs, voice husky. “No more ‘bro’ or ‘buddy.’ Unless you’re aiming for round two of this discussion.”

There’s definitely some comedic irony that you were just seconds away from strangling each other verbally, and now Joe’s tugging you into a feverish, borderline out-of-breath makeout. He’s got that gift of making every single movement deliberate—grinding down just enough, leaning back just enough, whispering exactly what he wants.

A short while later—between the occasional slam on the wall from someone in the hallway telling you to hurry up—Joe’s making sure you fully understand your position. He’s the bottom, but he’s the one guiding the pace, telling you exactly how he wants it, and you, well…you’re happy to give it to him.

(Joe's inner monologue): He’s going to call me something else from now on. Not ‘bro.’ Not ‘buddy.’ Something that actually says I’m important. Because the truth is, there’s no one else like me. He’ll see that. By the time we’re done, he’ll more than see it—he’ll feel it.

Eventually, you both emerge, hair mussed, lips swollen, clothes hastily adjusted. The rest of the bar patrons give you a mix of amused and annoyed looks—apparently, you were in there a while.

Joe clears his throat, straightening his jacket with that almost comical air of dignity (as if he didn’t just thoroughly test the structural integrity of the bathroom sink). You wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close. He doesn’t protest—although he narrows his eyes suspiciously, like he’s waiting for you to casually toss out the dreaded word again.

“So…” you start, leaning in so only he can hear you. “No more ‘bro’ or ‘buddy.’ I get it, loud and clear. Boyfriend good enough?”

His lips part. You’d swear you see relief flash across his face, but he masks it quickly with mild annoyance. “That’ll do for now,” he grumbles, but his hand slides into yours, interlocking fingers. The contact is firm—possessive, even.

You grin, guiding him back toward the bar for that second drink (which you both probably need after the fiasco in the bathroom). He glances up at you, expression softening.

(Joe's inner monologue): ‘Boyfriend’…that’s what I wanted to hear. Maybe it’s not a rooftop shout, but it’s a start. And if he even thinks about calling me ‘dude’ again, well…I’m not opposed to repeating that whole argument just for the fun of making up.

He notices you smiling to yourself. With a mock glare, Joe warns, “Whatever you’re thinking, I’m on to you.”

You chuckle and press a quick kiss to his temple. “Relax, boyfriend. I’m just thinking about how this’ll be one hell of a story to tell…well, maybe not the bathroom part.”

#x male reader #male reader #slasher fandom #joe goldberg #you netflix #love quinn #joe goldberg x male reader #you series #netflix you #you season 5 #you #slasher fanfiction #slashers #slasher x male reader #joe goldberg x you #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg fanfiction #joe goldberg smut

747 notes · View notes

wendichester · 15 days ago

Note

hello, i don't know if you take requests but I saw a tik tok where a teacher was getting ready for firefighter day at the school and I immediately imagined teacher reader and firefighter dean winchester

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBsQnGn4/

I'm sorry for my english

𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ stop, drop... and flirt,

summary. firefighter day but this year's edition features a calendar-worthy firefighter

pairing. firefighter!dean winchester x teacher!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 542

notes / warnings. just shameless flirting

You don’t usually get flustered. You run a class of twenty-five chaos gremlins on sugar highs and zero impulse control. You handle scraped knees, forgotten lunchboxes, and glitter explosions like a seasoned general.

But today?

Today, Dean Winchester walks into your classroom in a firefighter uniform—and your brain promptly short-circuits.

You were told someone from the station would come talk to the kids about fire safety, give the ol’ “stop, drop, and roll” speech, let them play with the siren. You were expecting someone older. Possibly balding.

You were not expecting six feet of flirty smirk and forearms that could carry you like a sack of flour.

Dean tugs off his helmet as he steps in, raking a hand through messy hair. “Hope I’m not too early.”

You manage a blink. A nod. A sound that might be a word. “You’re… just on time.”

He flashes you a smile that should be illegal in a school zone. “You the teacher?”

You almost say, I can be whatever you want, but somehow swallow it down in time.

“Yes. I’m Ms. Y/L/N. And you’re…?”

“Dean. Station 34. I usually don’t do these things, but my buddy was out sick, so…” He shrugs, then adds, “Figured I’d come hang with the cool kids.”

“Right,” you say, doing your best to focus. “Fire safety. Stop, drop, and roll.”

“Yep,” he grins. “Though I gotta say, I might need a refresher on the ‘stop’ part. Not when you’re lookin’ like that.”

Your eyebrows shoot up.

“Excuse me?”

He steps closer. Just enough to feel the heat of him.

“So,” he says, voice lower now. “I know I’m supposed to teach kids about fire safety, but you?”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“You’re kinda making me forget all the rules.”

You bite your lip, heart hammering. “That a line you use often?”

“Only when I mean it.”

You’re definitely blushing now. “Uh-huh. You gonna charm the kids like that too?”

“I dunno,” he teases. “Think they’ll appreciate a ‘damn, teach’ moment?”

You try—really try—not to laugh. You fail.

The kids love him, of course. He talks about fire drills and escape plans and even lets them sit in the driver’s seat of the truck out front. They cheer. They squeal. He winks at you at least three times, and each time it knocks a year off your life expectancy.

By the end, when your classroom is empty and the chaos has cleared, you find him lingering at the door, helmet back under his arm.

“Thanks for coming,” you say, arms folded, leaning against a desk.

He grins. “Thanks for not calling HR on me.”

“I thought about it.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. Hands it to you.

It’s a business card.

You raise a brow. “Calling in a fire?”

He shrugs. “Or dinner. Whichever comes first.”

You smile despite yourself. “You really don’t quit, huh?”

Dean winks. “You’ll get used to it.”

And just like that, he’s gone—leaving behind the faint smell of smoke, engine grease, and whatever cologne should be bottled and sold under the name trouble.

You glance down at the card, still warm in your hand.

Looks like Firefighter Day might become your new favorite school holiday.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx #.req

425 notes · View notes

sweetshuga · 4 months ago

Text

𝑩𝒓𝒂𝒕 𝑻𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ 𝑴.𝑺 [+𝟏𝟖]

ⓘ 𝑺𝑴𝑼𝑻! ⋆ cursing ⋆ pet names ⋆ colleague!matt ⋆ mean!matt ⋆ punishment ⋆ degradation kink ⋆ bathroom sex ⋆ keeping quiet ⋆ dirty talk + more.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓�� 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕... Matt is your good looking colleague—your workplace enemy. After interrupting his important presentation countless times, he decided to finally put you in your place.

You watched as your colleague rushed in late, quickly making his way towards his desk right next to yours before plopping down on his seat, letting out a slow breath. His eyes nervously scanned the crowded office to see if your boss was in sight before letting out a quiet sigh of relief.

"So damn close." He mumbled under his breath before opening his briefcase, taking out the necessary documents and papers. Your gaze raked over his suit-clad body as he worked, careful not to be too blatant but unable to help yourself.

Matt just looked too good in his suit.

It would be a lie if you said you didn’t feel that flutter in your abdomen whenever he was near, because quite frankly, your panties were always somewhat dampened after an interaction with him. Hell, just simply seeing him in his suit made you feel all kinds of ways.

You and him weren’t buddy-buddy though, which made it more complicated to feel this way. Sure, you may have had hate-sex once or twice by accident, but it never went beyond that. You both chalked it up to "in the heat of the moment" or "due to workplace stress" which you knew weren’t good enough excuses.

He’s your enemy for crying out loud.

As childish as it may sound, you two couldn’t stand each other. From little pranks to bigger sabotages—you did everything to see his jaw clenched, vice versa. Today was no different, you had a presentation to do, and unfortunately for you, so did Matt.

۶ৎ

You had already interrupted his presentation twice since he started and you’ve chalked it up to accidents, but you both knew that it was completely on purpose.

Your smirk widened the more frustrated he became, but he couldn’t do anything about it since your boss sat in front, looking and listening intently.

Matt suddenly excused himself to quickly 'bring' a document he forgot, mouthing a silent "Out. Now." to you before he walked out and you decided to comply with his demand just this once, finding his frustration absolutely amusing.

Excusing yourself with a quick ramble about needing the bathroom, you walked out of the meeting room and almost immediately a hand reached out and pulled you to the side.

You looked up and saw Matt fuming, his jaw clenched tightly and his chest heaving with barely controlled anger.

"Sweetheart," Matt tutted, his tongue clicking in annoyance before he continued in a lower voice, "Keep fucking distracting me like that and see what happens." He warned, his tone harsh despite his dilated pupils and increasingly ragged breaths—from anger or something else, you couldn’t quite tell.

You both entered the meeting room again, Matt a little while after you to not make it seem so suspicious. Ignoring your presence completely, he started to present again, his hands moving in expressive gestures to emphasize his words.

Despite his warning, you managed to interrupt his presentation mid-sentence, yet again, by coughing—which caused him to stop everything and stare at you for a few, too many, seconds before continuing his presentation. His expression gave nothing away, but his body language screamed enraged.

Your chest and the side of your head pressed against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as Matt rutted into you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips and no doubt leaving bruises behind.

Your eyes rolled back with each deep slam of his cock into your squelching wet cunt, and your free hand scrambled to cover your mouth in an awful attempt to muffle the loud noises spilling out of your mouth.

"Yeah, keep fucking quiet, you don’t want any of our coworkers to hear what a fucking whore you are, do you?" Matt taunted, his hips slapping against your ass with enough strength to make your legs tremble and lose balance, your heels clicking softly on the floor as you tried to keep yourself upright.

"M-Matt, too deep-" "Too deep?" Matt mocked your cry of pleasure, deliberately slamming into you roughly before grinding his hips against your ass, stirring himself deep inside.

The pressure against your cervix left you seeing stars.

"Aw, is this too deep? Can’t take it anymore?" He cooed in a mocking manner, pulling out almost fully before slamming back into your cervix, making sparks dance behind your eyes as they rolled back into your skull.

"This is what you get for being a fucking brat — a fucking brat that tries to get under my skin any chance she gets." He gritted his teeth, his own pleasure doubling at the way your insides clenched around him as if you enjoyed his harsh words.

"Oh? Aren’t you getting tighter? You enjoy being degraded huh? What a fucking slut." He chuckled breathlessly, relishing in your increasingly loud moans as your orgasm approached—your hand unable to muffle your noises of pleasure.

His fingers snaked around and started to rub your clit furiously, his other hand leaving your hip and wrapping around your waist instead to keep you from squirming away from his brutal pounding and skillful fingers.

"M-Matt, I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna cum!" He redoubled his efforts, grunting and groaning as he jackhammered into your pussy, barely holding back his own release. His belt clanked and jingled around his ankles where his pants and boxer briefs rested.

"Y-yes, right–right there! I’m gonna—" Your words dissolved into a drawn out moan, body tensing and shuddering as you finally reached your peak.

The feeling of your tightness fluttering around his already swollen cock sent him over the edge with a deep moan. His hips jerked against your ass as he filled up the condom. He finally allowed himself to slump forward, his chest covering your back as he rested his forehead against your shoulder blade, trying to catch his breath.

After a few minutes, Matt pulled out with a satisfied sigh, discarding the used condom and tucking himself back in his underwear before zipping up his slacks, fixing his clothes as a smirk played on his lips.

After he was done, he gave your ass a sharp smack, making you jolt and stand upright, shaking your head to clear the pleasure-drunk daze out of yourself.

"Don’t make it so obvious that you’ve been railed hard and fix yourself before you go out." He grinned, enjoying your frustrated glare before he sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving you to quickly fix your clothes and make up.

Matt hummed a quiet tune under his breath as he walked back into the office and plopped down on his seat, a ghost of a smirk still on his lips as he started to type away on his laptop.

He couldn’t wait to put you in your place, again.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒈𝒆.ᐟ | 𝒘𝒄 – 𝟏.𝟏 𝒌 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

807 notes · View notes

megalony · 5 months ago

Text

That's Enough

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine based on an old request. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write this for you anon.

I hope you will all like it, feedback keeps me motivated.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: When a person on a call begins to get aggressive and violent towards (Y/n), Buck and Eddie step in to protect their partner.

Enjoy.

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

A discontented groan left Eddie's lips when the sound of his alarm rung out through the air, jostling him from his dream.

It was early. He felt like he had gone to bed five minutes ago, but if his alarm was waking him up then he guessed he had slept longer than usual. Most of Eddie's recent shifts had been early, usually starting at five or six in the morning.

Today's shift was lined up to begin at nine which would feel like turning up in the afternoon compared to normal.

With a grunt, he twisted to the right and flopped onto his back, reaching his arm out to try and turn off his alarm. He had to get up, get Chris up and ready and drop him off at school on his way to work.

His brows furrowed when he groggily opened his eyes and looked towards the other side of the bed. (Y/n) was awake; more specifically, she was sitting up in bed. He didn't expect her to be wide awake the moment his alarm went off to remind them to get up for their shift.

His tired eyes glanced beside (Y/n) before a light went off in his mind and he remembered. Evan was already at work. He had agreed to a double shift. Evan went to do the night shift and he would be on shift until three in the afternoon. That meant while (Y/n) and Eddie were on shift, Evan would be able to head off and pick Chris up from school and be with him for the afternoon.

He reached his hand out and began to glide his hand up and down (Y/n)'s thigh while he tried to wake himself up. It took Eddie a moment to clear his head enough to sit up and properly start to wake up and when he did, he looked over to his left. His eyes raked her up and down, taking in the way she was sat to see what she was up to.

She was sat up in bed with the covers strewn across the middle of the bed. One hand was pressing down into the mattress, presumably to help keep her balance and her other hand was pressed against her temple while her head was tilted forward.

"You okay, amor?"

He let go of her thigh to stretch his arms up above his head, straining to click his neck into place before he twisted to the side. His knees gently nudged hers and his hand came up to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb swiping across her jaw until she opened her eyes.

"What's up?" He murmured softly, leaning over to peck her cheek when (Y/n) leaned her cheek into his palm. She nuzzled into his touch, trying her best not to lean on Eddie too much in case she let all of her weight fall onto him and have him hold her weight up for her.

"I feel sick."

For a while now, she hadn't been able to sleep. All she could do was fidget and squirm and groan. She felt sick. She felt like she was starting to burn up, but it just seemed to be her imagination. She hadn't thrown up, she wasn't sweating and she wasn't about to collapse, she just felt the need to be sick. Morning sickness was still her friend, even now.

She twisted to the side so she could lean her cheek on Eddie's shoulder when his hand dropped from her face so he could loop his arm around her waist. His hand splayed out on her hip and he kissed the top of her head while his other hand moved round to brush across her stomach.

"They're still asleep." (Y/n) muttered softly, and she managed a smile as she tilted her head back to look up at Eddie.

She knew what he was doing. Now they were twenty-one weeks along, (Y/n) was starting to feel the baby move and kick and the boys were enamoured. She knew Eddie was trying to see if the baby would kick but they were too settled to entertain him. But she liked the way Eddie continued to drag his fingertips along her stomach like he was either waiting for the baby to disagree or like he was soothing them to keep them asleep and content.

"Do you want me to get you a drink?"

"I'll grab one, we're both getting up anyway." (Y/n) found the will to pull away from Eddie's embrace, but not before he tilted her head in his direction to steal a kiss.

It wasn't like she could go back to sleep when they were both on shift and there was no way (Y/n) was calling in sick. She was on restricted duties down at the station and it made her work days very dull when she couldn't help out as much as she liked. She wasn't going to stay home when she could go to work and wait around for meager tasks to do to keep busy.

When Eddie climbed up off the bed and held his hands out towards (Y/n), she smiled softly and let him pull her up to her feet. His hands moved down to hold her hips and he attached his lips to the top of her head, waiting patiently for (Y/n) to move first so he knew she was alright.

Eddie's eyes kept glancing back towards (Y/n) while he rummaged around for some plain clothes. His work gear was washed and waiting in his locker at the station so he simply needed some casual clothes to wear until he could get changed.

He found a few things but his focus was solely on (Y/n), watching to see if she was sluggish or tired or wobbling as she slowly got dressed. They both knew Eddie would have a shower before work whereas that never woke (Y/n) up, how showers and baths made her want to go to sleep instead.

"You good?" Eddie murmured against the back of her head once she was dressed in a pair of maternity leggings and one of Evan's gym shirts.

"Hm."

She could feel Eddie's arm securing around her waist as he followed her out their bedroom and down the hall. Once they reached Chris's room, Eddie knocked on the door and nudged it open, muttering a groggy "Time to get up bud." in the process.

He knew Chris had heard him because of the grunt he heard and he knew in five minutes Chris would drag himself out of bed and get dressed.

(Y/n) could feel her stomach twisting as they aimed for the kitchen and her head fell back on Eddie's shoulder when they got there. She still felt sick and her head was starting to ache, but that was most likely because she needed a drink.

"Go sit down amor. I'll get a shower and find you some painkillers."

If she wasn't feeling great then Eddie would rather her sit down and take it easy for a while before they debated whether she was well enough to go to work or not.

His hands moved to her shoulders and he kissed the back of her head while he followed her into the living room to make sure she sat down and that she was alright in there.

His lips pursed as he watched (Y/n) flop down on the sofa and curl into the cushion. She brought her knees up until they were pressing into her bump and one arm flopped over the cushion while her other hand started to rub circles around her stomach.

"Won't be long," He mused against her temple before he kissed her cheek, then the tip of her nose and finally her lips when she tilted her head up, chasing after his lips.

When Eddie finished his shower and got dressed, he wasn't too sure whether it was a good thing or not that (Y/n) had moved from the living room. His head angled to one side and he turned and backtracked to head into the kitchen instead to see if she was in there.

"Will you try some painkillers?" Eddie glanced towards (Y/n) who was stood near the sink with her back to him, but he knew she was sorting out Chris's pack lunch.

When (Y/n)'s morning sickness had been rather bad last month, the midwife had prescribed some anti-sickness medication that could be dissolved in water as (Y/n) kept throwing her tablets up. But their struggle now was that (Y/n) wasn't throwing up as much as before, she was feeling sick instead. She felt the urge to be sick and she couldn't stomach much food or even water, but the doctor said she was 'much better' simply because she hadn't been sick.

They didn't have anymore of the anti-emmetics so Evan had stocked up on some dissolvable paracetamol to see if (Y/n) could drink those to settle her stomach. But she couldn't keep them down most days.

Eddie found the new pack and opened it up, finding a glass from the cupboard too. But when he turned around, he grinned in confusion and tilted his head to one side when he looked at (Y/n).

She turned around to face him, pressing her hips back into the sink behind her while her eyes cast down and a sheepish, timid smile pulled at her lips.

"And what is that?" The teasing tone to Eddie's voice made (Y/n) keep her eyes cast down to her stomach but she couldn't help but look up when he was stood in front of her with one hand on her hip and the other on her neck.

"Breakfast?"

"Really?" Eddie cast his eyes between (Y/n) and the ice lolly in her hand with a gleam in his eyes. "You know that's not gonna give you much substance, right?"

He could see that it was a berry ice lolly and it looked like one of the homemade ones Evan and Chris were always making. That wasn't going to fill (Y/n) up or make her feel full, nor was it going to give her any energy considering they had a full shift ahead of them and they were always busy in their job.

"Evan's idea for fluids, and it doesn't make me feel sick."

Evan had been extremely worried when (Y/n) hadn't been eating very much and when he noticed she couldn't keep drinks down or take big gulps of water, it panicked him even more. But he suggested an ice lolly might work. It took longer to get the fluids into (Y/n)'s system, the cold was refreshing and it was better than her drinking and then throwing up juice. This got more fluids into her system at a slow but steady pace.

(Y/n) leaned her cheek into Eddie's hand and pressed the lolly to her lips that began to tingle from the cold.

She knew it wasn't the best choice, but (Y/n) still felt queasy and she knew her body. She knew anything she tried to eat would either come back up or she would gag and cough before she could take a bite. At least this wasn't making her feel queasy and she might be able to keep some fluids down this way.

"Hm, I'll be having words with him then when we get to work." Eddie muttered softly against her temple as his hand wormed around to cradle the back of her neck to hold her close.

He would admit that this was creative and it was clearly an Evan idea and if it worked he would thank their boyfriend for thinking of something like this to keep (Y/n) from being sick or off work. But they needed to come up with something to help her eat as well as drink.

"At least you're having something, I guess."

***

(Y/n) ran her hand across her temple, warding away the headache that was dull at the back of her mind. She tried to push it to one side and ignore it so she could focus on the task at hand.

She forced a smile onto her face as the truck pulled up at the scene. It had been a few days since (Y/n) had been allowed out on scene, the last few calls had been too hectic for (Y/n) to attend. She and Bobby were in agreement that if she couldn't do anything on scene then she didn't want to stand around like a statue, unable to help.

She had remained at the station cleaning and tidying and answering calls and seeing the few people who popped in with questions or small emergencies she could deal with.

But to finally be back in the fire truck and out on a scene was joyous and (Y/n) was relieved to be back with the team and feel somewhat included again.

Her hand rested on Evan's shoulder as she climbed down from the truck, following behind him as they all took in the scene they were at.

She kept her hand on his shoulder and pressed up into Evan's side while she glanced around.

There had been a pile up in the middle of a junction. Someone ran a red light and caused a major pile up. (Y/n) was rather surprised she had been allowed out on this call, but then again, the roads had all been blocked off and there was no risk of fire or people yielding weapons.

There were enough emergency responders here to do the heavy lifting and let (Y/n) take a step back and be useful as a medic or to guide people away from the scene and tend to non-life threatening injuries.

"Okay, Buck and Chimney grab the jaws and saws, we might have to cut free the person in the red Honda. The rest of you spread out and check on anyone who needs medical attention."

(Y/n) timidly pointed to herself, waiting for Bobby to grin and nod at her before she dared move. She needed that green light so she knew she could go and help people too and that Bobby didn't have anything else in mind for her to be getting on with.

She pushed up on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to Evan's cheek before she turned and followed after Hen to grab a medic bag.

With a medic bag in hand, (Y/n) took a deep breath and headed towards the scene. There were at least five cars piled up and two on the outskirts, at least a few of them wouldn't need to be taken to hospital but they would all needed to be assessed in case of a concussion or minor injuries.

Seeing as no one was at the yellow car yet, (Y/n) set her sights on that one and wandered towards it. She needed to help but she wasn't able to use the jaws if anyone was trapped in their cars. (Y/n) couldn't use any of the heavy equipment or do anything strenuous. Once someone was on the gurney (Y/n) wasn't supposed to push it by herself as it was technically a two person job.

There were so many rules and so many little things (Y/n) couldn't do now she was pregnant which she hadn't paid any mind to before. Even the boys were rather surprised at how restricted their girlfriend was now she was on light duties.

Before she got to the car, the driver's door flung open. (Y/n) slowed down her pace, watching the driver as he stumbled out of his car and slammed the door shut with such force that it caused the whole car to jerk and rumble.

The way he wobbled and had to lean on the car for support told (Y/n) that he might indeed have a bad concussion so she picked up her pace and aimed towards him.

He seemed like a golden patient, he got out of the car on his own and he immediately wobbled towards the pavement and sat down on the curb. Exactly what (Y/n) would have told him to do.

"Sir, I'm a medic, can I take a look at you?" When he didn't give her a response, (Y/n) stepped closer until she was in front of him.

He looked drowsy. The way he lolled his head back to look up at her and squinted through bleary eyes made her sure he had received a bad concussion. He seemed to glare at her but he didn't say anything so again, (Y/n) moved on initiative and set the bag on her shoulder down to the floor.

She slowly lowered down until she was knelt on the edge of the pavement beside him and opened the bag so she could find a pen light.

"What's your name?" (Y/n) braced her hands on her knees and smiled softly while she waited for him to come back to his senses and when he muttered his name, she nodded. "Okay John, can you look straight ahead for me please?"

He squinted once again and seemed to snarl while he looked over (Y/n)'s shoulder, allowing her to flicker the light across his pupils which were constricted, and he was still squinting badly.

"Do you feel drowsy or sick?" (Y/n) reached down and pressed her fingers over his wrist to feel his pulse but she shuddered when he craned his head to look at her.

"Get off." The way he spat at her made her shudder and lean back and she had no choice but to let go of his wrist when he flung his arm in her direction.

Maybe he wasn't concussed. (Y/n) could be mistaken, but she knew what beer smelt like and there was a tang to his breath that suggested he'd been drinking. It was early afternoon, a bit early in (Y/n)'s book to be having a drink and especially wrong to be drinking and then getting behind the wheel.

"John have you been drinking today?" (Y/n) switched the pen light for a stethoscope and this time she held it out for him to see before she tried to listen to his heartbeat. She still had to assess him whether he was drunk or not, he could still have internal injuries or a concussion or uneven heartbeat.

Her words clearly aggravated him because he sneered, looking her up and down with a crinkled nose before he muttered "Fuck off." at her.

Leaning towards him didn't seem like a smart move to make but (Y/n) had a duty of care and he didn't object when she pressed the stethoscope against his chest to listen to his heart. If anything he seemed confused which made her certain that he was drunk. She would have to inform the police after they were finished blocking off the roads so they could take his name and follow him down to the hospital- if indeed he needed a hospital visit.

"Can I take your blood pressure?"

"No, I'm leaving."

"Sir, your car is in the middle of a pile up-"

(Y/n) shook her head with a sigh and quickly bundled the stethoscope back into the medic bag when John heaved up to his feet. Where did he think he was going to go? He would have to walk wherever he was trying to get to and he couldn't walk away from the scene. The police had blocked off the roads, they were hovering around for safety, they would stop him and try to take his statement.

He wasn't going anywhere except the hospital or the police station. Those were his only options.

"John you can't just leave the scene and I think you've had a drink. You need to be assessed and the police will need to speak to you." (Y/n) finished speaking before she pressed her hand down into the pavement to push herself up to her feet.

She left the medic bag where it was, it was close to the scene and she could fetch it after she had gotten this man either to an officer or safely sat down somewhere else.

"John-"

All she did was rest her hand on his arm. She didn't grip, didn't pull or grab or yank him back towards her. It was a simple touch to his arm but John spun on his heels as if her touch burned him.

"You need to get the Hell off me." He managed not to slur his words but the way he had to fight for his sense of balance definitely confirmed to (Y/n) that he was drunk. She had dealt with both her partners when they were drunk, and although both of them were loveable drunks, they still displayed the same signs as this man right here.

(Y/n) shuddered when he curled his fingers around her wrist and gripped so tight that his short nails started to puncture into her skin.

She didn't have chance to ask him to let go before he pushed her arm back towards her, still gripping tightly, and started to walk towards her instead of in the other direction. (Y/n) stumbled backwards, finding her footing before she fell and she tried in vain to yank her wrist out of his hold.

"Please let go." She was being nice. She could twist his wrist and force him to let go, she could push him or raise her voice or jam her elbow into his abdomen. But (Y/n) asked kindly because she was still on the job and she couldn't slap him like she would have done if this were any other public situation and he was simply a stranger brushing off her help.

When he released his grip on her, (Y/n) nodded and flexed her hands to stop them from trembling and to try and rid the pins and needles from her fingertips.

She felt like turning and leaving. She could always find another person who was more in need and more receptive of her help. But (Y/n) caught sight of a gash on his upper arm that was now trickling blood down his bicep towards his elbow. That needed tending to. He might need stitches.

"You're bleeding. Will you let me assess you please?" Her hand indicated to his arm and he tilted his head down, surprise written across his face at the sight of blood. Clearly he was too shocked and drunk to have felt any pain or noticed he had an injury.

Seeing as they were back near his car, (Y/n) leant over the medic bag on the floor and found a pair of gloves and some cotton swabs. She doused the swabs in antiseptic solution and turned back towards John.

(Y/n) motioned her hand in front of him so he could see what she was doing before she tried to cleanse the wound and see how deep it was. It looked like he would need stitches.

Once most of the blood was cleaned and (Y/n) could get a good look at the wound, she tried to prod the skin and check the wound better. But clearly John was feeling more pain than before as his arm twitched in her light grasp. She tried to carefully elevate his elbow up to restrict the blood flow and help her see the wound which was rather deep now she could see the ripped flesh better.

His elbow barely rose high before he wrenched his arm back towards his chest with a gruff noise that turned into a snarl when (Y/n) sighed.

He either wanted help or he didn't but he couldn't be this indecisive as it was getting tedious now.

"You'll need stitches, I can pack and bandage the wound for now until you can get to a hospital." No sooner had the words left (Y/n)'s lips than John growled his annoyance and ripped his arm from her hold.

He coiled his wounded arm near his chest and without a second thought, he swung his right arm towards her. (Y/n) gasped and leaned back so far that her lower spine clicked and her stomach twinged, the weight of the baby almost setting her off balance. She stepped back, scuffing her heel against the pavement as she dropped the bandage roll in her hand to the floor and her other hand moved to her lower back.

If she had been any slower in reacting, he would have swung his fist at her face. No one had tried to hit her before. People had shouted at her, fought her when they needed to be restrained to the gurney. Someone had pushed her once before Evan pinned him to the wall and told him to learn some manners for the responders trying to help him. But no one had swung at her before.

Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing and she stepped back onto the curb while her hand slowly moved round from her back to her lower stomach.

"Don't do that. I can't help you if you lash out at me." Her mind was already made up. She wasn't helping him any further. If he wanted that wound bandaged someone else could do it. All (Y/n) was going to do was find a police officer to inform them that he was a drunk driver.

"I don't want your fucking help."

Good, because he wasn't going to get it.

That was fine with (Y/n). She would pack the medic bag and find someone else who actually wanted and needed her help. She had done all she could for this man anyway, she couldn't do anything else if he wouldn't cooperate or accept her help.

Before (Y/n) had chance to reach down for the medic bag, her chest tightened and her head snapped to the right when she felt his hand curl around her wrist again. Her eyes narrowed and a streak of panic shot through to her heart which added a few extra beats and caused her chest to shudder.

Why try and cause confrontation when (Y/n) was trying to leave? He said he didn't want her help, grabbing her wasn't going to change anything and it contradicted his earlier words telling her to leave him alone.

"Get off." (Y/n) tried to steel her voice and yank her arm out of his grasp but it didn't work. He tightened his grip until his fingers were positively bruising her skin and the glaze overcoming his eyes showed he wasn't in the right frame of mind. He was more drunk than she first thought.

She took a step back, almost tripping over the curb when he tried to yank her towards him at the same time. Her feet stumbled down from the pavement onto the road along with him and shivers coursed through her blood when she sneered down at her with those vicious eyes and snarling lips.

"Or what?"

(Y/n) was taken by surprise when his free hand suddenly reached out and gripped her chin. His fingers pressed bruisingly into her jaw and his thumb punctured into her cheek almost cutting the inside of her cheek against her teeth. His grip was tight and pinching and he yanked her head up in his direction, causing (Y/n) to gasp.

Her wild eyes darted around as much as she could when John was holding her head in place. She tried to see who was around, to catch someone's eye and see if any of her team were close enough to notice that something was indeed wrong over here. She couldn't quite see any of the team, but she couldn't look properly with her head angled in John's direction and her eyes were beginning to water.

She wasn't sure whether to fight for the freedom of her wrist first or to get him to let go of her face. Deciding to free her jaw, (Y/n) curled her hand around his wrist and tried to roughly shove him away but he kept hold of her jaw. She could feel his nails scratching into her face and her body shuddered when he leaned his weight into her and pushed her into the car beside them.

Her hips ached as she clattered against the bonnet and one foot left the floor and swayed in the air as she tried to find her balance before she fell. The last thing she needed was to fall or be held in the air by John's grip on her chin and wrist.

A dull ache throbbed in her lower back and her eyes snapped closed as a whimper parted her lips at the pain tingling through her nerves.

She could feel him leaning into her and his pointed elbow jammed against her side as he hovered over her like he was going to collapse on top of her to pin her to the car. God, she prayed he wouldn't.

Without thinking twice, (Y/n) let go of John's wrist in favour of reeling her hand up to slap him. She knew she wasn't supposed to. (Y/n) was on shift, she was an emergency responder and she was taught and told how to get out of bad situations. They weren't allowed to fight back if someone tried to attack them.

There were ways to defend themselves, but everyone knew those methods only gained them more injuries. How could they get away if they couldn't fight back? How could (Y/n) get away from John if he wouldn't let her go and he was about to pin her down to the car?

The slap worked in shocking John and his hand let go of her jaw, causing her head to jolt to the left and a throbbing pain worked up through her jaw towards her ears.

The shock wore off quickly and became replaced with a look of anger that circulated through John's raging, drunken eyes. Just as (Y/n) pressed her hand to his shoulder and tried to push him off her, his hand rammed into her shoulder and slammed her back against the bonnet.

"Stop- ow-" A broken sound escaped her lips and her eyes snapped closed when shockwaves rattled through her back.

Evan wasn't sure what made him look, but something caught his attention and dragged his eyes away from the car door that he had just wrenched loose. He swung the door open so Chimney could lean in and assess the driver and he just happened to turn his head to the left.

Someone had (Y/n) pinned against a car.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides when the wrench was dropped on the road and he stormed away from the car before Chimney could ask where he was going or what he was doing. All he could see was red. A dark mask clouded Evan's expression and his lips curled into a deep frown as he thundered towards his partner and whoever this idiot was who clearly thought he had the right to touch and hurt her like that.

"Hey! Hey that's enough!" The words roared past Evan's lips and the moment he got close, his hand grabbed the man by the shoulder, close enough that he almost lifted him up by the scruff of his neck.

His other hand pressed into the stranger's chest and he shoved him back until he was tripping over his feet and he stumbled over the curb. Evan watched him land on his backside and scuff his hands against the pavement to try and stop from smashing his head into the concrete.

There was nothing Evan wanted more than to lean down and smash his fist into this idiot's face for what he had just done. He wanted to pummel him into the pavement and plaster him to the floor for this. But he couldn't. He was on duty, he would get reprimanded for it.

He twisted his head to look over his right shoulder and he quickly reached his arm out behind him and clutched onto (Y/n)'s hip when she slid against the car. He deadlocked his arm against her side and held steady when both (Y/n)'s hands clutched at his bicep, clinging to him to stop herself from falling to the floor as she couldn't quite find her footing.

(Y/n) tried her best to stop herself from shaking as she pushed up from the bonnet so she was sitting up rather than lying across the car like she was the one who was drunk. Her body curled forward until she was pressing into Evan's back and her hands clutched at his arm tighter as she pressed her face into his bicep, pressing her nose against his sleeve to inhale his scent in a vain attempt to calm herself down.

Her head felt like it was spinning on the waltzers and her sense of balance was wobbling from left to right as she tried to shuffle off the bonnet and stand on her feet again. She couldn't help but lean into Evan once she was on her feet, she felt like her knees were going to give out beneath her.

"Are you okay?" Evan twisted to the side so he could look at (Y/n) properly rather than having her stood behind him.

His free hand cupped the side of her face and he gently tilted her head back so he could look her up and down. She looked shaken and he could see tears welling up in her eyes, but at least she didn't look hurt.

(Y/n) wasn't so sure she could trust her voice so she nodded, keeping her eyes focused on Evan's lips so she didn't have to look into his eyes and have him know that she was lying. She didn't feel great. Her jaw was tingling, her lower back was aching and her heartbeat was fluctuating causing the baby to jolt and squirm to life in her stomach.

She cringed and moved her hands to hold onto Evan's hips when he spin round to look down at John who was now sitting up, trying to wobble to his feet.

He barely got up before Evan took a menacing step closer to him, his hands balled up into fists at his sides and his lips curled into a nasty snarl.

"What the Hell were you doing?" It wasn't normal to hear Evan's voice go so low and gritty and a deep rumble rattled through his chest and made (Y/n) shiver.

(Y/n) kept her hands on Evan's hips and meshed her cheek against the centre of his back, staying behind him so she didn't have to look over at John. She could hear his shoes scraping the floor as he struggled to get up and find his balance and she heard him grumbling something incoherent. But it was the feeling of Evan's muscles tensing and his shoulders rising that made her uneasy.

She knew the rest of the team were looking over now and she cringed when she realised Eddie was aiming towards them. He had his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, blue gloves snapped onto his hands and his brows were furrowed in confusion.

"She- she wouldn't stop pestering," John drawled and waved his hand in Evan's direction to try and signal to (Y/n) who was hidden behind him.

"She's a medic and she was trying to help you. That doesn't give you the right to pin her to a fucking car."

If there was one thing Evan didn't like about this job it was how rude some people could be. They didn't seem to grasp the concept that they were helpers, they were first responders and all they did was try to help. No one should shout at them or push them or get aggressive and this man certainly shouldn't have scared and tried to grab (Y/n) like that simply because she was doing her best to help him.

"Woah, what'd he do?" Eddie held his hand out in Evan's direction as a look of anger began to seep onto his features.

He had caught the last few words of Evan's sentence but Eddie prayed he had heard that wrong. He prayed he didn't get that right and that someone hadn't tried to hurt her.

But when Eddie leaned back and looked over at (Y/n), she wouldn't meet his eyes. He watched the way she shrugged her head down and leaned further into Evan while she curled one arm over her stomach and looked down towards the floor.

"He had (Y/n) pinned down on the car."

Reaching out, Eddie gently curled his hand around (Y/n)'s elbow and slowly tugged until she got the hint and trudged towards him.

She was taken by surprise when Eddie's hands cupped her face and he tilted her head back so they were looking at one another. His brows were furrowed in concentration and she could see his tongue poking between his teeth as he looked her up and down to try and see if she had any marks or bruises or anything to imply that she had been hurt.

"Just back ache." (Y/n) murmured to the silent question that was burning in his eyes, asking whether or not she had any injuries they should know about.

Eddie nodded but he snapped his head to the side when he watched the stranger take a wobbling step back and turn as if he thought he could just leave. Where did he think he was going? He had practically assaulted (Y/n), not to mention he had been involved in a major car accident. He wasn't going anywhere until the police had been here to talk to him.

When Eddie let go of her and grabbed the man by his shoulder, (Y/n) shivered and began to drag her hands up and down her hips out of anxious habit.

She heard Evan mutter "You're not going anywhere," while Eddie leaned into John's line of sight and clicked his finger in his face to gain his attention.

"You pinned her to the car, why?" Eddie gave the stranger a rough shove in the shoulder to get him to focus but he kept blinking and wincing like his eyes weren't coming into focus. "Hey, you just tried to assault a medic and you think you're just gonna walk away from that? Can you not see she's pregnant?"

Evan let go of the guy's shoulder when he felt (Y/n)'s hand curl around his arm and he turned to look over at her, his expression softening just a little. And he leaned down when she motioned for him to come closer so she could murmur in his ear "He's drunk."

Those words caused Evan's expression to falter and he squeezed her arm as his head shook and his lips curled through a sigh. He twisted so he was facing (Y/n) and he attached his lips to her temple, taking a second to kiss her skin before he weaved around her.

He rested a heavy hand on Eddie's shoulder and hovered his lips over his ear. "I'm gonna get an officer over here, he's drunk." Evan felt the way Eddie tensed up and he could practically see the anger boiling through him.

He was drunk and he had been driving. He was drunk and he had almost hurt (Y/n) and undoubtedly worried her for no apparent reason.

With a heavy hand on the man's shoulder, Eddie shoved until John stumbled and once again found himself sitting on the curb with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He tried to plant his feet down and push up off the pavement but he stopped when Eddie once again pushed him and pointed a menacing finger at him.

"Sit down." He spat before he turned away once he knew John wasn't about to get up and try to abscond. Not that he could get far in that state anyway.

(Y/n) tried to smile when Eddie's hands fell to her shoulders and he nudged her to take a few steps back so they weren't too close to John anymore.

She couldn't help the relieved sigh that left her lips when Eddie looped both arms casually around her shoulders and reeled her in close so he could kiss her hairline. He breathed in her scent and tried not to let his breaths run away without him. He didn't dare think what might have gone on if Evan hadn't of spotted the scene or if neither of them had been on shift today when this happened.

(Y/n) didn't have to look to know that it was Evan who was now stood behind her with his hands on her hips and his nose buried in the back of her hair. And she managed a smile when she felt his hands slither round from her hips to cradle her stomach.

"Promise you're okay?" Evan whispered into her hair while his cast his eyes across to the drunken stranger who was sat on the curb with two police officers crouching in front of him. He wasn't their problem anymore.

"I'm okay."

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #pregnant! reader #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #buck imagine #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #eddie diaz #buddie x reader #buddie

608 notes · View notes

djarinova · 24 days ago

Text

five times he wordlessly knows what you need and one time words are all he has — din djarin

˗ˏ✎ synopsis: a collection of moments between you and din that show your developing relationship and his ability to know what you need without so much as a word.

˗ˏcontent - pre relationship, slow burn, mutual feelings but they go unspoken, little bit of angst in the final part (reader is surrounded by mercenaries), canon typical violence, cute mando family moments

˗ˏwords - 882 + 1018 + 765 + 849 + 827 + 1438

˗ˏnotes - i started this in dec and got alll the way to the last part and my ability to write for him just disappeared... but im back babey (semi inspired by a conversation me and @stevebabey had before christmas)

one, the blanket —

Another shiver rakes your body, your skin prickles with bumps as it tries to help warm you, but you're too drawn into what's in front of you to notice. The child is ready and waiting for his last meal of the day, and as he stretches his little arms out towards your hand you see his mouth open with the tiniest yawn you've ever seen, and your heart sores. The little man is tired, you can see it in his movements—much slower than usual and lacking their typical cheekiness.

"It's okay buddy, you're almost there now, just a couple more bites and I'll get you all wrapped up for bed." You yawn, the child's tiredness is infectious, and you laugh a little at the way his eyes light up when you mention bed.

It’s not long before your promise is fulfilled. The child ate up every last bit of his dinner and he was so polite and well mannered that you gave him a glass of warm milk before tucking him into his soft sheets. He asked—although perhaps asked is the wrong word—for a bedtime story and of course you happily obliged. You read a short one, one of his favourites, and he was out like a light before you even made it halfway through the book.

You had wandered back to the makeshift dinner table and were now clearing up the plate, spoon and cup that had been left behind in the wake of the meal. There wasn't a lot of mess, so you let your mind wander as your hands got to work wiping and cleaning and washing. You spare only a second thought to the mandalorian, you know he's up in the cockpit at the moment, he so rarely shows himself during the child's dinner time—he proves to be a distraction more than anything else, to both you and the child—but it's clear to you that he wishes to be more present during meal times. Sometimes you think about how heavy the weight of his creed must be, and how it must hurt that he can't sit and eat with his family—the child... and you hope yourself—at mealtimes.

A deep thudding stirs you from your thoughts, your eyes feel heavy and the whip of wind is rattling against the outside of the crest—you must have landed somewhere, too preoccupied to notice. You turn your head towards the sound and you see the mandalorian disappearing down the hallway. He pokes his head through one doorway, as silently as he can, checking on the little one. You can hear the lightest of snores if you listen closely, and a smile graces your features at the thought of the mandalorian watching over the child as he sleeps.

The door to the child's sleeping quarters shuts softly, and the mandalorian spares a quick glance over to you—although you don't believe he will actually be able to see you properly, you still smile—before turning the other way and disappearing down the hallway. You lose sight of him quickly, and although you hear the far away sound of a door opening and closing you don't give it much thought.

You've just about finished clearing up when the sound of footsteps comes back into focus again. You don't turn to look this time, you've just got one last glass to put back in its place and then you'll be free to put yourself to bed for the night. You hear the mandalorian scuffling around behind you, then a soft pat, and then the sound of footsteps continues and he's leaving again, disappearing back down the hallway as fast as he had arrived. You're puzzled, but don't pay it too much mind. He's tired, and you all have a busy week ahead, you need all the rest you can.

You sigh, a good sigh, one that says ah, finally, I have finished my little tasks and I'm free to rest. The wind whips against the side of the crest again and it sends another shiver over you.

God, when did it get so cold?

You stretch your arms out in front of you, trying to get your muscles to relax a little and–my god, my hands! they're freezing!

You turn, intent on getting yourself into bed as fast as you can, when a flash of blue invades your periphery. You look around, as if trying to find the owner of this mysterious blue square or perhaps looking to make sure they wouldn't catch you as you wander slowly towards it. (Of course, you know who the owner is, if it's not yours—and it isn't—then there aren't really many other options for whose it can be). It’s possible, you suppose, that it could just be an old rag used for cleaning, or maybe discarded material from one of the mandalorian's old capes, although it's more likely to b—

Oh.

It's a blanket. Soft, navy, and a little tatty on the edges, but it's definitely a blanket.

You shiver again.

But... Did I forget that I brought that out with me? Surely I would've–

Oh.

A second realisation hits you.

Your cheeks warm and suddenly all of the Mandalorians shuffling and disappearing into doorways makes sense.

He was looking for this blanket.

Looking for this blanket, for you.

two, the breakfast —

Your eyes flutter open, and the gentle, warm light from the corridor floods your vision as you slowly sit up in your bed. You blink at the clock on the shelf next to your head, and it blinks back at you:

0822

You yawn. It's not late by any meaning of the word, but it's enough of a lie-in that your heart thumps a little faster than normal at the thought of the child patiently waiting for you to get him his breakfast. Mando would be busy by now; flying and plotting a course in the cockpit, talking with people about possible jobs on the spare comm-link in the far left side of the crest, cleaning his weaponry, or one of the other hundreds of things he busies himself with on the days he finds himself without a bounty to chase. You know he'd love to spend his mornings with the little fellow, talking with him and feeding him and cleaning up after him. But Mando's never been one for slow mornings, always preferring to get up and immediately start trying to provide.

You burrow to the bottom of the small cabinet by your bed, rooting around for a fresh set of clothes. You suppose it's possible that the child won't have even woken up yet, last night wasn't the easiest night for him. It was the first night in a while that bedtime had fallen while the crest was still mid-flight, which meant that Mando was tied up in the cockpit and you were on bedtime duty solo. And, to be fair to the little man, he had done well to begin with, you barely even noticed a change from his normal bedtime behaviour until the crest went through what you can only think to describe as a heavy patch of turbulence and then it all went a bit lopsided from there.

His blanket slipped out from his grasp, just as he was drifting off. The chill must have woken him up and even though the blanket was only separated from him for a few seconds it had snapped him back to being wide awake and you had had to calm him down once the ship began to shake again. The metal walls had been creaking, it had been loud enough to freak you out as well, so you tucked yourself up next to the child and ran your hand soothingly up and down his side while reciting to him his favourite type of story—a story about the brave, strong Mandalorian who fights bad guys and keeps his family safe on his big, fun spaceship.

You think you managed to get yourself to bed at just after 3 o'clock this morning. Mando was still flying the ship when you tucked yourself into your own bed and you had wondered briefly about when he planned to sleep before your tiredness had overtaken you and you had drifted off.

The smell of food is the first thing you notice as you slip out of your room. It's not strong, nor is it a burning smell, but it's there, and it's food, and it makes you uneasy.

Your emotions hit you in waves, first, the panic (that the child has somehow gotten his way into the kitchen and is making food on his own), then the anxiety (that he will end up hurting himself and all because you had slept in), next the guilt (that you had allowed yourself to be selfish and now the child was potentially in danger) and then, finally, the relief.

You sigh heavily when the kitchen comes into view. There is the child, happily playing with his homemade spaceship toy, there is a three quarters empty plate lying an arms length away from him on the table and there's a glass of juice placed next to it.

He is fine.

"Morning." Mando says. His voice is deep and it sends heat across your face.

"Good morning." You reply, smiling at them both.

Your eyes meet Mando's visor and he nods at you before turning away, busying himself once again. You walk gently towards the child and he coos as you sit in the seat next to him. You now realise that the scattered bits of food left on his plate are bits of pancake, blueberry pancakes by the look of it, and you feel your stomach pang with jealousy.

"And how was your breakfast this morning little one?" You run a finger behind his ear, which earns you a delighted giggle. "It looks delicious."

You turn your head back towards Mando, about to ask him if he has had anything to eat yet, and if he managed to sleep last night at all, but when you look over to where he was a moment ago you are surprised to find that he has disappeared. Your eyebrows furrow, a question ghosts your lips, and you're about to stand when your eyes glance upon something perched on the table.

A full plate of food is sat merely an inch from the tip of your fingers.

You glance around the room again, but you know Mando has already slipped away to some remote corner of the ship. Your stomach growls, and you suddenly realise just how hungry you truly are.

The food is for you, there's no question. The plate is coupled with your favourite caffeinated beverage and the pancakes are garnished with a singular piece of fruit—the one you had ogled at during your last market visit.

You didn't know Mando had gone back for that...

You had wondered that afternoon why he had left you and the child at the baked goods stall, he so rarely leaves the two of you unattended while you are out. You had thought maybe he was getting word on a bounty and didn't want the child to overhear. But as you stare now at the mouth watering piece of orange fruit in front of you, you can't help the warm feeling that blossoms in your chest.

I never even told him this was my favourite fruit. How did he know?

three, supply run —

There's something wrong.

You can't quite put your finger on it, but in the last few weeks you have felt… off. The bed you sleep on that usually has you drifting off within minutes now feels lumpy and hard. The blanket that never fails to give you comfort now makes you agitated and irritated. Your favourite part of the day, meal time during the evening, now leaves a sour taste in your mouth (and it's not the food).

Something is wrong. You just feel wrong.

And you know Mando has noticed. You catch him staring at you when he thinks you're not looking, when he thinks you're too preoccupied to notice him. He's always watched over you and the child, he's your protector, and he knows that if you’re safe then the child is safe too. But it's different now, not bad, just... different. His gaze isn't fleeting anymore, you think it watches you as you move about the crest, just trying to go about your day—help the child, prep the crest, sort through the mess of Mando's inventory—and it makes your chest ache.

You feel something tickle your cheeks as you move silently towards the cockpit. Tears sweep across your skin, as warming as they are confusing. The child is resting peacefully in his cot and it gives you some extra time to mull over your supposed wrongness. And, unsurprisingly, that makes you feel worse.

You can tell by how the crest is moving that you're about to land somewhere, you should probably pause and take hold of something for balance, but something deep inside you is spurring you forwards, telling you to keep moving towards the cockpit. And so you do.

The light is harsh as you enter through the doorway, it takes your eyes a second to adjust to the change. Mando huffs out a small greeting and you do the same. You take a step forward, about to ask where the pilot has landed the crest today, and what his business will be here, when your eyes finally pay attention to the view in front of you.

"Mando... are we in my hometown?" Your voice is thick with emotion, you swallow hard in an attempt to regain control over your voice, but your waterline is already lined with tears and they're threatening to fall fast.

He doesn't look at you, still fiddling with the controls as he docks the ship and sets her to park. "I–" He coughs, something burns within his chest. His focus is still on the console and so his words tumble out in a rather clunky way. "I... I–it was just an–uh, yeah–I thought that it'd be a good stop for supplies." He finishes. His cheeks feel hot and he's worried that he just made a complete fool of himself, but when he turns to face you—the crest now completely still and parked—he finds your eyes are still trained on the view from the window.

He notices the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you are trying too hard to steady your breathing, but he says nothing. He brushes past you on his way out of the cockpit and his breath hitches, his fists tighten and you apologise in a dazed way as he steps around you.

The opening beeps of the cockpit door snap you out of your trance and your eyes flick around the room wildly. You brush your tears away, hoping that Mando didn't see them—but deep down, knowing that it would've been impossible for him not to—and your eyes meet his visor again. You're shocked to find him already looking at you, or more accurately, you're shocked that he didn't turn his head away when he saw your head moving around to face him.

"Supplies, you say?"

Your voice already sounds brighter to Mando's ears, and he smiles to himself—thankful just this once that you can't see past his metal headgear. You are able to read him better than anyone else he knows, and a little voice in the back of his head is telling him that the look on his face right now would be impossible to read as anything other than what it is—adoration.

Mando nods before turning away, leaving you alone in the cockpit while he preps the few things needed for a market visit. And you sigh, mind reeling over the possibilities of showing Mando your home again, already feeling lighter than you had a mere 5 minutes ago, and your wrongness is now being drowned out as you follow the mandalorian's footsteps and exit the cockpit.

four, the chores —

You finish wiping the blade and place it down gently onto the fabric you had laid over the table. The pile of assorted guns and daggers, along with the three spears and singular pulse rifle, is rather large now. The two small, circular shields (that you've never once seen be used by anyone) are also polished, although you were unable to pop out the large gashed dent that covers almost the entire left side of one of them.

You feel a slight twinge in your foot, the beginning of a cramp, and you jump up quickly, shaking your leg wildly and trying to stop the string of curses that are desperate to leave your lips. The room is oddly silent, apart from your grunts of pain, the music box sits an arms length away, you must not have noticed when the record stopped... You hesitate, torn between hitting replay and leaving it silent, but the decision is made for you when you look at the clock and see just how late it is.

I've been working for... how long?!

Your heart suddenly thumps wildly, your foot cramp long forgotten, and you move quickly from the table to the weaponry, your arms full with as much as you can manage to carry.

God, how could that have taken so long? I've still got to change the sheets on all of our beds, give the child a bath, wipe up the cooking area and oil up a few of the door hinges!

Your movements are hurried, and you manage to get everything back into its rightful place within 5 minutes (although you do almost lose a finger once or twice). You rush towards the basket that holds your bedding... but you don't see any.

Huh?

You bury your hands between the odd capes and spare blankets, searching for those familiar sets of bedding, and your hands come back empty. You huff, confused and a little ashamed that you've somehow misplaced the bedding, and you decide to just go to the kitchen and start wiping up instead, to take your mind off of it.

But when you get to the kitchen, the whole place is spotless! The cooker is polished and the plates and bowls from breakfast and lunch are all clean and placed back in their spots in the cupboard (and you definitely know this, because you checked each and every cupboard and counted the number of dishes... twice!). Even the sink is empty!

You spin around on your heel, deciding to go find the child, who should be in his playroom this time of the day, and take him to the washroom for his bath. Safe in the knowledge that at least this will be one thing you are actually able to do, and still confused as to why you haven't been able to complete anything else on your checkless since lunchtime...

But the child is not in his playroom. And now you're really worried. You race around the ship, sticking your head into every room you can think of, only to find the child is not in any of them. Your feet refuse to stand still and they carry you (almost subconsciously) towards the washroom, and as you get closer and closer you begin to hear the familiar sounds of an excitable child and the splashing that comes along with said child in a bath.

The door opens with a whack! and you grimace at how loudly the sound echoes through the room. Mando turns towards you, he is kneeling next to the tub, his armour is nowhere to found and he instead dawns a loose undershirt, a pair of dark trousers and his beskar helmet.

"Sorry." You whisper, as if trying not to wake a sleeping baby. Your eyes flit from Mando to the child, and back again. "You're bathing him."

Mando nods.

"You didn't ha—"

Oh.

And that's when it dawns on you.

"And you also changed the bed sheets?" You question, although you think—hope (dreading the potential embarrassment that will come if you’re wrong)—you already know the answer.

"Yes." He replies. He's not looking at you but it feels like his eyes are looking straight through you.

"And the kitchen..."

"Yes, that was me."

"Oh. Okay, thank you." Your voice is small, but it's hard to fight the smile growing on your face.

Mando turns to look at you briefly, "you don't need to thank me," and then he's gone again, back to giving his full attention to the little guy hiding amongst the bubbles.

"I-" You start, but you don't know what to say. Thank you anyway? I owe you one? You didn't need to do that for me?

Your thoughts swirl. There is so much you could say to Mando right now, and lord knows there are plenty of other things you could busy yourself with, but the look on the child's face when he saw you enter had your heart glowing and the opportunity to sit and enjoy a nice—if slightly wet—moment with Mando in relaxed mode was something you couldn't turn down.

five, babysitting —

Breathe... Just breathe. You tell yourself over and over again.

She's not even technically late yet, you and Mando—Din, to you now—had agreed on a midday pick up and here you were at... a quarter to the hour freaking out over nothing. He trusts her, he's known her for years at this point and hell, even you've met her– what... 2? 3 times now?

Everything is fine.

So why do you feel so on edge?

You hear the familiar clanging of the ship door as it opens, followed by echoing footsteps and the beeps of the door closing. Din comes to rest next to where you stand, his shoulder almost touches yours and you know, even without looking, that his eyes are trained on you right now with that familiar tilt of the head that he does so often.

Din can sense your nerves, even before he saw you he could tell something was different this time. He usually comes down to the bottom of the ship and finds you tinkering with something during the last few minutes of the child's miscellaneous playdates. He usually walks out of the ship door with you and wanders down the ramp while you perch on the edge with your legs dangling down beneath you. Sometimes he strikes up a conversation, other times you ramble about the child, and occasionally the two of you wait in a comfortable silence.

But not this time.

He felt uneasy when he came towards the ship door and he didn't spot you, even more so when he came outside to wait with you at the bottom of the ramp and you didn't say as much as a word to him.

He sees the anxiety you feel, it's written on your face as plain as day. You keep readjusting how you stand—left foot crossed in front of the right, then both feet facing straight with your knees in line and then back to left foot in front of the right—and whenever you do pause your movements Din can see your ankle bouncing up and down. You've had your arms crossed in front of your chest since he came to join you and your finger keeps tapping your elbow in a rather rhythmic pattern.

Tap. Taptaptap. Tap tap.

You know you shouldn't be as worried as you are, after all, you have no legitimate reason to feel so scared. Peli is a perfectly safe person for the child to be with, she invited him over for a playdate with her two young nieces—and you've actually met them, and they are quite sweet, if not a little excitable (but what kid isn't?)—and she's even babysitted him before as well, when you and Din have had to go away for a bounty together.

The thumping in your chest begins to get louder and it feels as though your heart is about to leap out from your throat. You can barely breathe. Your chest starts to heave and your knuckles turn white from how hard you are gripping onto your shirt sleeves. You don't know what—

Something touches your arm and you almost yelp in surprise. You glance to your right, ready to jump or flee or fight. But all you see is Din's helmet, head tilted, looking at you. You can only imagine the expression on his face—pity? Confusion? Sympathy?

You straighten your head. His hand doesn't leave your arm.

You take a deep breath.

Just beyond the nearest hill the faintest outline of a person begins to appear. They walk slowly, but undoubtedly in your direction, and they seem to be holding two things. One is a bag, you think. And the other is...

"They're back," you sigh, your voice is small but excited, and full of relief.

The tension is already beginning to lift from your shoulders. Din's hand is still resting on your arm, and if you hadn't been so distracted by the figure in front of you, and if you hadn't been wearing such a thick jacket, you would have felt his thumb rubbing small circles delicately across your arm. He only does it for a few short seconds, but he does it nonetheless.

Once Peli comes into better view you give her a wave and a smile, she waves back and then the child's hand peaks out of his sleeve and he waves back as well. It's enough to cause the smile on your face to widen, and you even let out an almost silent chuckle. Din slips his hand from your arm wordlessly, thinking that you probably wouldn't want his touch any longer and he takes a step away from you just as Peli arrives. He gives her a quick nod and then leaves the two of you to exchange pleasantries, quietly sneaking off to the crest's ramp and not so sneakily opening the crest door—the clanging is an issue; he wonders briefly if he should ask Peli to fix it soon.

six (one b), the bad job —

Din knew something wasn't right with this mission from the get go. There was something shifty about how the guy had spoken, demanding repeatedly about how both Din and you were necessary for what was needed. The man—Din has forgotten his name now, like it even mattered to begin with—had approached him just after he'd been turned down by another barman when he'd asked about possible jobs. The man was fast. Too fast. But Din had brushed it off at the time, too keen to get the job, too keen to earn some money again, too keen to get you and the child off this godforsaken planet.

Too keen to notice when the barman had signaled to the guy sitting at the table by the door, a small wink and a thumb pointed unsubtly in the Mandalorians direction.

“Din–Din, please. Are you there?” You curse, smacking the comm link against the wall and hoping the whack isn't hard enough to break the stupid little device.

“Ar–there–I–ca–hea–” Din’s voice hisses through the comm, followed by a high pitched whining noise that makes you jump back in surprise.

A strangled laugh escapes your throat, it’s thick with fear, and a half conscious thought flits across your mind—that if someone was listening and trying to find your location that the sound of your laughter would be a dead give away, and you’d be… well–dead.

You smack the comm against the wall twice more, for good measure.

“I’m here, Din, please–Maker–please hear me.” You beg, your voice is hoarse.

Multiple nearby blaster shots cause your head to snap upwards, sure that if you could just see the end of the alleyway, hear the sound of people milling around the market, smell the fresh baked goods at the stalls, your heart wouldn't be beating as fast as it is right now.

But the thing that would reduce your anxiety the most, allowing you to take a breath or a moment to recompose yourself, would be if you were able to see Din.

"I hear you, I'm here." Din's voice breaks through the blaster noise.

Another shot lands to your right and you retreat further into the corner between the wall and the crate that you're crouched behind. Your dominant hand holds your blaster tightly, your knuckles are pale. The cool metal against your palm keeps you focused, as you rise onto your knees to get a better aim another shot races past your ear. You waste no time in firing a returning shot and the stupid bastard goes down within 2 seconds.

Serves him right for not ducking down after firing at me, amateur.

“Cyar'ika?"

You're about to respond when you hear a loud crash. The loose pebbles on the street floor start to vibrate, sending a shiver down your spine. The noise is almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. Your resolve cracks when you realise the reason for the sudden lack of shots fired.

They've got a heavy repeating blaster cannon. And they're somehow pushing it down the alley you're trapped in.

"Din, I-" You cough, a lousy attempt to get your voice under control. "I don't want to die."

Your voice cracks on the last word, your mouth is suddenly as dry as a rock in the desert.

It feels like eternity before you hear Din's voice again, your only company the static sound from the comms and the low rumbling as the cannon makes it way closer to you. There's nowhere for you to run, you can't press yourself any further backwards, you have no jet pack, no grenades, no fire blaster and you never even said goodbye to the kid. God.

Tears fill your eyes, you bring a shaky hand towards your face, about to confess through the comm link something that you wish you'd had the guts to confess when you weren't 2 inches from death, when the familiar static is interrupted.

"You're not going to die, cyar'ika, I won't let that happen. I'm going to get you out of this, even if it kills me."

"Din, please-" You start, about to beg him to stay away, to tell him to think of Grogu. He can't lose his mother and father figure in one day, he just can't.

"Don't tell me to stay away." He interrupts, his voice hoarse, "this is my fault, if I'd been more careful, done my duty, then you would never have been put in this position-" He cuts himself off, you hear him take a deep breath.

"But-" You try.

"No," his voice is firm, "I'm coming for you and I'll be leaving this planet with you. The child still needs you and... I still need you."

If you had the capacity to think about anything other than the group of mercenaries currently moving towards you, then you might have questioned the last part of Din's sentence. You might have blushed and wondered at what he could mean, you may have even considered the possibility of him returning your feelings... But the sudden silence around you had your thoughts billowing towards one conclusion, and it wasn't good.

"Din... The cannon–god, help me–the cannon–they"ve stopped pushing it. I can hear them readying it."

You gulp and ready your blaster, not willing to go down without a fight.

"When I tell you to duck, you duck, okay?"

"What?" You question.

"I told you, I'm getting you out of here." Din curses and you hear the sound of blaster shots again, but this time they're coming though the comms link.

"Din, what are you doing? Maker! I told you to protect the child!" You try, pleading to the stubborn mandalorian.

"The child is safe. It's your turn now." He states, giving you almost no room to argue.

Almost.

The blaster shots continue over the comm link. You hear the mercenaries up the alleyway begin to ready their cannon, but before they have a chance to fire—

"Duck! Now." Din demands.

You obey immediately, falling backwards onto your ass and tucking your head between your knees. Your blaster still sits in your hand.

The muffled sound is hard to place but the vibrations through the floor and the dust movements between your legs are easy to follow. You lift your head and rise to your knees just as a dark figure emerges from the cloud of dust. You drop your gun immediately when your anxiety ridden brain finally allows you to recognise the familiar glint of beskar in front of you.

You jump to your feet and slam yourself against the mandalorian with no regard to your body. His armour is hard, it almost knocks the wind out of you, but no pain or threat of attack could have stopped you from seeking out your chosen solace once you locked eyes on him.

"I'm here, cyar'ika, I'm here." He pauses and hesitates for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

From what he can see of you you seem to be mostly unharmed, just a few small scrapes across your arms and a large bruise across your cheek. He knows you'll need a cool press against your face soon or you'll run the risk of the bruise swelling badly, but the cuts are manageable and he'll be able to leave them a little longer before dealing with them.

"You're okay," he whispers.

You're unsure if he's reassuring you or reassuring himself, but you nod.

"Yeah, I'm okay. We're okay." You whisper against his chest.

Din swallows, his fear about your safety finally easing, his chest suddenly feeling not as tight as it had 5 minutes ago.

"Hold on, it's time I take you home."

You nod again, squeezing your arms tighter around Din's waist and looping them through the holsters and belts he wears at his sides. As the two of you begin to rise you manage to catch a glimpse of the alleyway. It's as you expected. The bodies of the four mercenaries lie surrounding their weapon, and the weapon itself has been blasted into several small pieces, one of which is lodged into the chest of the one that was closest to it.

You shudder, turning your head away from the mess as you continue to rise higher and higher.

The higher you fly the more the ache and anxiety in your chest eases. And when you land aboard the razor crest and lay your eyes on Grogu you find the only pain left is physical, and you're finally able to take a breath—unaffected by the anxiety and adrenaline of battle, safe and content with your family once again.

divider by @/saradika-graphics

#oh din ☹️☹️☹️🥺#i love him too much #Husband no.1 always #this was so fun to write and the last part makes me sooo happy #idk why #im just rrly happy with how it turned out #sage.fics #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fic #din djarin imagines #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin imagine #the mandalorian fic

294 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

4K notes · View notes