#911 fluff

A rocks glass is placed down onto the table in front of you with a thud. Looking up, you’re met with the sight of the best man towering over you expectantly with a drink in his hand.

“Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

You scoff, staring up at him through your lashes.

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yeah. But why?”

“It’s whiskey. I watched you grimace every time you had to drink the champagne, so I thought you’d want something different.”

You swirl the glass, listening to the tinkle of the ice against the sides.

“You were watching me, huh?”

“Of course I was. Can’t take my eyes off you in that dress.”

“Shut up,” you chide, fighting to keep the grin off your face. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“The whole best man and maid of honour thing. It’s just too cliched.”

He laughs all hearty and genuine, and you poignantly ignore the way the butterflies start fluttering in your stomach.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me.”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, shaking your head at him.

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Evan.”

“Oh, you will be,” he winks, knocking his glass against yours in a quick cheers before walking off to the find the groom.

You watch him go, not completely oblivious to the way his suit fits him just right. Determined to stand your ground, you inhale a deep breath before taking a sip of your drink. The drink that definitely isn’t exactly what you needed. The drink that he’d practically read your mind to figure out. Effortlessly.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

It’s been like this all day.

You met Evan Buckley for the first time last night, at the rehearsal dinner. The bride, your best friend in the world, kept telling you that you’d love the best man.

“He’s from California,” she’d said. “He’s Danny’s friend from when they were kids. He’s a firefighter, babe. He’s hot.”

You’d laughed it off, zipping up the back of her dress while she watched you in the mirror.

“Oh, come on. That’s so cliched. The whole maid of honour and best man thing is so old, Lucy.”

“You’re single, he’s single,” she’d protested. “It’d do you some good to get laid, relieve some stress. And people let their guards down at weddings. Now’s your chance.”

“If I wanted to get laid, I’d get laid,” you scoffed.

“All I’m saying is that Buck is completely your type. He’s gorgeous, he’s funny, he’s sweet. And you’re gonna have to spend a fair bit of time together tonight and tomorrow, so… just keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” you soothed, rolling your eyes. “Mind wide open. Alright?”

“You’re gonna love him.”

“You said that already.”

“Because I really believe it. You’re gonna love him.”

And the problem is… she was kind of right.

No, you don’t love him. You’ve known him for 48 hours. But… there’s something.

Lucy wasn’t lying. He is gorgeous, and funny, and sweet. And hot. So hot. He showed up to the rehearsal dinner in dress pants and a linen shirt, all sun kissed and muscled and tanned and stunning.

The two of you were seated next to each other, planned so carefully by the bride and groom. One minute you were making cautious introductions, shaking hands and smiling gently. The next minute you were crying with laughter, clutching at his bicep as he grabs your thigh, legs intertwined and chairs pulled together.

Lucy and Danny nudge each other occasionally, watching the both of you get along like two old friends that have known each other forever. A look passes between them that says I told you so clear as day.

But you’re stubborn. Too stubborn, some may say. You know you’ll never hear the end of it from your friends if you give into this very alluring temptation, and perhaps your pride means a bit more to you than it should. So you resist, you refuse to give in. Even if you really want to.

And that was just last night. Today has been even worse.

By worse, you mean the connection between you and Evan has grown even stronger. You walked down the aisle with him, arm linked with his, both dressed up to the nines. The maid of honour and the best man, a perfect picture.

You haven’t been able to keep your hands off each other all day. Little touches - his fingers on the small of your back, your grip on his bicep, shoulders brushing and thighs pressed together. Nothing crazy, but nothing meaningless, either. There’s an undeniable electricity buzzing between you, hot and alive.

You’re not sure how much longer you can deny it.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’re dancing with Lucy and her little nieces when you hear yelling and commotion coming from the other side of the dance floor. Looking over, you see Danny, Evan and other groomsmen flailing around and fussing.

“What happened?” Lucy’s yelling, making her way over with you in tow.

“Just a drink spillage, Luce! But it’s red wine, and now Buck’s shirt is pink.”

You look at the man in question and can’t help but laugh. His crisp white dress shirt is now a pretty shade of pink across the front, his cheeks a rosy colour to match.

“Stop laughing,” he chides, but he’s grinning at you as he says it. “I need to go and change. I have a spare shirt in my suitcase upstairs.”

He starts to leave, but soon turns around and calls your name.

“I don’t have a key for that big door at the end of the hallway to get to our rooms. Do you?”

“Yeah, it’s in my purse. You want it?”

“Just come with me. It’ll be easier.”

Before you can argue, he’s taken off, big strides across the garden. You have to practically run in your heels to keep up with him, shaking your head in frustration.

“I could have just given you this,” you say when you reach the door, unlocking it for him.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

The smirk he gives you is so cheeky, it’s a wonder you don’t smack it off his face. Cocky bastard.

“You’re so annoying,” you mumble, walking with purpose to his room.

“Come in with me? It’ll only take a minute, then we can walk back together.”

You know you should say no, tell him that you’ll meet him downstairs. But you don’t. Instead, you say,

“Fine. But hurry up. I don’t wanna miss the party.”

“Yes ma’am,” he mock salutes, unlocking the door to his room that’s conveniently directly across from yours.

You take a seat on the edge of the bed, trying to avoid watching him undress. He shrugs off his now pink shirt, taking it with him into the bathroom.

You’re surprised at how tidy everything is. Not that you think Evan would be particularly messy, but he doesn’t strike you as a neat and clean type. His suitcase is unpacked into the closet, bed made, nothing on the floor. It only makes you like him more.

“Can you grab my other shirt from the closet please, gorgeous? The one I wore last night for the rehearsal dinner.”

You swing the two doors open and rifle around, failing to see the linen button up that he’s looking for. Suddenly, you feel a warmth behind you, Buck’s solid form caging you in. He reaches around you, arm brushing yours as he finds what he needs.

“Found it,” he murmurs into your ear, all low and honeyed.

Against your better judgment, you turn around, finding yourself face to face with him. He towers over you, watching your reactions carefully. Your hands reach out and rest on his bare chest, steadying yourself before you either fall over or pass out.

Buck gently traces your bottom lip with his thumb, eyes completely locked on yours. You have to resist every urge to either bite it or suck it into your mouth, reminding yourself that now isn’t the time. The noise from the garden floats up and through the window that’s cracked open slightly, tethering you to the reality that is slowly fading away the longer you hold Evan’s gaze.

He leans in, and to your surprise, doesn’t kiss you immediately. Pressing his forehead to yours, he inhales deeply, as if committing the moment to memory. His thumbs are now tracing gentle circles on your jaw, soft and callous at the same time. You inhale slowly, processing the scent of his cologne mixed with the evening breeze. If you could bottle it up, you think, you’d be a millionaire. This would cure everything.

Buck finally closes down the gap between you, inching towards your lips softly. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to finally kiss you - when there’s deafening knocking on the door. The two of you jump apart, hearts pounding and nerves on a live wire.

Evan strides over to the source of the noise, taking a deep breath to try and compose himself as he goes. You perch on the edge of the bed, smoothing down your dress and attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Buck? Dude, it’s Jake. Hurry up, yeah? The guys wanna do our dance routine before everyone gets too drunk to remember it.”

He doesn’t bother opening the door, just yells back through the wood.

“Yeah, sure - I’ll be down in a minute!”

You hear Jake’s footsteps retreat, both of you exhaling the breaths you didn’t know you’d been holding. Buck looks at you, worried that the moment’s been ruined, to find you stifling a laugh behind your hand.

“There’s a dance routine?”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “We created it years ago. The guys won’t let it die.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see this.”

You’re cackling, reclining onto the duvet as you laugh.

“Stop,” he groans, jumping over to flop onto his back on the bed next to you. “I did a lot of regrettable things in college… and that routine is definitely the worst of it.”

“I hope you know that you’re never going to live this down, Buckley. I’ll be reminding you of this forever.”

“Oh yeah?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look at you. “You really like me, huh?”

“What the hell gave you that impression?”

“You said forever. What’s next, honey? You gonna get down on one knee later?”

You’re suddenly aware of the warmth of the whiskey flowing through your veins, giving you a liquid confidence that stuns both you and the man lying next to you.

“Two knees, maybe. But not one.”

His eyes go wide as you smirk, pulling yourself off the bed and making your way over to the door. Buck watches you carefully, gaze steady and firm.

“You coming? I’m more than ready to see those moves of yours.”

He stands up, slipping on his shoes and shrugging the clean shirt onto his broad shoulders. You grab your purse, leaning against the doorframe as you wait.

Evan reaches past you for the door handle, nose purposely brushing yours as he does it.

“I’ll hold you to what you said before,” he murmurs, moving a strand of hair away from your face softly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

You look up at him with big doe eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.

“Sure, Evan,” you reply lowly. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Breaking away from him, you swing the door open, strutting down the hallway without looking back. Your confidence has sky rocketed, knowing that he wants this just as badly as you do. You walk back out to the garden and take your earlier seat, ready for the show you’ve been promised.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

The dance routine is spectacular.

It’s cheesy and hilarious and very early 2000s inspired - it’s almost like watching a music video from a boy band you loved when you were a teenager. It should embarrass you, turn you off majorly, but… it doesn’t. It only does the opposite.

Everything Buck does makes you like him more.

You spend the rest of the evening dancing, laughing, and floating on cloud nine. In a garden in Italy, surrounded by your best friends - you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

As the evening dwindles to an end, everyone slowly begins making their way back to their rooms within the villa. You sit down, unbuckling your heels to finally give your feet a rest. It almost feels like deja vu when a rocks glass is placed down in front of you on the table.

“Hi, Evan.”

“Hi gorgeous.”

“What’s this?”

“A drink.”

“Yes, but why?”

He pulls out the chair in front of you and sits down, looking at you intently.

“Thought we could have a nightcap before we go upstairs.”

You look around to find that mostly everyone has decided to call it a day. You can see Lucy and Danny walking off hand in hand, going for a stroll around the grounds before they let the wedding officially be over. It just leaves you and Buck, sat in your original places.

“Is this Baileys?”

“Yes ma’am. Do you like it? I figured you probably wouldn’t want another whiskey, seeing as you’ve had so many.”

You scoff, trying to fight the grin that threatens to take over your face.

“I’ve had, like, four, thank you very much.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, making you chuckle as you shake your head.

“Cheers, Evan,” you toast, clinking your glass against his matching one. “We did it. A wedding without a hitch. Mostly.”

“My shirt will never be white again, but besides that, we did a pretty good job.”

“We make a good team.”

He looks slightly taken aback by your honesty, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yes, we do. A super hot, super funny team.”

“A super hot, super funny team.”

You both laugh, heads thrown back with no cares in the world. Buck shuffles his chair forward so his legs are slotted on either side of you, warm skin radiating into yours. The moonlight is glinting off of his cheekbones, illuminating the light streaks in his hair. You’re a little tipsy and much too tired to fully fight your feelings anymore.

He’s beautiful, and you’re sick of denying it.

The two of you finish off your drinks, sat in a comfortable silence beneath the starry night sky. His hand has found its way onto your thigh, thumb rubbing gentle patterns into your bare skin. You’re sneaking glances at him when he looks away, admiring the way he’s glowing, buzzed off of the alcohol and the excitement of the day. He’s doing the same with you, soft smile etched onto his face as he watches you gaze up at the stars above your heads.

A yawn escapes you, making both of you chuckle.

“I’ll walk you to your room?”

“Well, you better. I’m the only one of us with a key for that big door.”

He laughs even harder, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I forgot about that. If you weren’t here, I’d have slept on the floor in the hallway or something.”

“Probably wouldn’t be the first time,” you mutter, standing up and tucking your chair under the table.

“Sorry, what was that? Say it again? Hmm? Hmm?” he wraps his arms around your middle, spinning you so your feet are no longer on the floor.

“Okay, okay! Put me down before I throw up,” you shriek, giggling like a teenager.

He places you back down, hands on your hips to steady you. You look up at him, keeping your eyes fixed on his to steady yourself from the dizziness. When you feel ready to go, you clear your throat, willing yourself to walk away before you kiss him stupid.

“We should go to bed,” you whisper, afraid to ruin the moment.

“Yeah?”

“Separate beds,” you tell him sternly, chuckling when he cackles.

“Yes ma’am.”

Buck walks you back to your room in a gentlemanly fashion, looping your arm through his to keep you both upright. When you reach your door, your fingers linger on the handle, as if you’re not quite ready to go inside just yet.

Reaching out gently, he moves a strand of hair from your face, fingertips brushing your cheekbone as he does it. You sigh softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sweet contact.

“Goodnight, gorgeous,” he murmurs lowly. “Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight.”

He takes a step back towards his door when you speak again.

“Evan?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Everything, today. You’ve been a damn good best man.”

“Well, thank you. For being the best maid of honour.”

You nod, smiling like an idiot as you unlock your door and shut it behind you. You take a deep breath when you’re finally inside, throwing down your heels onto the floor and your purse onto the side table. Reaching behind you, your fingers tug at the zipper on your dress, attempting to pull it down.

It’s only now you realise your dilemma. The zipper is on an awkward place on your back, right where you can’t get to. You think quickly back to this morning - one of the bridesmaids doing the dress up for you, pulling the material taut as she fastened it. You’re not going to be able to get this off yourself.

Finding the purse that you discarded minutes earlier, you aim to find a hair clip. If you can loop a bobby pin into the zipper, you think, you might be able to pull it yourself. You root around in it for a second, before pulling out two phones.

Well, fuck.

You’d completely forgotten that Evan had given it to you earlier in the evening, worried that it was going to get broken if it stayed in his back pocket. You’d tucked it away and not thought about it again.

Until now.

Now, you’re realising that you’re going to have to go and give it back. He probably hasn’t remembered that you have it, otherwise you’re sure he’d be knocking on the door or yelling across the hallway.

You stand in the middle of your room, with two phones and a stuck zipper, wondering if the universe thinks this is funny.

You’re certainly not laughing.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“Evan?”

He swings the door open, facing you in his suit trousers with no shirt on.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I have your phone.”

Holding it out to him, his fingertips brush yours as he takes it from you, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Oh, shit. I forgot about this. Thanks, pretty.”

“Of course.”

You stand and look at each other for a second, so much left unsaid.

“Can I ask you for a favour?”

“Anything.”

His instantly willingness has butterflies fluttering in your stomach, flitting and lightweight and undeniable.

“Can you help me get my dress off?”

When he smirks and goes to speak, you cut him off quickly.

“The zipper is stuck, Evan. Alice zipped me up this morning and I can’t undo it by myself.”

“This is a very long winded way of asking me to get you naked, gorgeous.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“If that’s what I wanted, I would just ask you, Buckley.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Can you help me or not?”

He’s laughing, now, head thrown back with it. You hate the way it makes your heart sing.

“You coming in? Or you want me to undress you in the hallway?”

“You’re not undressing- fuck, you’re annoying.”

He’s still chuckling when he ushers you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you both.

“How do you wanna do this? Lights on, lights off? Curtains open or shut? Music? Candles?”

“Undo the damn zipper before I smack you.”

His laughter is rumbling through his chest, contagious in its nature. You want to be angry at him, but you just can’t seem to find it in you.

“Turn around, gorgeous.”

You spin to face the door, taking a deep breath as you anticipate his touch. You feel his warmth behind you, fingertips dancing over the skin of your shoulders before they reach your zipper. You can’t see him, but you can envisage the sight - his broad chest, thick neck, that beautiful sun kissed glow he’s developed over the past few days. Your lungs heave as the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees.

Buck slides the zipper down your back slowly, with intent and clarity. When it reaches your coccyx, he stops, resting his other hand on your hip to keep you steady.

You know you should step away, maybe throw him a quick thanks as you leave. But you do believe in fate, whether you like to admit it or not - and this entire night has felt like it’s been written in the stars.

Who are you to deny what the universe is so clearly gifting you?

You let your arms relax, sighing as the dress falls off of you and down to the floor. You step out of it, finally turning around to face Buck wearing nothing but your lacy white underwear. Surprisingly, there’s not an ounce of self consciousness in your body. The only thing you feel is desire.

For the first time since you’ve met him, Evan is completely speechless. His eyes rove over you, drinking in the sight in front of him, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispers in awe, fingers itching to reach out and touch you. “The minute I first saw you, I couldn’t believe you were real.”

“Evan?”

“Yeah?”

“Touch me, please.”

He grins, surging forward to cup your cheek with one hand while the other finds its home on your waist.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please.”

“Finally.”

Buck leans in and presses his lips to yours surprisingly gently, testing the waters. You tangle your fingers into his hair, pulling him as close as possible. He gets the message, reeling you in and deepening the kiss until you can’t tell where he ends and you begin.

You’re being walked backwards and into the wall, pushed up against it for leverage. You hike a leg up over Bucks hip, groaning when the two of you grind forwards at the same time. His hands are everywhere - your face, tits, ass, waist - anywhere he can reach. It’s like he’s not quite sure where he wants them, as if he’s worried he’ll leave somewhere untouched.

“You’re all I’ve thought about for two days,” he’s muttering into your neck as he leaves open mouthed kisses on your skin. “Driving me crazy.”

“I got myself off last night,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut when he sucks at the spot under your ear. “Thinking about you.”

“Fuck,” he moans, sinking down to his knees in front of you. “Tell me more. Please.”

It’s almost biblical, the sight of him. On his knees, practically begging, looking up at you like you’re his saviour. You’re dizzy with the power, blood rushing straight to your head.

Buck presses kisses into your leg, starting at your calves and moving up. When he gets to your inner thigh, he gazes up at you, pleading with his eyes for you to continue.

“Tell me more or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, hooking his fingers into your underwear to pull them down and off.

“Okay, okay,” you pant, dropping your head back against the wall. “I, I- I couldn’t stop thinking about your arms in that shirt. The, the, the-”

You’re stuttering as he licks a stripe up your core, diving in with no hesitation. His fingers are gripping your thighs so hard you know it’ll bruise, and you can’t wait to feel the imprints in the morning.

“The?”

He’s pulled away to look at you with his brow quirked, dirty smirk etched across his face.

“Keep going, gorgeous. You haven’t even got to the good part. Neither of us have.”

You scoff at him in defiance, but slide your fingers into his hair to tug him back to where you want him.

“You looked so strong,” you continue, sighing when his tongue finds your core again. “Kept thinking about how easily you could throw me around. Pick me up, sit me on your face…”

Buck groans, all deep and rumbled, and the vibrations have your legs going weak. He doubles down on his efforts, slipping his tongue inside as his nose nudges your clit. He’s a fast learner, taking mental note of the spots and pressures that make your knees buckle.

“Keep going,” he mumbles into your core.

“You keep going,” you retort, pulling at his hair.

He chuckles but obliges your request, sucking your clit into his mouth with purpose. You’re shaking, holding onto him for dear life as you reach your climax. The moan you let out is borderline pornographic, and it has Buck palming himself over his suit trousers with a groan.

“Fuck, Evan,” you pant, chest heaving as you slump into the wall. “You need to grab me before I collapse. My legs are jelly.”

Laughing as he does it, he stands up and wraps his arms around your middle, holding you against him as tightly as he can.

“You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss into your hair.

“Better than ever.”

He rests his lips on your forehead, both of you breathing each other in for a moment.

“Can’t believe you were right across the hallway from me, trying to be quiet while you were getting yourself off,” he murmurs, fingers running up and down your back. “You should have come over here. I would have helped you.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you tease, cupping his face in your hands. “I was still acting like I didn’t wanna rip your clothes off back then.”

“Knew you’d crack eventually,” he winks, grinning when you laugh.

You pull him into you for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, clearly telling him exactly what you want.

“You gonna fuck me, Evan? Or are we just gonna stand here all night?”

He shakes his head with a smirk before throwing you onto the bed, chuckling when you almost bounce back off. As he starts to crawl over to you, you stop him with a foot on his chest.

“Nuh uh. You’re wearing too many clothes. Strip, Buckley.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He’s standing up immediately, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them off in one fell swoop. His boxers are next, leaving him stood bare and beautiful in front of you.

“Fuck. You’re not real,” you breathe out, eyes dancing over him.

“Oh I am so real,” he’s reassuring, situating himself on top of you.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him down so you can grind your hips into his.

“I’ve been waiting two days for this,” you murmur into his lips. “Make it worth my while, please.”

“Careful what you wish for,” he teases, kissing you again with such a force that you’re dizzy.

Buck sucks a bruise into your collarbone, licking a stripe up your sternum and tasting the salt that sits on your skin. Your patience is wearing thinner and thinner, anticipation bubbling up in your veins.

“How’d you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“Just- deep. Wanna feel you for the rest of the weekend.”

He groans, a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

“Anything you want, gorgeous. I’ll give you anything you want. Anything in the world.”

His lust drunk rambling makes you giggle, wiggling your hips into his to hopefully hurry him up. You tug at his hair, pulling his face so it’s level with yours.

“Now, Evan. Can’t wait any longer. Please.”

“Fuck. You’re so pretty when you beg.”

He lines himself up, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you connect. He’s big and he’s stretching you out just right and you think you might have died and gone to heaven. You both groan, panting into each others mouths.

“Fuck, baby. It’s like you were made for me.”

The baby sends warmth running through both your core and your heart, all the signals setting your nervous system on fire.

“Please,” you whimper, kissing him with desperation as you tangle your fingers in his curls and pull. “Please, Evan.”

“I’ve got you,” he’s mumbling, pulling his hips back and sliding them forwards with clear intent.

Reaching up beside your head, Buck pulls a pillow down and situates it under your hips, putting you where he wants you.

“Want you to feel me as deep as possible,” he murmurs, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. “Won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You can only moan at the promise, praying he delivers. There’s a shiny sheen of sweat covering his sun kissed skin, making him glow in the moonlight like some sort of angel. Sent just for you.

Buck sets a steady rhythm, not too fast but just fast enough. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and you ignore the pang of jealousy in your chest at the idea of him with another woman, even in the past.

Now that you’ve had a taste of this, you don’t want to let it go.

He’s pressing kisses onto whatever skin he can reach - your neck, your collarbone, underneath your ear. His hips never cease, determined to get you both to where you need to be. When he hitches one of your legs over his waist, you can’t help but drop your head back, eyes fluttering shut at the new angle.

He tilts his hips upwards, and hits a spot that has you keening. Speech has left you, and all you can do now is take it like you were made for it.

“Right there? Yeah? That’s it, isn’t it?”

You nod frantically, sucking in a shuddering breath like you’ve been under water. Your legs have started to shake, and Buck’s grinning when he thinks about how far he can push you before you’re at your limit.

“Come on, pretty girl. Give it to me.”

You’re so close you can taste it, desperate to find this release that’s been building for the last forty eight hours. When Buck moves his hand from your hip to your throat and squeezes just slightly, you snap.

You’re coming with a breathless moan, back arching into him to plaster your fronts together.

“Shit, you look so beautiful when you come. Jesus.”

You manage a soft smile, looking up at him to see those bright eyes staring into yours. He looks entranced, as if he’s staring at a piece in an art gallery. You swipe his hair back from his sweaty forehead, teasing your thumb across his bottom lip. When he sucks it into his mouth, your jaw drops open, mind foggy with arousal.

“Think you can give me another one? Let me see you come all pretty again?” he asks around your digit, tongue laving over your skin.

“Mhmm,” you’re agreeing before you can even process it, eager to please.

“That’s my girl.”

He moves your fingers from his mouth back into his hair as his find your throat once more, applying a little pressure. His hips pick up their pace, faster and harder than before. He’s fucking you into the mattress, strong arms keeping you from sliding off the bed.

He looks breathtaking, on top of you like this. He’s so broad, towering over you like he’ll shield you from the entire world if he has to. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the whole universe, unbothered by anything or anyone else.

“Buck- I… I-”

“I know, baby. Can feel it. Atta girl.”

You pull him down to kiss you as you reach your third climax of the night, arms wrapping around his neck so every inch of you is pressed together.

“There we go, good girl. That’s it, yeah. It’s yours, baby. It’s all yours.”

Buck finally finds his release, triggered by yours. His head drops into your neck, his frantic breath tickling your skin. You murmur sweet nothings into his ear, talking him through it as he shudders and shakes. Eventually, he collapses completely onto you, body weight pinning you down.

You’re both heaving for air, lungs burning as you try to regain an ounce of composure.

He murmurs something into your shoulder, the vibrations of it rumbling through your bones.

“Hmm?”

“You called me Buck.”

A breathless laugh escapes you, silvery and melodic.

“I’ve been trying not to for two days.”

“I know. You thought you were making a point.”

“I was making a point.”

“Sure, honey. Sure.”

“I hate you,” you grumble, but you can’t wipe the grin off your face. “I also hate that we’ve just made Lucy and Danny the happiest people ever.”

“Oh, shit. I hate it when they’re right.”

He pulls his head from your neck to look at you, resting his cheek against your chest so he can gaze up and into your eyes.

“I’m sure we can keep this a secret for a little while.”

“Yeah… we can’t.”

You quirk your brow at him in a silent question.

“I told Danny I was gonna marry you the minute you walked into the rehearsal dinner in that red dress. Can’t hide how I feel about you, gorgeous. It’s physically impossible.”

You can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp.

“Take me on a date first. Then we’ll talk about marriage, okay?”

“You did say forever, earlier.”

“That I did. Maybe my heart knew something my brain didn’t.”

Buck grins up at you, all blinding and giddy.

“The best man and the maid of honour, huh?”

“That old cliche,” you chuckle. “We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last.”

“You’ll be my last, gorgeous.”

“Real smooth, Buck. Real smooth.”

“Buck,” he whispers, half in amusement, half in awe.

He could get used to this. You both could.

as always, reblogs are like gold to writers. if you enjoyed this, please reblog!! it’s invaluable <3

The elevator shuddered violently before grinding to a halt. The lights flickered once. Twice. Then all went still except for Eddie’s harsh, clenched-teeth breathing.

“Eddie, Eddie, stay with me.” Your voice broke as you knelt beside him, fear squeezing your chest. Blood soaked his fingers where he pressed the stab wound. It was far too much. The metallic stench filled the cramped elevator, making your stomach roil. Eddie slumped against the mirrored wall, face pale, sweat clinging to dark curls. “You okay?” he rasped weakly.

A strangled laugh escaped you. “You’re literally bleeding out, and you’re asking if I’m okay?” His lips twitched faintly. That tiny smile, even now, nearly broke you with relief and fear tangled together. You ripped off your jacket and pressed it hard to the wound. Eddie hissed, head thudding back. “Sorry. Sorry, I know-” “No, keep pressure,” he forced out. “You know what to do.” Naturally, you did.

Dating a firefighter meant you’d patched him up after bruises, burns, and close calls. You learned emergency medicine you never wanted to know. You remembered that time he came home grinning with a fat lip after slipping on ice at the station, and you scolded him for laughing even as you iced his swollen jaw. He called you his "toughest paramedic" for weeks after, always smirking when he said it.

But this was different. This wasn’t a sprained wrist or stitches. This was life or death.

You slammed the emergency button again. “Hello?! We need help! He’s been stabbed!” Static crackled through the speaker. Then silence. “Dammit!” The elevator felt too small and hot. Air thinned as panic clawed at your throat. Eddie’s breathing was getting slower. No. No, no, no.

You grabbed his face carefully. “Look at me.” His eyes met yours, dark, glassy with pain. “You do not get to close your eyes.” “Bossy,” he murmured. “Shut up.” That earned a breathy chuckle that immediately dissolved into a groan of pain.

Fresh blood spread through your jacket. Your hands, sticky and warm with blood. Terrifying. “Hey,” Eddie whispered. You looked up instantly. Despite the agony, his expression softened. “You’re crying.” Only then did you realise tears were falling freely down your cheeks. You scrubbed at them angrily. “I’m fine.” “Liar.” “You’re stabbed, Eddie!” “I noticed.”

Your laugh came out broken and hysterical. He reached for your hand, smearing blood as he intertwined your fingers. The gesture shattered your composure. “Remember when we were stuck in that grocery store freezer?” he asked faintly. You remembered shivering behind racks of frozen peas, huddled together for hours before rescue, telling bad jokes to keep each other awake and calm. You stared at him. “Now?” “You said if we were trapped again, I had to entertain you.”

A sob escaped your throat before you could stop it. “You are unbelievable.” “Trying to help.” “You can help by not dying.” His eyes closed briefly. Too brief. “Eddie.” Panic surged through you. You shook him gently. “Hey. No. Stay awake.” His eyelids fluttered open again. “That’s my girl,” he whispered hoarsely. “Always taking care of me.”

Your chest collapsed inward. You pressed harder against the wound, despite his gasp. “Christopher is waiting for you at home,” you said quickly. “And you promised him movie night tonight.” A faint smile ghosted over Eddie’s lips. “Did promise that.” “And you promised me dinner tomorrow.” “Yeah?” “Yes, yeah.” Your voice shook. “So you can’t leave me alone with your son and a cancelled reservation.”

Another weak laugh. Then his face tightened sharply in pain. The colour drained further from his skin. Fear gripped you like icy hands around your throat. “Eddie, stay with me,” you begged softly now. “Please.” For the first time since you’d met him, Eddie looked afraid. Not for himself. For you. His bloodied hand lifted shakily to your cheek. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Your heart stopped. You grabbed his wrist. “Don’t say that. Don’t say goodbye.” The elevator suddenly jolted violently. Voices echoed faintly outside. Firefighters. Help. You nearly collapsed in relief. “They’re here,” you breathed. “Eddie, baby, they’re here.” But his eyes slipped shut again. “No, no, no. Eddie!”

The elevator doors groaned apart fully. Buck was the first one you saw. He skidded to a stop, eyes wide and stricken as they landed on Eddie sprawled on the floor. For a moment, his voice seemed stuck in his throat, breath coming fast. Then, panic and fear cracking his voice, he called out, "Eddie!” “Help him!” you cried.

The team moved instantly. Chimney crouched beside you, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might shatter, hands already shaking out gauze and bandages. Buck hovered just behind him, eyes wide and haunted, his whole body coiled like he might fly apart if he couldn't help. Hen took over pressure on the wound, voice steady but gaze full of fierce worry. “You did well,” Hen said firmly, already assessing Eddie with terrifying efficiency. You caught Buck mouthing silent words, fists pressed to his mouth as if he couldn't bear to look away from Eddie, and Chimney's voice was tight as he called out Eddie's vitals, urgency edging every syllable. “You kept him alive.” Alive. The word echoed in your head as they loaded Eddie onto the stretcher. His hand searched blindly until it found yours again. Even half-conscious, he held on tightly. You walked beside him the entire way to the ambulance. And just before the doors shut, Eddie looked at you through exhausted, pain-heavy eyes. “I love you,” he whispered.

Time seemed to freeze around you, your heartbeat thundering so loud you could barely hear anything else. You stared at him through a blur of tears, the weight of those words anchoring you to the moment. For a split second, all the panic and fear fell away, leaving only the raw truth between you. You wanted to memorise everything - his voice, his eyes, the way his bloodied fingers tightened around yours. You felt something inside you shatter and knit itself back together all at once, a flood of hope and terror and love surging so fiercely it threatened to break you. In that flash, you knew you would fight the world to keep him here with you.

Your throat closed painfully. “I love you too,” you said immediately. “So you better come back to me, Eddie Diaz.” For the first time since the nightmare began, his smile was real. Small. Weak. But real.

As the ambulance doors slammed shut and the sirens wailed to life, you pressed your forehead against the cool metal in their wake. For a split second, hope and dread warred inside you. Maybe tonight would end in a hospital room with too many wires, with Eddie squeezing your fingers in reassurance, sleep-heavy but alive. You held on tight to that vision, refusing to let fear have the last word. Somewhere in the chaos and the blood, you chose to believe Eddie would fight his way back to you.

You were never enough — not for the parents who raised you, not for the version of success they carved out long before you had a say.

They wanted you in a white coat or behind a desk in a pristine office with your name etched in gold on the door.

Doctor. CEO.

Something to brag about at parties, something that didn’t involve dirt-stained boots or adrenaline-fueled sirens screaming through the city.

But that was never you.

You were the one who ran headfirst into chaos, hands steady, heart louder than logic.

You were the paramedic on the front lines — saving people, stitching lives back together in the middle of a street, on the floor of someone’s living room, beneath flickering streetlamps at 3AM. You were the kind of woman who found herself in the mess, not behind a polished title.

And when you weren’t holding someone’s pulse in your palm, you were sketching out the day on the back of call sheets, painting the quiet between shifts, listening to music the way some people listened for meaning.

Your mother never liked that either.

“You’re hiding behind your hobbies,” she used to say. “You could be someone if you just tried harder. You look like someone.”

She always said that like it was a curse — like beauty meant you owed the world something performative. Like being seen was more important than being whole.

But you had built yourself up — brick by stubborn brick — from the ache of being overlooked. And in the firehouse, with the roar of engines and the quiet camaraderie of those who understood, you had finally found peace.

Especially in him.

Buck wasn’t just a fellow firefighter.

He was your calm in the storm. He was the one who didn’t flinch when you unraveled, the one who saw past the version of you shaped by pressure and criticism. He never tried to change you — only reminded you of who you already were.

The girl your parents tried to remake… she didn’t survive the shift.

But the woman standing in her place? She carried trauma, yes — but she also carried purpose. Family. The kind that came with turnout coats, inside jokes, and a seat saved at the station table.

And most days, that was more than enough.

Until they came back.

The sun hadn’t fully broken over Los Angeles yet, but the city was already humming — slow and sleepy in some corners, chaotic in others.

Buck had his usual iced coffee in one hand, his keys in the other, and your favorite breakfast sandwich tucked into a brown bag he pretended not to make a big deal about.

You teased him for it every time, but the way he shrugged and smiled like it was second nature made it harder and harder not to fall for him again each morning.

“You still deny I’m your favorite,” he grinned, handing you the bag as you slid into the passenger seat of his truck.

“You’re not my favorite,” you said, already biting into the sandwich. “You just bring good food.”

Buck smirked. “That’s basically the same thing.”

It had been a slow, quiet thing between the two of you. Not the blazing, dramatic romance people wrote songs about — but something softer.

Healed.

It came after the long nights, after the therapy sessions, after the breakdowns and the breakthrough that came after.

You weren’t looking to be rescued anymore. Neither was he.

Instead, you’d built something steady — like muscle memory, like breath.

You woke up, met him outside of your apartment, showed up to work, made fun of each other in the locker room, rolled your eyes when Hen caught you smiling too wide.

It was comfort. It was ease.

And lately, it felt like the kind of thing you could build a life around.

At the station, the team had already claimed their seats in the kitchen — Hen nursing her coffee like a lifeline, Chim flipping through a magazine he probably had no intention of reading, Eddie snorting at something Ravi said under his breath, and Buck sliding into the seat beside you.

“You gonna eat both of those pieces or are you feeling generous today?”

“Generous, with you? Never,” you shot back, pushing your half-finished plate toward him anyway. He beamed like you’d just handed him gold.

Bobby walked in mid-laugh, muttering something about the last shift’s messy truck logs, before giving you both a nod.

You felt a flicker of gratitude settle under your ribs — like maybe this was your real beginning. Like the ghosts from your childhood didn’t have a place at this table anymore.

Then your phone buzzed.

It was a simple vibration at first. One you ignored.

Then another.

Then a third.

You reached into your hoodie pocket without thinking, glancing at the screen as Buck leaned over to grab the creamer behind you.

Mom.

Dad.

No message. Just the names lighting up your screen in tandem, like they were waiting to be let in again.

You froze for a second too long.

“You okay?” Buck asked, catching the shift in your posture.

You nodded quickly, sliding the phone screen-down onto the table. “Yeah. Just spam.”

“Spam with your last name?” Hen raised a brow, sipping her coffee. You shot her a subtle glare that only made her grin.

Buck didn't press, but his eyes lingered a second longer than usual, quietly clocking the change in your mood.

You forced yourself to laugh along with the team as Chim started mocking something Ravi said, but your head was miles away.

You hadn’t seen your parents in a little over a year and a half. Not since the last screaming match that ended in a slammed door and a one way plane ticket back to LA without looking back.

They’d always wanted you to be someone else — and for a long time, you thought if you just tried hard enough, you'd become that person. But you had come a long way since then.

You weren’t a project anymore. You weren’t unfinished.

You were someone now.

And yet, all it took was one notification to make your stomach twist like you were seventeen and living under their roof again.

Buck gently nudged your knee under the table.

“You sure you’re good?”

You looked at him — really looked — and for a moment, you wanted to tell him everything.

How scared you were to open that message. How tired you were of being molded into someone else’s dream. How the life you had now felt fragile suddenly, like it could be taken away the second you let the past back in.

But the moment passed.

“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

Buck watched you carefully, like he didn’t believe you — but also didn’t want to push you before you were ready. Instead, he smiled softly and handed you the last bite of your sandwich.

“Well, wake up. You’ve got another twelve hours with my charming self.”

You laughed — because it was easier than crying — and took the food from his hand.

“Lucky me.”

But in the back of your mind, the messages waited.

And you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d have to decide whether to open the door… or finally close it for good.

The call wasn’t heavy, not in the way that stuck to your skin for days. A minor traffic collision, a few broken bones, a scared kid who wouldn’t stop clinging to Chimney until his mom arrived.

It was the kind of run that made your heart squeeze in a different way — the kind that reminded you of everything fragile about the world.

You were quiet on the way back. Buck noticed.

You knew he did because his eyes found you in the rearview mirror more than once, flickering between the road and the crease between your brows.

Back at the firehouse, everyone scattered.

Hen went to check inventory in the rig, her clipboard in hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Eddie was helping Ravi clean out the squad, their laughter drifting faintly through the open bay doors.

Bobby had vanished into his office, probably knee-deep in the usual mountain of paperwork. Chim was in the kitchen, half-singing under his breath as he prepped dinner for the shift.

And Buck?

Buck waited.

He always waited — not in a way that hovered, but in a way that reminded you he’d be there when you were ready.

“Wanna go up?” he asked gently, nudging your elbow.

You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

The rooftop had become your shared place. A quiet, liminal space above the chaos — where the world slowed down just long enough for you both to breathe.

You nodded.

The city stretched around you, a sea of lights blinking to life against the late afternoon haze. Traffic buzzed below like static, and the sky was turning the soft kind of orange that only LA could pull off.

You sat beside Buck, your shoulders brushing, your knees tucked to your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke.

You just leaned into his side, and he draped an arm around you with practiced ease, his hand rubbing small, absent-minded circles into your back.

“I promised,” you finally murmured.

Buck tilted his head, watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Promised what?”

“No secrets. That I’d talk to you.” You swallowed thickly, staring at your fingers. “They texted again. My parents.”

His hand stilled on your back.

You didn’t look at him yet. You weren’t ready for the weight of that gaze.

“They… they’re here. In LA.”

Buck stayed quiet, which somehow gave you the space to keep going.

“I thought they were just passing through. I didn’t want to make it a big deal. I told myself I’d just ignore it. But then they sent this message and said they wanted to talk. That they’d been thinking about me. About everything.”

You laughed — a short, bitter sound.

“And part of me wants to believe it. That maybe people really can change. I mean… look at you. Look at Maddie. Even your parents. They’re trying. The Hans too. And it made me think — if they can change, why can’t mine?”

Buck’s arm pulled you a little closer, his voice quiet.

“Because yours hurt you. Not just once. Not just in passing. But over and over again.”

You turned your face into his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie muffling your thoughts.

“They hated who I was,” you said.

“Not just what I did — not being a paramedic, not choosing a job where I get to help people every day — but who I was. I liked art. I liked movement. I liked not needing their permission to be myself. And they said it made me selfish. Undisciplined. Unlovable.”

Buck’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently at your temple.

“You’re not any of those things,” he whispered.

“You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had. And the most real person I know.”

You breathed in, grounding yourself in his scent — laundry detergent and smoke and something unshakably him.

“But it still hurts,” you admitted.

“Even after all this time. Even when I tell myself I’ve built a life. That I’m good. That I’m okay now. All it took was one message and suddenly I feel like I’m fifteen again and nothing I do will ever be enough.”

Buck exhaled slowly, resting his cheek against the top of your head.

“You’ve come too far to let them take that from you.”

“But what if they really mean it this time?” you whispered.

“What if they want to make amends? What if I don’t even give them the chance?”

Buck didn’t answer right away. He waited, thoughtful, like he was measuring his words carefully.

“I used to think that too,” he said.

“When I went back to my parents’ house that time… I wanted so badly for it to be different. I wanted them to see me. The version of me I worked so damn hard to become. But the thing is — it’s not about them. It never was.”

You looked up at him slowly, heart pounding in your chest.

“It’s about what you need to feel safe. To feel whole,” he continued. “And you already built that. You don’t need to let them back in to prove you’re healed.”

He brushed your hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your jaw.

“But if you do let them back in… do it for you. Not because they suddenly remembered how to be parents.”

That cracked something open in you.

For the first time in hours, you let the tears fall — quiet, cathartic, and honest. Buck didn’t flinch. He just held you tighter, kissed your forehead, and waited with you on that rooftop like he always did.

And in that moment, you knew something with perfect clarity:

You weren’t a teenager anymore.

You weren’t trying to earn love from people who only ever saw you as a reflection of their own regrets.

You had a home now — not in a place, but in people.

In Buck. In Hen. In Bobby. In Chim. In Ravi. In Eddie. In the family you chose at the 118.

And maybe — just maybe — that was more than enough.

At first, it was fine. Or at least, it looked fine.

The meeting with your parents was held in a neutral place — some polished brunch spot on the West Side with cold-pressed juices and overpriced eggs.

They hugged you like they meant it. They said they missed you. They even asked about your job, your friends, your life.

You let yourself hope. Just a little.

But it didn’t take long for the cracks to show.

“You look tired,” your mom said, peering across the table. “Are you still not using concealer?”

A laugh followed, as if she’d just made a joke. You forced a smile.

Later, your dad — swirling his coffee absentmindedly — asked, “So… are you really planning to stay a paramedic forever?”

Your heart dropped like a stone.

“Not that we don’t respect what you do,” he added quickly, as if softening the blow.

“It’s just… there’s more out there. You’re smart. You could still go back to school. Do something that really stretches you.”

You gripped your fork too tight.

“I like what I do,” you answered, steady and restrained. “I help people. Every single day.”

They didn’t argue. But their silence screamed louder than words.

That was the beginning.

The comments didn’t stop. They just evolved — small, needling remarks that made you second-guess the things you’d worked so hard to reclaim.

“You know, if you just dressed a little differently, you'd look even more put together.”

“This haircut is cute, but the last one made your face look slimmer.”

“I still think you’d do well in PR — you’ve always had a nice smile.”

They cloaked it all in faux concern, under the guise of caring. But what they were really doing was trying to remake you into something they could understand.

Someone more acceptable. More palatable. Less you.

You thought you could handle it.

You thought — after everything you’d survived, after years of therapy, after finding love and home in the 118 — that you were immune to their power.

But you weren’t.

Not entirely.

You didn’t tell anyone. Not even Buck.

You kept coming into work with a smile on your face, your uniform pressed, your voice steady. You carried your gear like it weighed nothing, even when your shoulders ached from the stress you weren’t admitting.

But the little things gave you away.

You started zoning out during debriefs — just for a second or two — like your mind had floated somewhere else.

Somewhere darker.

You’d stopped lingering at mirrors in the locker room, dressing quickly, avoiding the impulse to check your reflection.

Even compliments from Hen or Chim started to land wrong — twisting into something warped by the things your parents had said.

And worst of all: you skipped breakfast. Sometimes lunch, too.

You didn’t mean to. You just weren’t hungry. Or maybe you just didn’t want to hear that quiet voice in your head — your mother’s — telling you to be careful about portion sizes.

Buck noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed how your uniform hung differently. How your laugh didn’t reach your eyes. How you hadn’t touched your smoothie after a call and shrugged it off with “I’m just tired.”

He watched you push food around your plate at dinner. Watched you duck out of team photos when Bobby tried to snap one for the wall. Watched you smile through gritted teeth like your jaw was wired shut.

And Buck — for all his light and warmth — knew darkness when he saw it.

One night, after a long shift, he waited until everyone had gone. You were packing your things in the locker room when he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You ever gonna tell me what’s really going on?”

You froze.

“Because I know you,” he continued softly. “And you’re slipping.”

You turned around slowly, blinking too fast.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, moving toward you.

“You haven’t been fine for weeks. You barely eat, you’re constantly somewhere else in your head, and you flinch when anyone compliments you. That’s not you. That’s not the you I know.”

You swallowed hard, looking at the floor.

“I didn’t want to make it real,” you admitted. “I thought… if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t stick.”

Buck’s hands found your shoulders, gentle and grounding.

“Talk to me. Please.”

And that was when the dam broke.

You told him everything — about the comments, the small jabs, the way your parents had managed to reopen wounds you thought were healed.

You told him about the fear creeping in, how you’d started second-guessing the body you’d learned to love, the career you were proud of, the face you saw in the mirror.

“I fought so hard to feel okay again,” you whispered. “And now I feel like I’m back at square one.”

Buck shook his head and pulled you into his arms, cradling your head against his chest like he could shield you from it all.

“You’re not back at square one,” he said.

“You’re not that person anymore. You’re stronger now. But even strong people break a little when the right people push the wrong buttons.”

You let yourself sink into him, into the warmth, into the truth of his words.

“They don’t get to take this from you,” Buck said, voice low.

“Not your peace. Not your joy. Not the life you built for yourself. Because you built it with your own hands. You didn’t wait for anyone’s permission — not theirs, not mine, not anyone’s.”

You nodded into his chest, your tears soaking the fabric.

And he held you, quietly and completely, until the shaking stopped.

From up here, at the firehouse rooftop, the hum of L.A. traffic was just white noise — distant, forgettable.

You were wrapped in Buck’s arms, your head resting against his chest, his hoodie warm against your cheek.

The call earlier had shaken you a bit — not because of the trauma or the chaos, but because you'd caught your own reflection in the fire truck window, and for a second, all you saw was her.

Your mother’s voice echoing in your ears: you’d look so much prettier if you just fixed your posture.

You thought maybe saying it out loud would break the spell. So you did.

And Buck just… listened.

Now, he shifted, his hand gently stroking your back, voice low and steady.

“You know,” he began, “I spent a long time trying to be what my parents needed.”

You blinked up at him, and he was staring out at the skyline — not avoiding you, just thinking. Peeling open old scars.

“I was the ‘fix-it’ kid. If something was wrong, I’d jump in. Be the distraction, the helper, the good one.” He let out a short, mirthless laugh.

“Didn’t matter how much I gave. It was never enough.”

You watched him carefully, feeling your chest ache for the boy he once was.

“They didn’t see me, not really. Not until Maddie left, and even then… it was like I only existed through what I could do for them. Not who I actually was.”

His voice softened, eyes flicking back to yours.

“You’re not alone in this.”

Tears threatened again, but you bit them back.

“I thought they changed,” you whispered. “I thought maybe… maybe if I let them in, they’d see me now — the real me. Not the one they wanted me to be.”

Buck nodded.

“That hope? I know it too well. But Y/N… healing isn’t about letting the people who broke you walk back in just because they might be better now.”

He took your hand, threading his fingers through yours.

“You don’t owe them another piece of yourself. Not after everything you’ve done to become you.”

You looked at him, really looked — and saw not just the man who loved you, but the one who had clawed his way out of the same kind of shadow.

“The 118 — Hen, Chim, Bobby, Eddie… they see you,” he continued. “They respect you. They love you. Hell, I love you.”

You let out a shaky breath, and Buck cupped your cheek with his free hand.

“You built a life from the ground up. You stood in fire and didn’t flinch. If your parents can’t see that? That’s not on you.”

Silence settled around you again, the kind that didn’t need filling.

And for the first time in weeks, your shoulders relaxed.

Because Buck was right.

Your family wasn’t something you were born into. It was something you chose.

And the 118 — this loud, messy, brave, wonderful crew — had chosen you back.

Every single time.

It was their last night in L.A.

You sat across the dinner table from your parents in a sleek West Hollywood restaurant — the kind they would’ve approved of, with overpriced salads and polished silverware.

You’d even worn something nice, soft makeup, hair tucked back just the way your mother always said looked “less messy.”

And yet, nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.

They were smiling — that brittle, curated smile they wore in public. They made small talk about your “little job” and asked again if you'd considered going back to school, becoming a doctor like you “originally said you would” when you were fifteen.

You tried to laugh it off, to steer the conversation away.

But then came the line.

Your mother, wine glass in hand, leaned across the table with a too-sweet smile and said,

“You’re too beautiful to hide behind that uniform forever, sweetheart. You could be something more — if you just tried.”

That was the final crack.

Your chest tightened, your fingers clenched around your water glass, and all the work — all the healing, the therapy, the hours at Station 118 saving lives and rebuilding your confidence — it all teetered on a ledge.

“Do you even hear yourselves?” you said, quietly at first.

Your father looked up, startled. Your mother blinked, taken aback.

“I’ve been doing everything I can to build a life — my life — and all you see is who I’m not.”

Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop.

“You wanted me to be a doctor. Or a businesswoman. You hated that I loved art, that I found purpose in helping people. You hated the way I looked, dressed, existed. And now, you come to L.A. for three days and want to shape me all over again?”

Silence fell over the table.

“I’m not going to dinner with you again,” you said.

“This… is the last one.”

Your mother’s mouth opened to object, but you were already rising to your feet, grabbing your coat.

“I have a family. A real one. One that sees me. I’m not throwing that away just to be palatable to you.”

And then you called an Uber, knowing your parents would take your car anyway because that’s how much they disrespected you.

You didn’t cry until you reached Buck’s apartment.

He didn’t ask any questions. He just opened the door, took one look at your face, and pulled you into his arms.

You sobbed into his hoodie, fists clinging to the fabric, your knees nearly buckling with the weight of years of resentment and grief. He held you through it — no words, no pressure.

Just presence. Just Buck. Your Buck.

Eventually, you ended up outside — sitting in the back of his jeep at the beach, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, your head leaning on his shoulder as the night breeze swept around you.

Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke.

“I’ve spent so long trying to be who they wanted. I didn’t realize I’ve already become someone I’m proud of.”

Buck turned his head toward you, his fingers lacing with yours.

“I’ve always been proud of you,” he said, with that soft kind of certainty only Buck had when it really mattered.

“Even when you didn’t see it. Even when you were still hiding parts of yourself.”

You sniffled, leaning into him more.

“They were supposed to love me unconditionally.”

“They didn’t,” Buck said gently. “But we do.”

The next morning at the firehouse, you told Bobby everything.

You expected a lecture, maybe a reminder to show grace — but instead, Bobby reached out and placed a steady hand on your shoulder.

“Family doesn’t come with conditions. You’re one of us. And we’re not going anywhere.”

Hen brought you coffee. Chim cracked a terrible joke that made you laugh through your puffy eyes. Eddie gave you that silent nod of solidarity he only reserved for moments that mattered. Ravi slipped you a cookie from the pantry with a wink.

And Buck?

Buck just stood beside you, hand in yours.

No longer your anchor.

Now your entire world.

The journey in the ambulance had been uneventful, despite there being a paramedic in the back of the van with you and your boys, Eddie had taken over your care. The paramedic that had been accompanying in the van had mostly just sat back and let him take over, occasionally pointing out where some bits of equipment were.

The pain in your leg was still excruciating, and it didn’t help that Eddie was shining a light in your pupils every few minutes to check the reactions. Once he realised your leg injury was not your only injury, and you had been knocked unconscious by debris, he had become frenzied urging the driver to go faster while he kept checking your vitals. You hadn't even told him you hit his head, but when he helped you to get a bit more comfortable on the stretcher he noticed the blood that stained his hand after he held your head.

“Eddie, I’m fine, my leg is just hurting” You said, pushing the torch away from your face after Eddie started checking your eyes again.

“Fine? Babe your head is bleeding and your leg is looking a bit squashed,” Eddie sighed. He was clearly worried about you. 

Chris had remained curled up to your side on the stretcher, clutching your middle, scared to let go. Despite the stressful situation, his heart had warmed at the sight in front of him. 

Once you had arrived at the hospital you were placed in the urgent waiting room. As you were still conscious and talking, people who had been more injured in the earthquake had taken priority over you. Due to the state of your leg the ambulance staff had placed you in a wheelchair and disinfected the stretcher before they headed back out to help more people. 

“How are you feeling?” Eddie asked, once again. 

“Chris, your dad is crazy,” You said, ignoring Eddie looking at the boy slouched over the arm of your wheelchair. Eddie rolled his eyes and smirked at this. 

It wasn’t much longer until you were called to be seen by a doctor, and your boys quickly stood up and wheeled you into the room with the doctor. Chris held onto your hand and walked alongside you as Eddie pushed you.

“How are you feeling?” The doctor asked as soon as she shut the door to the private room.

“Mom got hurt in the earthquake,” Chris spoke first. He was so quick that you hadn’t had the chance to speak yet. 

“Well, we better check mom out then,” The doctor said, smiling at Chris.

For the rest of the appointment, you were referred to as mom as the doctor tried to reassure Chris, and it just warmed something in your heart. Unknown to you but it also made Eddie’s heart swell. 

Despite you feeling fine, the doctor wanted to keep you for observation overnight and you had managed to convince her to let Eddie and Chris stay with you. Chris went back to being snuggled into your side once you were given a bed, and promptly fell asleep. 

“How are you feeling, mom?” Eddie whispered, putting emphasis on the last word. 

“Apart from the broken leg, I feel amazing,” you whispered looking down at the sleeping boy tightly curled into you. “I can’t believe he called me mom.”

“He loves you so much, as do I.” Eddie smiled as he leant forward to give you a small kiss “Which I guess means I've got to do something.”

You looked puzzled as Eddie leant over and shook Chris awake. 

“Eddie, he was asleep, what are you doing?” you ask, very confused, but your question was ignored.

“Chris, do you remember that thing I said I was going to ask mom one day, it’s time.” Upon hearing this Chris shot up, filled with so much energy and sat up at the end of your bed.

“Your jacket is over there dad” Chris pointed to the chair in the corner of the room. Eddie quickly stood up, and hurried over to the chair, almost slipping over on the clean hospital floors.

“Be careful Eddie, we don’t want both of us injured,” you sighed.

“It’s all good mom, don’t you worry,” he smiled.

Eddie sat down in the chair next to your head, jacket folded over on his lap, and took your hands in his.

“What are you doing?” You sit up a bit more in your bed, confused as to what was happening.

“It’s okay mom,” Chris said. It was hard to feel worried when he called you mom, it made you so happy. You turn back to Eddie who has your hands in his. 

“y/n, you have made both mine and Chris’s life so much better. There isn’t anyone I’d rather be Chris’s mom, and my wife.” Eddie paused, reaching into the inside zip pocket of his jacket. You wanted to ask what was happening, but you were in such shock you were speechless. In Eddie’s hand was a small velvet box. While holding the box, he went back to cradling your hand. 

“y/n will you do me the absolute pleasure of being my wife” Eddie’s voice started to crack. 

“And my mom!” Chris shouted.

“Yes, and Chris’ mom. Will you please marry me?” At this point, Eddie’s voice was wobbling while he awaited your answer. 

You struggled to speak, eyes streaming, your spare hand over your mouth in shock. Unable to get the words out you just nodded. 

“Yes?” Eddie questioned.

“Yes.” you nodded. 

Eddie quickly grabbed your hand and placed the sparkling ring that was once in the box on your ring finger, and then kissed your face all over before placing on last kiss on your lips while cradling your face in his hands. 

“Eddie, have you just been carrying around this gorgeous ring?” you asked as you began to admire the jewellery adorning your finger. 

“For about a year and a half,” he shrugged looking down at your hand. 

“We’ve only been together a little over 2 years,” you laughed. 

“I would’ve had it sooner, but it was really hard to get your ring size without being obvious.” he smiled.

“You are crazy Edmundo,” you laughed.

“Crazy for you, and now you’re stuck with me forever.”

“I wouldn’t want anything else, now get your butt on this bed, I want to have a cuddle with my boys,” you said as you shuffled making space for the three of you. Once Eddie was on the bed, you helped Chris get in the middle of you, it was tight and uncomfortable, but you didnt want to be anywhere else. 

“I love you guys, and now you’re my boys, forever.” you smiled as you placed a kissed on each of their heads.

Y/N's POV

As the storm rumbled outside, the firehouse seemed to vibrate with each distant boom of thunder. In the dimly lit bunkroom, the rhythmic breathing of sleeping firefighters fills the air, the B shift getting as much rest as they can before they’re needed. I’m only among them as Bobby, Captain of the 118, sent me to try and get some sleep before the next call so I had settled into a restless nap, exhaustion finally catching up with me after a long shift.

But as the storm intensified, my dreams twist into something far more sinister. I found yourself standing in the midst of chaos, surrounded by flashing lights and deafening sirens. And there, at the centre of it all, was Buck—his vibrant smile replaced by a look of shock as a bolt of lightning strikes him down again. 

The jolt of waking up is abrupt as the lighting strikes Buck, my heart hammering in my chest, adrenaline coursing through my veins as the memory of the vision lingers, haunting me. With trembling hands, I push myself upright in the cot, sweat-soaked sheets clinging to my skin. Ignoring the fatigue that weighs heavy on my limbs, I’m stumbling out the bunkroom, feet fumbling against the cool floor in my boots. The storm outside mirrors the turmoil within me, each clap of thunder echoing the panic rising in my chest. 

The firehouse feels like a labyrinth as I stumble through its corridors, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. The storm outside seems to intensify, matching the turmoil within me, as if nature itself is reflecting my inner chaos. Hen finds me first, her presence a grounding force in the midst of my panic. 

She presses a gentle hand to my forehead, concern etched in her features as she tries to coax me back to bed. But I can't relent, not when the memory of Buck's vulnerable form still lingers in my mind, haunting me with its stark reality. I struggle against her, my voice trembling as I insist that I need to find Buck.

Embarrassing tears sting my eyes as I plead with her, my desperation laid bare for all to see. Hen's expression softens, understanding dawning in her eyes as she realises the depth of my fear. With a comforting touch, she leads me up the stairs to the kitchen area where Buck and Eddie are seated in the two armchairs, deep in conversation.

Relief floods through me at the sight of Buck, his presence a balm to my frayed nerves. But as I approach, my steps falter, uncertainty gnawing at my resolve. Will he understand the depth of my fear, the way his near miss has shaken me to the core? 

Hen's reassuring hand on my shoulder is all the encouragement I need. With a shaky breath, I step forward, my eyes meeting Buck's with a mixture of relief and vulnerability.

“B-Buck," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. He looks up from his conversation with Eddie, concern furrowing his brow as he takes in my disheveled appearance.

"Hey, what's going on?" he asks, his voice gentle but filled with genuine concern.

As I stand before Buck, my heart racing with a mixture of fear and longing, he reaches out with a gentle yet firm hand, pulling me down onto his lap. The suddenness of the movement catches me off guard, but before I can protest or even react, I find myself cradled against his chest, his warmth enveloping me like a protective cocoon.

His concerned gaze meets mine, brows furrowed in genuine worry as he takes in my disheveled appearance. "Hey, what's going on?" His voice is soft, filled with a tenderness that sends a shiver down my spine as he asks again.

I struggle to find my voice, to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling within me. But as I gaze into his eyes, the words seem to evaporate, leaving only a raw vulnerability in their wake. Without waiting for a response, Buck wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer as if sensing the depths of my turmoil. I sink against him, my body moulded to his like pieces of a puzzle fitting seamlessly together.

The warmth of his embrace seeps into my bones, banishing the chill of uncertainty that had gripped me moments before. My palm instinctively presses against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. In that intimate moment, there's no room for pretence or hesitation. It's just Buck and me, united in our shared vulnerability, our unspoken desires simmering beneath the surface. 

And as he rubs soothing circles on my back, I can't help but wonder if he feels the same magnetic pull that I do, the unspoken connection that binds us together in moments of crisis. 

"The lightning," I choke out, the words tumbling from my lips in a rush, my voice barely above a whisper. Buck's surprised sound sends a jolt of embarrassment through me, amplified by Eddie's studious gaze. I bury my face in the crook of Buck's neck, wishing I could disappear into the safety of his embrace.But instead of recoiling, Buck covers the hand pressed against his chest with his own, pressing it firmer against his heartbeat. The gesture is both comforting and intimate, sending a shiver down my spine as I feel the warmth of his touch seep into my skin.

Eddie clears his throat, breaking the tense silence that hangs between us. "I, uh, think I left something in the truck," he says hastily, his eyes flickering between Buck and me. "Hen, want to give me a hand?” 

Hen nods, shooting me a sympathetic glance before following Eddie out of the room. Alone at last, Buck turns his attention back to me, his expression soft with concern and something more. 

With gentle hands, he manoeuvres me until I'm straddling his waist, his warmth seeping into every fibre of my being. His touch is electric, sending sparks dancing across my skin as his thumb soothes over my cheek. 

Every instinct in me screams to hide, to retreat into the safety of my own thoughts and emotions. But as I feel Buck's steady gaze on me, a flicker of determination ignites within me. I force myself to meet his eyes, willing him to see the depth of my feelings, the longing that simmers beneath the surface.

And as if sensing my silent plea, Buck moves his fingers to hook under my chin, drawing me closer until our lips are just inches apart. The anticipation crackles in the air between us, palpable and electric, as he leans in to capture my lips in a soft, tentative kiss. 

In that moment, everything falls into place. The warmth of his embrace, the tender caress of his lips against mine—it all feels so right, so achingly familiar. And as we melt into each other, the outside world fades into insignificance, leaving only the two of us, bound together by an unspoken promise of love and understanding.

As we pull away from the kiss, our hearts beating as one, Buck's arms wrap around me in a tight, protective embrace. The warmth of his body against mine sends a shiver of contentment down my spine, and I find myself melting into his embrace, lost in the comfort of his touch.

"I'm here," he murmurs against my ear, his breath warm and soothing against my skin. "I'll always be here for you.” His words are like a lifeline in the storm, grounding me in the present moment and banishing the ghosts of doubt that still linger in the corners of my mind. With him, I feel safe, cherished, and wholly loved. 

As the thunder continues to rumble outside, a symphony of nature's fury, Buck's presence is the calm at the centre of the storm. He holds me close, rocking me gently in his arms, the rhythm of his movements a lullaby that soothes me back into the gentle embrace of sleep. With each sway, each comforting murmur, I feel myself drifting further and further into a blissful oblivion, the worries of the world fading away until there is nothing left but the two of us, bound together by an unspoken promise of love and understanding.

And as I finally succumb to the embrace of sleep, cradled in Buck's arms, I know that no matter what challenges may lie ahead, we'll face them together, hand in hand, hearts entwined in a love that knows no bounds. 

Ravi after quickly stripping out of his dirty uniform, went to wash his hands and came back to the hallway to help.

He, out of habit, searched for you in the common spaces and near the trucks, however you were nowhere to be found.

A little worried he came to Hen and Chimney who were organizing and refurnishing the ambulance while chatting.

"Hey, have you seen y/n? I searched everywhere and I can't find her." he asked his voice hinting his concern.

"I think she went to the bathroom when we got back but I havn't seen her come out since", Hen said softly, addressing a worried look to Ravi.

Frowning at her statement, "I'm gonna go check on her", he muttered already turning to leave.

Ravi quickly entered the bathroom and the first thing he heard was the running water and a ragged breath.

You were at the sink washing your hand but something was off.

"Y/n", he called out a first time.

"Y/n", you weren't answering.

He slowly walked toward you careful to not startle you as he continued calling you name.

You flinched feeling a hand on your arm and turned to find Ravi facing you.

You turned to resume to your hand washing like you weren't really aware of your surroundings but Ravi glanced at your hands and frowned at how red they were from the rubbing. He stopped the water.

"Y/n have you been washing your hands since we got back ?"

You tried to open the water again but he grabbed your wrist

"Ravi stop, I need to- I need to wash my hands- the blood.. there's blood- I can't- I can't wash it off. I need to wash it off !"

He stared into your eyes trying to understand your distress but you weren't really there, you weren't really seeing him.

"y/n..y/n please" he cupped your face with one hand and grabbed your hand away from the sink with the other. "Look at me, it's okay, you need to breathe"

"No! You- you don't understand-" tears started welling up in your eyes and you started struggling to breathe.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

You grabbed his arms trying to breathe and talk but only tears came out and you let yourself fall on your knees. You grabbed his shirt and cried mumbling things he couldn't make out.

He cupped your face, a hand on your waist to support you and looked you in the eyes trying to make you focus on the present situation.

"You need to take deep breath for me please, you're ok, you're ok. I got you" he whispered in your hair.

After a few minutes your breathing got back to normal but tears were still streaming down your face.

You were laying against Ravi while he was holding you and tracing patterns on your back.

"I couldn't saved him" you stated suddenly.

"He died and I couldn't do anything.. he was holding my hand and all I could do was watch the life leave his eyes" you felt your voice break.

"I still feel his blood on my hand.. I can't clean it. I don't think i'll ever be clean again."

"Hey, look at me.. this job is hard that's what we signed up for, loosing someone is never gonna feel ok. But, you need to understand that you can't save everyone and you don't need to blame yourself for that. You can't bring home all these victims, otherwise it's gonna break you."

"When I lost someone for the first time... it hit me harder than I thought it would. The same thing happened to Buck and to Chimney, to Hen, to Bobby, to Eddie and to everyone. Nobody ask you to act like nothing happened but you need to accept it. And if you need anything you know that I'll always be here for you. The 118 is a family, and you and me we stand together as a team."

He stood up and used a cloth to gently wipe the dried tears on your cheeks and gently kissed your forehead when he was done.

You looked up at him and the hand he was offering you and when you stood up with his help, you felt a little cleaner.

After a few more minutes you decided to grab the book from your bedside table and head downstairs to the living room. You tried to walk down the stairs as quietly as possible so you wouldn’t wake him up. Then you sat down on the couch, turned on the light and started reading.

While you where downstairs, Buck woke up and when he couldn’t feel you cuddling with him, he looked at your side of the bed and was confused when he didn’t see you there. Buck started to worry and then decided to look where you were. As he walked to the stairs, he already saw light coming from the living room.

When you heard footsteps, you turned around and to see a tired Buck walking towards you.

“Babe, you okay?” Buck asked and you nodded. Then he sat down next to you and reached for your hand.

“I just can’t sleep again.”

“You know you could have woken me up, right?” He said as he softly rubbed the back of your hand.

“Buck, I…I know…but you just got back from a long shift so I wanted to let you sleep.”

“Looks like I can’t sleep without you next to me.” Buck said and smiled at you. You returned that smile and moved closer to him. He wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You stayed like that for a few minutes until Buck broke the silence.

“How about we go to bed and cuddle?”

“Sounds good.” You answered and smiled at him. You went back into the bedroom and snuggled up to Buck. You laid your head on his chest, so you could hear his heartbeat, which always calms you down and helps you feel better. Buck put his hand on your back and held you tight, then he kissed your forehead gently.

“Would you like to hear a story from work?” he asked excited. Buck loves telling you some stories from work and you enjoy listening to him talk. He's always so excited and you’re curious what story it's going to be. Maybe you already knew it, but you didn’t care.

“I would love to.” You said with a smile.

“Okay, so you know we don’t use the Q-word.” He started and you had to held back a chuckle.

“Ravi was new at the station when he accidentally said it and as you can imagine, we were all cursed then.” He said and began to tell you the story of that exhausting and cursed shift. The story was so interesting and funny, but after a while you started to drift off and fell asleep in your boyfriend's loving embrace.

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