The sun’s barely broken through the blinds, a soft haze cutting across the sheets, and Chris is still dead asleep next to you—shirtless, warm, mouth slightly parted as he breathes slow and deep. He’s on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting over his stomach. You can see the outline of him beneath the thin fabric of his sweats, heavy and half-hard even in sleep, and the temptation hits too fast to ignore.
You shift under the covers slowly, letting the comforter slide over your back as you slide down the bed. Careful not to wake him too fast, you press your lips just above his waistband, kissing down to where the fabric tents softly. A little twitch beneath the cotton makes you smirk.
You tug his sweats down just far enough, letting his dick spring free against his stomach, thick and already swelling in your hand. He stirs when you press a soft, wet kiss to the tip, tongue tracing the slit.
A low, sleepy groan rumbles in his chest.
“Mm… what’re you doin’, baby?” he mumbles, voice thick, groggy. One eye cracks open, barely, and he smiles when he sees you down there. “S’early…”
You don’t answer. Just suck him into your mouth slowly, letting your tongue swirl around the head before inching down. His abs flex under your touch. His hand lazily finds your hair, threading through it with a loose grip. You hear his breath catch, feel his dick twitch against your tongue.
“Fuck… okay,” he mutters. “Shit… don’t stop.”
He’s getting harder by the second, hips starting to push forward just a little. Your hands stay tight on his thighs, holding him still while you work your mouth around him, taking more with each bob. His groans get louder—still low, still morning-sweet, but rougher now, more awake. His grip in your hair tightens, and suddenly, he’s pulling.
“Open wider,” he says, voice rough now, commanding. “C’mon, let me fuck that mouth.” You do as he says. He thrusts up into your throat slowly, watching you with heavy eyes, his lip pulled between his teeth. He shifts his legs, plants his feet, and starts guiding the rhythm, deeper, rougher, dick hitting the back of your throat with each push. His head falls back against the pillow.
“Fuck, you look good like this,” he groans. “Mouth full of my dick first thing in the morning. You love it, huh? Waking me up just so you can choke on it?” You can’t answer, not like this—not with the way he’s holding your head in place, thrusting into your mouth like he owns it. Spit drips down your chin. His balls slap against your jaw. You gag, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he groans louder.
“Don’t pull away,” he pants. “You started it. You finish it.”
He fucks your throat until his legs start to shake, stomach clenching. One deep thrust and he groans through his teeth, thick and loud, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat. You swallow around him automatically, taking everything he gives you, eyes fluttering from the taste and pressure and heat. He lets out a long breath, lets go of your hair finally, and watches you with a lazy, satisfied grin.
“Swallow all of it,” he mutters. “Yeah—jus’ like that. Now open your mouth. Lemme see.”
You do. He hums in approval, reaches down to wipe your chin with his thumb, then pulls you up by the back of your neck and kisses your mouth like he didn’t just come down your throat thirty seconds ago. He pulls the blankets back over you both, wraps an arm around your waist, and exhales into the crook of your neck.
“Gimme a few minutes,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep again. “Then s’your turn.”
⋮ ⌗ ┆ warnings ˎˊ˗ handcuffs, dom!matt x sub!reader, oral (f receiving), light spanking, throat holding, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, please let me know if i missed anything.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ word count ˎˊ˗ 922
you're sprawled across his bed, thighs parted just enough to keep his attention but not enough to give him what he wants. he stands at the foot, dark eyes scanning you like you’re prey. that purple lace set you slipped into? it’s doing exactly what you hoped.
“you wore that just to get fucked stupid, didn’t you?” he asks, voice rough and low.
your lip catches between your teeth as you nod slowly, teasing. “what if i did?”
he lets out a breathy laugh, but there’s no amusement in it. just tension.
“you’re not in control tonight,” he says, pulling something from the nightstand. the fuzzy purple cuffs.
your heart stutters. “matt-”
“uh-uh.” he’s already climbing onto the bed, straddling your hips, gripping your wrists. “no talking unless i ask a question.”
the cuffs are soft but firm, one snapping around each wrist, the chain looped around the headboard. his lips graze yours before he pulls back, cocky and in charge.
“look at you,” he murmurs. “all dressed up, pretending you’re the one in charge. but now?” he drags his fingertips down your chest, over the lace. “now you’re mine to do whatever i want with.”
he leans in and bites your bottom lip, then soothes the sting with his tongue before kissing you hard. you moan into his mouth, already squirming beneath him, your hips rising instinctively.
“you’re already this desperate?” he whispers against your jaw. “i haven’t even touched your pussy yet.”
you gasp as his hand slides down between your thighs, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric. he groans at how wet you are. “fuck, baby. you’re dripping.”
“matt-”
he grabs your jaw with his free hand. “did i say you could speak?”
you shake your head quickly, eyes wide.
“then shut up and take it.”
he tears the panties to the side and slips two fingers inside you, slow and deep. you arch against the cuffs, moaning through clenched teeth. the chain rattles above you as he fucks you with his fingers, thumb rubbing harsh circles against your clit.
“look at you struggling,” he growls. “tied up and still trying to fuck yourself on my hand. you’re so greedy.”
you whimper, thighs trembling. “please, matt.”
slap. his palm cracks against your thigh. not hard, just enough to make you freeze.
“what did i just say?”
you nod, lips pressed tight.
“good girl,” he says darkly. “now be still.”
he pulls his fingers out and sucks them into his mouth, groaning. “you taste so fucking good.”
then he’s shifting down the bed, settling between your legs. you try to lift your head, but the angle and restraints keep you flat. all you can do is feel.
his tongue meets your clit in a slow, lazy lick and you gasp so loud it echoes. he grins against you.
“oh, baby…” he teases. “you’re so sensitive tonight.”
he eats you out like he owns you. slow, deep licks, then fast flicks, alternating between teasing and torturing. his hands press your thighs down when you try to lift your hips.
you’re moaning nonstop now, the cuffs rattling as you tug at them.
“matt, i’m gonna- please!”
he doesn’t stop. in fact, he moans into your pussy, the vibrations sending you crashing over the edge. your whole body shakes as you cum, crying out his name.
but he doesn’t stop.
he doesn’t fucking stop.
your legs are twitching, your wrists aching from pulling so hard, but he keeps going, tongue and fingers working in sync until you’re whining, tears pricking your eyes.
“too much,” you breathe. “matt, please, i can’t!”
he finally pulls back, face glistening, lips swollen and smug.
“yes, you can,” he says, licking his fingers again. “one more.”
you shake your head, but he’s already undoing his jeans, climbing back over you. his cock presses against your soaked entrance, and he drags the tip through your folds slowly, taunting.
“beg for it,” he whispers, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours.
“please fuck me,” you whimper. “please, matt. i need you.”
he thrusts in with no warning, burying himself to the hilt. your cry is strangled by his mouth as he kisses you hard, possessively.
he starts slow, then faster, snapping his hips into you with a growl. the cuffs clank with every thrust as your whole body rocks with him.
“look at you,” he pants. “cuffed, crying, stuffed full of my cock.”
you moan, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“fuck, baby, you feel so good,” he groans. “you were made for me.”
his hand grips your throat gently, thumb brushing your jaw as he watches your face contort in pleasure.
“you gonna cum again for me?” he whispers. “want you to make a mess.”
you nod frantically. “yes, yes, matt- i’m gonna-”
your second orgasm hits harder, sharper, pulling a sob from your throat. he fucks you through it, groaning at the way your walls tighten around him.
“fuck, i’m gonna cum.”
he slams into you a few more times, then buries himself deep with a loud moan, spilling inside you.
his hips twitch, and he collapses against you for a moment, panting, hand already moving to unclip the cuffs.
“you okay?” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your collarbone.
you nod, limp and wrecked beneath him.
he unhooks the cuffs and kisses your wrists softly, massaging them gently. “good girl,” he whispers. “you did so fucking good.”
you smile, dazed. “so did you.”
he grins. “told you the cuffs would be worth it.”
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aurora's notes: #needthat
- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙
likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚
𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆
...in which chris has been away for a month and finally gets his hands on you
cw: breeding kink, struggling not to cum, self-orgasm-denial?, riding
He’d barely gotten in the door before you were kissing him—hands in his hair, his duffel bag forgotten in the entryway, jackets and shoes half-on. You dragged him to the couch like your body knew exactly where it needed to be: on top of him. Close. Reconnected.
Chris looked wrecked. Not in a bad way—in a starved way.
His hands were gripping your waist too tightly. His mouth was everywhere. When you straddled him, hoodie pushed halfway up, your soft cotton panties pressing down against the bulge in his sweatpants, his breath hitched hard.
“Missed you,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “Missed you so fucking much.”
You kissed under his jaw. “Why didn’t you call more?”
He groaned, frustrated. “Couldn’t. I was losing my mind, baby. I couldn’t even jerk off. I—” He pulled back to look at you, eyes blown wide. “I didn’t come. All month.”
You froze. “Wait—you didn’t—”
“Not once,” he said, jaw tight. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t feel right. Every time I thought about it, all I could think about was you. The way you feel. The way you sound. Your fucking face when you fall apart under me.”
Your breath caught. The heat between you turned molten.
“So what you’re saying,” you said slowly, rocking your hips forward just a little, “is you’re ultra ultra horny??” you finish with a giggle, palming him.
His head hit the back of the couch. “Fucking obviously," he groans. "Please don’t test me right now.”
But you already were. Your fingers dipped below the waistband of his sweats, pulling him free—hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He swore under his breath, hips twitching when you brushed your fingers over him.
“I missed you too,” you whispered, guiding him to your entrance. “Wanna feel you again.”
When you sank down, the sound he made wasn’t human. You were tight from the lack of sex int he past month, and it burned.
Chris grabbed your hips, arms trembling. His jaw dropped, brows pinched, eyes squeezed shut like he was in pain.
You held still, heartbeat thundering, thighs already shaking from the stretch.
“You’re still so tight,” he moaned, pulling you close until your foreheads touched. “I forgot how warm you are. How soft. I’m so fucking close and I just got inside you.”
You kissed his temple, one hand cupping the back of his head.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I don’t care if you finish fast. You’ve waited long enough.”
But he shook his head, breathing hard. “No. I didn’t wait a month just to come in thirty seconds. I wanna take care of you. I wanna—fuck—I wanna make you fall apart.”
“You will,” you murmured, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You always do.”
And then you shifted your hips, just slightly.
Chris whined—high and desperate, like the sound ripped right out of his chest—and you felt him twitch inside you, every muscle in his body going rigid as he clung to control like it was slipping through his fingers.
“I’m not gonna last,” he whispered.
“I know,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s okay. You can come. Then you can make it up to me.”
“I need you to come first. You come first. Always.”
Your heart skipped. Because he meant it. His body was practically buzzing with how badly he needed release, cock twitching inside you, so hard it hurt—and still, he was holding back. Still focused on you.
“You’re insane,” you whispered, dazed.
“Maybe,” he murmured, rolling his hips once—slow, deep, controlled. “But I waited a month. I can wait a few more minutes.”
The drag of him inside you was brutal. You were still sensitive, still warm and wet around him, but it didn’t matter. His restraint was what really wrecked you.
The way every muscle in his body was tense, jaw clenched, knuckles white where they gripped your hips—all because he refused to let go before you did.
“Gonna go slow,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone. “Wanna feel you come all over me. Wanna make you fall apart on my cock.”
You whimpered. “Chris…”
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Give me those sounds. Let me hear you, baby. I’ve been dreaming about this—about you—every night I was gone.”
He shifted your hips and thrust again—deeper this time. Your head fell back, a moan spilling out.
Chris kissed your throat, your chest, your shoulder, whispering between every thrust.
“So warm. So perfect. You don’t even know what you do to me.”
“Feel so good. You’re squeezing me so tight, fuck—just like that.”
“Gonna keep going, baby. Just like this. Until you come. Until you’re shaking.”
And god, you were already close. The steady grind of his hips. The drag of him inside you. His words, his voice—soft and desperate, like he was falling apart just from loving you this much—it was all too much.
Your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. “Chris, I—”
“I got you,” he gasped, “I got you. Come for me. Please, baby—need to feel it. Need to come with you.”
Your orgasm hit like a crash of lightning—fast, bright, total. Your whole body arched, muscles clenching tight around him, and that was it.
Chris cried out—loud, helpless, beautiful—and slammed into you one last time, finally letting go.
You felt him twitch inside you, cock pulsing as he came hard, clutching you against his chest like you were the only real thing in the world.
He didn’t move. Just stayed there, buried deep, lips pressed to your neck, breathing like he’d run a marathon.
“…Worth the wait,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, breath hot against your neck, arms wrapped around you like he could anchor himself back to earth.
Neither of you said anything. You were both too caught in it—in the weight of it, in the relief of finally having each other again.
Then, eventually, Chris pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were still hazy, lips parted, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead.
“You okay?” he whispered.
You nodded, smiling gently. “Yeah. Better than okay.”
He leaned in and kissed you—slow, messy, full of that post-orgasm softness that always felt a little sleepy and a little sacred. When he finally pulled out, you both winced, overstimulated and spent.
Chris sat back on his heels, hands still on your thighs, and froze.
His eyes dragged down to where his come was leaking out of you—thick, wet, everywhere.
And then he moaned.
“Holy fuck…”
You followed his gaze and flushed instantly, thighs instinctively trying to close—but his hands held you open.
“Don’t,” he whispered. “Let me see.”
You bit your lip. “You made a mess.”
His eyes snapped back to yours. There was something different in them now—darker. Hungrier.
“…That’s not fair,” he said hoarsely. “You can’t say shit like that when I just came.”
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear, and ruined him with a single line.
“I like when you come inside me.”
Chris’s whole body twitched. His hands squeezed your thighs. His cock, which had been resting soft and satisfied against his stomach, jerked back to life—half-hard, then rapidly more.
“Oh my god,” he groaned, already reaching for you again. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled, smug and breathless, as he pulled you back into his lap.
“Then die doing what you love.”
And just like that—he was hard again. Desperate. Kissing you rougher now, like the softness had burned away and all that was left was need.
“Round two,” he muttered, teeth grazing your jaw. “No breaks this time. Wanna fuck my cum deeper into you, baby.”
i would do a part two but my smut starting to all sound the same lwk. i need to get even freakier
Three Times Buck Wanted to Sleep with You (and the One Time He Did)
Description: Three times Buck had to hold himself back and the one time he didn't, (but it's not what he thinks, and somehow maybe better?)
Part 2!
Buck is pretty sure if he ever slept with you, Maddie would kill him, though she’d have to dig him up first because Hen would put him six feet under before he could even blink. So, he tries very hard to not sleep with you, and he’ll admit as the year has gone by and the two of you have gotten closer it’s gotten easier. He finds himself craving the sound of you laughing at his dumb jokes, your comforting presence next to him in the kitchen, or even just you bossing him around, more than he craves the feeling of your skin against his.
More than the idea of how good you’d look lying in his sheets, wearing nothing but his jacket. But then you do something. Squeeze his thigh in an innocent, friendly way. Groan his name in annoyance, or pout up at him when you’re trying to get your way, and the urges return full force, leaving him wondering if he can claw himself out of the grave Hen will put him in.
One: It’s only been a few months into his job, he's bouncing back from Bobby's second warning and forgivenss, riding high on the adrenaline. He’s only known you for six months and honestly Buck thinks he might be cursed, or maybe you’re secretly trying to make him suffer.
It's one of the two because he's pulled away from picking the perfect song to start his drive with by you banging on the driver’s side window of his jeep wearing nothing but a bikini top and incredibly short shorts. He rolls down the window, swallowing hard as you cross your arms over your chest, unintentionally pushing your breasts up.
“Buck, are you serious? You can’t just drive off without me.” You huff, adjusting the beach bag on your shoulder. You’re standing on the sidestep of his jeep, and it puts him face to chest with you.
“Oh I, uh, I thought you were going with Hen?” Buck says, trying not to stumble over his words like an idiot.
You look so good, it’s unfair, and that bathing suit top is cute, too cute for the way it makes his mouth water. It’s pink with white hearts all over it, your hair is pulled back, oversized sunglasses rest on your nose, your beach bag has some cartoon drawing of a margarita wearing sunglasses on it. But the worst part, the worst, are the light wash denim shorts clinging to your thighs. Fuck, he just wants to grab them, wear them like earmuffs until you’re trembling in his grip, and he’s drank his fill.
You shake your head, and lean on his windowsill, the scent of your perfume, or maybe that’s just what your skin smells like, suddenly overwhelming his senses, scattering any coherent thought he might have had. “She said there wasn’t enough room, Danny wanted to bring a friend with him. Didn’t she text you?”
Hen probably had, but he’s been so focused on psyching himself up to go to the beach with everyone, including you—without begging you to let him fuck you in a changing room—that he hasn’t even checked his messages.
“Yeah, probably, just been busy. Hop in.” He unlocks the passenger side door, giving into his impulses just enough to watch as you round the car, his dark sunglasses hiding the way he traces your every curve with his eyes.
You smile as you slide into the seat and buckle yourself in. “Okay, let’s go, beach time!” Your voice has a singsong tone, and it makes his heart melt.
“Beach time.” He echoes, turning the radio on to drown out the voice in his head urging him to ask if you want to take a detour to his backseat.
Two: It’s his birthday, and while the crew has made a big deal out of it, he doesn’t expect you to. Doesn’t expect you to be at his door with a cake, singing happy birthday, surprisingly well. The candles are lighting up your face in such a way that he feels like he’s in a movie, and everything is zooming in on you, only you, like he’s got tunnel vision, and you’re at the end of it.
“Make a wish!” You cheer, leaning on his kitchen counter, the cake between you two.
He bends down and blows, watching the flames flicker out in an instance, small whips of smoke rising then dissipating into the air.
“Twenty-six, it’s a big number, feel any different?” You ask, looking at him over the cake with your stupidly beautiful eyes that shine with genuine curiosity.
He cuts a slice of cake for you and then himself, putting them on paper plates and sliding yours across to you.
You catch it, and thank him, waiting for him to take a bite, or answer, probably answer.
“Not at all.” He says, taking a bite of the cake for good measure.
You laugh, “I doubt I’ll feel any different on my birthday either.”
“It’s in a few months, right?”
You nod, and take a bite of your own, moaning softly. “Oh, wow, okay, this cake is really good.”
Your moan goes straight to his cock, and he’s glad the island is between you two, blocking your view.
“Yeah, yeah it’s great, thanks again, you really didn’t have to get me anything.”
You lean on your elbow, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I did, it’s your birthday and come on you’re like the first real friend—no wait that’s Hen, the first person to look out for—no that’s Athena, you’re a nice gu—wait that sounds bad.” You cover your face with your hands, laughing embarrassedly. “Let me start over.”
He laughs and takes another bite of his cake; it is pretty good. “Go for it.”
“Of course I did, Buck, not just because it’s your birthday, but because I wanted to. I wanted to celebrate you, and thank you for going out of your way for me when I first moved here and for changing the batteries in my smoke alarm and making me laugh when my dates end up sucking, and just being a good guy, that I can trust and count on.”
His heart is pounding in his chest, and his pants are growing tight. You haven’t said anything he hasn’t heard before more or less; you haven’t even said anything technically hot, but somehow, it’s different, it means more, has more layers when you say it. He pinches himself and tries to think about safe, nonsexual things, old books, his grandma, cleaning mud off the truck, white bread, cake, your little moan when you tasted the cake—nope, nope something else, think of something else.
You peek at him through your hands when he doesn’t say anything. “Sorry, that was cheesy, wasn’t it?”
He wants to say, no it was perfect, can you say it again while you ride me? Also, I think I do need to see a therapist because I’m pretty sure I’m getting turned on by emotional intimacy and that’s a new revelation for me. But he doesn’t, instead he skewers another bite of cake on his fork and gives you a teasing smile. “Yeah, a little bit.”
You pout up at him. “Rude.”
He bites his tongue to keep from bending to your will and bending you over the island, instead pointing out with a shrug. “You asked.”
You roll your eyes and take another bite of cake. "I take back every nice thing I said."
Three: He’s tasked with driving over to Athena’s precinct to pick you up. It’s not something he’s ever done before, but Hen slaps him on the shoulder and tells him to get there ASAP before someone gets hurt. He’s not worried about you, Hen made it clear you’re not in any danger, just that it was going to take more than Athena’s stern words to get you to stand down. He’s actually curious, you’re not one to cause a scene or argue with Athena unless you really thought she was wrong, and he’s seen that happen maybe twice?
Buck hates to admit it, but the scene he walks in on…turns him on.
“You know what? You’re just a greedy hack who preys on the hopes and fears of poor, innocent people. You want my professional opinion? You can go fuck yourself.” You snarl, holding your head high as you glare at some white dude with a tarot card tattoo crawling up his forearm, and a feather earring.
“Dr. Y/L/N, please, I have to ask you and Mr. Chester to leave.” Athena says calmly, jerking her head towards you when she sees Buck.
“No, I’m sorry, Sergeant Grant, but I can’t walk away when this conman is trying to ply your victims with false hope.” Your arms down by your side, fingers flexing ever so slightly, and you’re tense like you’re going to lunge at the dude.
“Conman? You’re a psychologist, we all know psychology is fake,” Chester scoffs.
Buck rolls his shoulders back; this is not going to be good.
You laugh, high-pitched and mocking. “Fake? Fake? You’re the fake. Fake as that earring, and your claims of studying with shamans in the desert. Newsflash asshole, I looked you up. All you’ve got is a clip-on earring and an arrest for public intoxication from when you and your little business major buddies did ayahuasca on the Santa Monica pier.”
Buck stifles a laugh, and Athena glares at him, urging him forward. He does as she silently asks and makes his way to you, raising an eyebrow when his eyes meet yours.
“You can't understand my vision quest, you weren’t there,” Chester shoots back.
You laugh again, and Buck thinks maybe it’ll be okay, but then you snatch Chester’s earring from his ear and throw it to the floor, the plastic clip breaking off and skittering across the floor. “This man is a fraud, ladies and gentlem—”
“Yeah, okay, time to go y/n.” Buck says, as he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder, large hands keeping you secure as you try to wriggle out of his hold.
“Don’t listen to this charlatan, trust the good men and women of the LAPD they will help you, not some hack psychic!” You continue, and Buck can all but feel your eyes burning a hole in Chester as he carries you out of the station.
“Charlatan? What is this, the eighteen hundreds?” Buck snorts, his hands warm where they hold you, his skin tingling at the points of contact. You weigh nothing to him; it’s like holding a pillow, and the thought of how easy it would be to toss you onto his bed makes him bite down on his tongue.
“Shut up. That guy comes in all the time and promises the world, but he never delivers. I hate people like him, who take advantage of the vulnerable, it’s just not right.” You grumble, as he keeps one arm pressed against your legs while opening his car door for you with his free hand.
He gently sets you in the seat and buckles you in. “It’s not, but you can’t just try to fistfight him in the middle of a police station.”
You roll your eyes and smooth down your hair in the visor mirror. “I wasn’t going to fistfight him, I’m not crazy.”
“Sure, you weren’t.”
“Just drive.” You snap, turning away from him to look out the window.
“Someone’s a little bossy.” He jokes, putting his jeep into reverse.
You turn away from the window, fire in your eyes. “You wanna see bossy, I’ll show you bossy.”
Fuck, he wishes you would. He’d love to see you riled up and demanding, your nails scraping against his scalp as you yank his head forward.
“Maybe later.” He says, switching gears and driving away from the station.
The one time: Buck rubs his eyes, groaning as he blindly reaches for his vibrating phone, it’s two in the morning, he just got home from a double shift, somebody better be dead or dying. He winces at the brightness of his screen and scans the multitude of messages, but it’s the most recent one that catches his attention.
Y/N: Need yuo come over?????!!??
He rubs his eyes harder, there’s no way you texted him that. No damn way.
Y/N: Buck
Y/N: Buck
Y/N: Evan Bucckely
Y/N: Come obrr
He sits up, dragging a hand down his face. Maybe you’re drunk? You’re usually a stickler for proper spelling and grammar. He goes to text back asking that very question when a voice message pops up. He turns up his sound and presses play.
“Buck please, you gotta come here, I need your help, I can’t do it by myself.” You whine, and all his blood runs south.
“Fuck.” He groans, trying to force himself to think about anything but what you might have looked like as you recorded that message.
“I need your skilled hands, mine just aren’t working.” You continue, and he bites down on his fist, all exhaustion banished. You sound so pretty, so desperate, so adorably needy, how can he ignore you, ignore your request?
He sends a quick text swearing he’ll be over in two minutes.
As he pulls on a t-shirt and sweatpants, he remembers how he thought it was a curse that you two lived in the same apartment complex. But now as he walks over, swinging his keys around his finger, he’s unbelievably glad.
Buck knocks on your door, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. Hey, he gave it a good run, a solid year of holding himself back and not sleeping with you. But when you’re asking him directly, he's not going to say no. It would be rude to deny you something you so clearly need.
You pull the door open and grab him by the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the couch and plopping down before placing your high-heeled feet in his lap.
“Well, hello to you too.” He says, resting his hand on your shin, admiring the smoothness of your skin. You definitely went out, the heels, the tight black dress, the makeup, you look stunning, and he’s practically salivating.
“I can’t get them off.” You pout, tugging uselessly at the straps of your heels.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” He purrs, unbuckling one heel then the other before caressing your skin, his hands sliding higher until he grips your thighs.
Your eyes are slightly glassy, and you’re wearing the biggest, most adoring smile he’s ever seen as you sway in your spot. “You’re amazing, my hero.”
“How much you have to drink tonight, Y/N?” Buck asks, his training kicking in despite the lust that rages beneath his skin.
You clamor into his lap, looping your arms around his neck, the fabric of your dress riding up your plush thighs as you straddle him. “Buck, I thought you were a firefighter, not a cop.”
He chuckles and smoothes his hands down your side. “I am a firefighter, but I can also see you’ve been drinking.”
“Just a little bit.” You say, holding up one hand and pinching your fingers to show him how little you’ve had to drink. It would maybe be believable if you didn’t nearly lose your balance in the process.
“Oh yeah?” He hums, raising an eyebrow at you.
Your breath audibly catches in your throat, and you nod, “yeah.”
“Well, that’s too bad because I feel like you maybe had a lot to drink.”
You pout at him, and he bites his tongue to keep himself steady. You’re drunk, way too drunk, he’s not that kind of guy, he’s not going to take advantage of you no matter how badly he’s wanted this.
“Maybe a bit more than a little, but we were celebrating, and I haven’t gone out drinking in forever.” You stretch out the word forever, giving Buck a bright smile when he pats your outer thigh.
“Why don’t I help you get into bed, huh?”
You start to nod but stop yourself, the light dimming in your eyes as you begin to mumble to yourself.
Buck thinks he catches the words, but Maddie and places his hands on your shoulders. “Hey, hey, just to sleep, nothing else. You need to rest and let your body process all that alcohol.”
You nod, slide off him and onto the couch, laying back onto the cushions, your eyes already closing.
“Whoa, hey, not here, and not with your makeup still on.” He says, gently trying to get you to your feet.
“Too tired, carry me?” You ask so sweetly, he’s pretty sure he’d spend the rest of his life carrying you if you asked him to.
“Alright, come on, but you have to keep your eyes open, okay?” Buck says, slipping his arms underneath your form and lifting you from the couch.
“Okay, I promise…I will try.” You say, curling into him, resting your head on his chest.
That’s the best he’s going to get, judging by the way your breathing begins to even out, and your grip on his shirt loosens.
Now, if he spends some time gently cleaning the makeup from your face and waking you briefly so you can change into pajamas before carrying you to your bed, then no one needs to know that.
And if he stays by your side definitely because he’s worried about how hungover you’ll be tomorrow and definitely not because you sleepily insist, and he can’t resist you, that’s no one’s business.
And if he falls asleep in your bed with your head on his chest and his arm around your waist, his chest feeling weird, like he’s got butterflies or heartburn, then no one needs to know that either. He’ll just take the best sleep he’s had in a long time and deal with the consequences later.
No lie I have a whole /reader profile created for this man, just waiting to be unleashed
