Warnings: spoiler! for the book, HEAVY!angst, twincest (let's be honest they are targaryen), their age has been changed, mention of sex (nothing descriptive), inspiration from Billie Eillish - CHIHIRO
Word Count: +1900
MASTERLIST
She remembered their first kiss.
Innocent, because it was both their first time doing it.
Forbidden, because they shouldn't do it.
Jace was her twin brother. He was born just a few minutes after her. They were always together.
Maybe that was why it seemed inevitable. Or maybe that night, when they were both two–and–ten and fought with Aemond, they needed each other more than usual.
Which wasn't true, because they had spent every moment together for years.
Maybe it was the emotions that were running through them. Certainly hers, because even though the stealing of Vhagar was behind them, the maesters had dressed the wound on Jace's head and the one she had on her forehead, the adrenaline was still pumping through them.
She remembered that they had both escorted Lucerys to his chambers and waited until their younger brother had fallen asleep from exhaustion. That evening – or even that morning – they both said Luce had been incredibly brave in standing up for them and taking Aemond's eye. They had also known that, as his older siblings, they should have been defending him, not the other way. They both felt a pang of guilt, and maybe that was the reason they had kissed.
She remembered that when they had finally reached Jacaerys's chambers, he had kept saying that he should have been faster, braver, more observant. He panicked, and she was afraid her brother wouldn't be able to control his breathing.
And then she kissed him. It had been a completely innocent kiss, but it had also been a confirmation that they meant so much more to each other than mere siblings.
She remembered his first touch. One where he touched her like a man could touch a woman.
They were six–and–ten, and the whole act seemed uncertain, even awkward. They didn't know what they were doing, and all they thought about was being as close to each other as possible.
This time, it wasn't just emotions that influenced it. They were completely aware of what they were doing and didn't think for a moment about stopping it.
They wanted each other, their kisses and touch.
They didn't care about the consequences, or that they shouldn’t have done it. They both knew that sooner or later they would be forced to marry someone neither of them loved, and they shouldn't get so attached to each other when it was only a matter of time before they had to part ways.
But they couldn't stop.
The thought of not being by each other's side was destroying their hearts to the core.
She remembered the first I love you he said to her, not as a brother, but as a man.
It was the day their mother found out about their forbidden affair and she couldn't do anything else but announce that they would get married. That evening, Jace came to her chamber, or rather rushed inside. She was sitting nervously in front of her mirror and combing her hair, when the sound of the door opening made her turn around.
“Jace…” she started, but he was quickly at her side. He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her up, and then placed his hands on her cheeks. “What are you doing?"”
“I just wanted you to know how much I love you,” he confessed as honestly as she had never heard it. She felt as if her whole insides were melting under the influence of his words, as well as his gaze full of love and devotion. “You are my whole world. My life. Without you, there is no me. I love you like nothing else. I love you more than I love myself. You are the only one. You will always be.”
She had tears in her eyes when she heard his words, and at the same time she was unable to stop the charming smile and the blush that spread across her cheeks. She was happy and finally understood all those love stories she had read. In books, the couple in love were never related to each other, but in their case, she thought that it only worked in their favour.
It was inevitable.
“I love you too, Jacaerys. And I don't want to live without you. You’re everything I have and what matters to me. Our hearts are connected forever.” She confessed a moment before she connected their lips.
The kiss was calm at first, as if she just wanted to confirm her words with it. However, it quickly turned into a hot, lustful one. Her hands quickly landed in his curls, and his lifted her nightgown to her waist and stopped at her completely exposed thighs and hips. Jace lifted her up and led them to her bed. He laid her on the satin sheets, joining her immediately.
This time they knew exactly what they were doing. They both knew their bodies and knew how to extract the sweetest sounds of pleasure from each other. Their hands were clasped together the whole time, as if to make sure that it was real. She felt shivers every time he kissed her body, and Jace did not hold back to show her that everything she did was the sweetest pleasure for him.
When he entered her, their eyes met and they both connected their lips in a thirsty kiss. Their bodies moved in complete sync, as if this was what they were made for – to be together in the most intimate way possible, the closest they could be. She saw stars in her eyes, and when she came with his name on her lips, and Jace right after her, she thought this was exactly what she wanted.
A future with Jacaerys.
She saw them together, their children, and the whole happy, long life that lay ahead of them.
But that future didn't include them being embroiled in a bloody war. The Dance of the Dragons, they called it.
From the very beginning, they had to deal with the loss of loved ones. Lucerys, Rhaenys... Death came to them one by one, and both feared that it would eventually come for them. But every time it didn't, the fear was still there. Maybe it was their stupid luck that kept them alive. Or – as she liked to say – this world wouldn't be able to accept their deaths. They had to live because they loved each other so much that they wouldn't be able to survive without the other.
And she was rarely wrong.
And yet, this time she was.
The Battle of the Gullet was completely chaotic. The Velaryon fleet was fighting against the Triarchy with exceptional ferocity. But she didn't pay attention to which side had the upper hand at the moment. Her only goal was to find Jacaerys and Vermax.
She didn't think she should even be there. Even though Vermithor, who had been her companion for many years, burned every enemy ship to ashes, giving the Velaryon fleet a slight advantage, all she could do was look around for the sight of the familiar dragon and its rider.
She remembered how the four of them had gone for rides many times. The young Vermax had always been relatively witty and ready to have fun with Vermithor. The old dragon might seem to ignore his younger brethren, but in the end, the two were very much bonded, in the same way as their riders.
Finally, she spotted Vermax, and somewhere on his back sat Jacaerys. Bolts and arrows flew towards them, and her heart was pounding as she realised that Jacaerys was too low and much more vulnerable to attack. She needed to do everything she could to protect them together with Vermithor, not even caring about her own safety.
However, she was unable to stop the bolts that hit Vermax. The dragon let out a terrible scream and began to fall down with its rider.
“JACE!” She screamed in horror. Her eyes misted and tears filled, and at that moment Vermithor was responsible for what had to be done. He fell down after the dead dragon, and all she could see was Vermax's body falling into the water.
"We have to find him" she said to the dragon and Vermithor just screamed loudly and breathed fire that consumed one of the enemy ships. They circled for a while looking for Jacaerys until she finally managed to spot him on the beach not far from the fight. She could hear the sounds of battle clearly, so when she saw Jace standing on his own two feet, she knew she had to get him out of there as soon as possible before someone realised he was still alive.
Vermithor landed hard on the beach, and she slid down on his wing and ran to her brother.
Jace was weak and wet. She also noticed an arrow in his arm, but the wound didn't seem serious enough to prevent them from escaping together.
“Y/N” she didn't hear him say her name, but she saw his lips moving.
Jace breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was okay, and she did everything to get to him as quickly as possible.
They were only a few metres away.
A few steps away and then she would be able to take him in her arms and save him.
However, fate can be cruel. It takes away what we love without warning.
Neither she nor Jace noticed the arrow that was shot straight into his back. Jace stopped mid–step and staggered on his feet, and she had the impression that he was experiencing some worst nightmare. However, she didn't give up and still believed that they had a chance to survive. That she would manage to save him and get him to Dragonstone, where the maester would heal every wound on his body.
There was still a chance.
She believed in it with every fiber of her being, because if she lost him, she would die with him.
She was almost there when another arrow whistled. Jace watched her as she approached, as if he knew what was about to happen.
There was no other thought in his head but her.
They had come into the world together. And she was also supposed to be there when he was about to leave it.
“Y/N” he said to her before the last arrow hit his neck.
Jace fell, and she caught him in her arms at the last moment.
“Jace?” She whispered nervously, her voice breaking. “Jaecerys, wake up!” She touched his face, and his skin was still hot, just like it was always when she touched her. Hot dragon blood. “Jace, I beg you. I can’t live in a world without you.”
Her prayers were in vain, and when she kissed him for the last time, he was already dead.
She remembered their first kiss, touch, and declaration of love.
But she never wanted to remember the last time she tasted his lips, how he looked at her with love and told her he loved her. Their story had no right to end in such a drastic way.
They were only twenty. Their whole lives ahead of them. They deserved more time.
They were supposed to be king and queen after they helped their mother get back what was rightfully hers.
He had no right to die in front of her, and above all, to leave her alone in this cruel world.
She never believed in gods, but if one of them stood before her and asked her what she wanted, her answer would be only one.
Don’t take my love away from me.
She didn’t want to stay in this world when he was gone.
Warnings: spoiler! for the book, HEAVY!angst, twincest (let's be honest they are targaryen), their age has been changed, mention of sex (nothing descriptive), inspiration from Billie Eillish - CHIHIRO
Word Count: +1900
MASTERLIST
She remembered their first kiss.
Innocent, because it was both their first time doing it.
Forbidden, because they shouldn't do it.
Jace was her twin brother. He was born just a few minutes after her. They were always together.
Maybe that was why it seemed inevitable. Or maybe that night, when they were both two–and–ten and fought with Aemond, they needed each other more than usual.
Which wasn't true, because they had spent every moment together for years.
Maybe it was the emotions that were running through them. Certainly hers, because even though the stealing of Vhagar was behind them, the maesters had dressed the wound on Jace's head and the one she had on her forehead, the adrenaline was still pumping through them.
She remembered that they had both escorted Lucerys to his chambers and waited until their younger brother had fallen asleep from exhaustion. That evening – or even that morning – they both said Luce had been incredibly brave in standing up for them and taking Aemond's eye. They had also known that, as his older siblings, they should have been defending him, not the other way. They both felt a pang of guilt, and maybe that was the reason they had kissed.
She remembered that when they had finally reached Jacaerys's chambers, he had kept saying that he should have been faster, braver, more observant. He panicked, and she was afraid her brother wouldn't be able to control his breathing.
And then she kissed him. It had been a completely innocent kiss, but it had also been a confirmation that they meant so much more to each other than mere siblings.
She remembered his first touch. One where he touched her like a man could touch a woman.
They were six–and–ten, and the whole act seemed uncertain, even awkward. They didn't know what they were doing, and all they thought about was being as close to each other as possible.
This time, it wasn't just emotions that influenced it. They were completely aware of what they were doing and didn't think for a moment about stopping it.
They wanted each other, their kisses and touch.
They didn't care about the consequences, or that they shouldn’t have done it. They both knew that sooner or later they would be forced to marry someone neither of them loved, and they shouldn't get so attached to each other when it was only a matter of time before they had to part ways.
But they couldn't stop.
The thought of not being by each other's side was destroying their hearts to the core.
She remembered the first I love you he said to her, not as a brother, but as a man.
It was the day their mother found out about their forbidden affair and she couldn't do anything else but announce that they would get married. That evening, Jace came to her chamber, or rather rushed inside. She was sitting nervously in front of her mirror and combing her hair, when the sound of the door opening made her turn around.
“Jace…” she started, but he was quickly at her side. He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her up, and then placed his hands on her cheeks. “What are you doing?"”
“I just wanted you to know how much I love you,” he confessed as honestly as she had never heard it. She felt as if her whole insides were melting under the influence of his words, as well as his gaze full of love and devotion. “You are my whole world. My life. Without you, there is no me. I love you like nothing else. I love you more than I love myself. You are the only one. You will always be.”
She had tears in her eyes when she heard his words, and at the same time she was unable to stop the charming smile and the blush that spread across her cheeks. She was happy and finally understood all those love stories she had read. In books, the couple in love were never related to each other, but in their case, she thought that it only worked in their favour.
It was inevitable.
“I love you too, Jacaerys. And I don't want to live without you. You’re everything I have and what matters to me. Our hearts are connected forever.” She confessed a moment before she connected their lips.
The kiss was calm at first, as if she just wanted to confirm her words with it. However, it quickly turned into a hot, lustful one. Her hands quickly landed in his curls, and his lifted her nightgown to her waist and stopped at her completely exposed thighs and hips. Jace lifted her up and led them to her bed. He laid her on the satin sheets, joining her immediately.
This time they knew exactly what they were doing. They both knew their bodies and knew how to extract the sweetest sounds of pleasure from each other. Their hands were clasped together the whole time, as if to make sure that it was real. She felt shivers every time he kissed her body, and Jace did not hold back to show her that everything she did was the sweetest pleasure for him.
When he entered her, their eyes met and they both connected their lips in a thirsty kiss. Their bodies moved in complete sync, as if this was what they were made for – to be together in the most intimate way possible, the closest they could be. She saw stars in her eyes, and when she came with his name on her lips, and Jace right after her, she thought this was exactly what she wanted.
A future with Jacaerys.
She saw them together, their children, and the whole happy, long life that lay ahead of them.
But that future didn't include them being embroiled in a bloody war. The Dance of the Dragons, they called it.
From the very beginning, they had to deal with the loss of loved ones. Lucerys, Rhaenys... Death came to them one by one, and both feared that it would eventually come for them. But every time it didn't, the fear was still there. Maybe it was their stupid luck that kept them alive. Or – as she liked to say – this world wouldn't be able to accept their deaths. They had to live because they loved each other so much that they wouldn't be able to survive without the other.
And she was rarely wrong.
And yet, this time she was.
The Battle of the Gullet was completely chaotic. The Velaryon fleet was fighting against the Triarchy with exceptional ferocity. But she didn't pay attention to which side had the upper hand at the moment. Her only goal was to find Jacaerys and Vermax.
She didn't think she should even be there. Even though Vermithor, who had been her companion for many years, burned every enemy ship to ashes, giving the Velaryon fleet a slight advantage, all she could do was look around for the sight of the familiar dragon and its rider.
She remembered how the four of them had gone for rides many times. The young Vermax had always been relatively witty and ready to have fun with Vermithor. The old dragon might seem to ignore his younger brethren, but in the end, the two were very much bonded, in the same way as their riders.
Finally, she spotted Vermax, and somewhere on his back sat Jacaerys. Bolts and arrows flew towards them, and her heart was pounding as she realised that Jacaerys was too low and much more vulnerable to attack. She needed to do everything she could to protect them together with Vermithor, not even caring about her own safety.
However, she was unable to stop the bolts that hit Vermax. The dragon let out a terrible scream and began to fall down with its rider.
“JACE!” She screamed in horror. Her eyes misted and tears filled, and at that moment Vermithor was responsible for what had to be done. He fell down after the dead dragon, and all she could see was Vermax's body falling into the water.
"We have to find him" she said to the dragon and Vermithor just screamed loudly and breathed fire that consumed one of the enemy ships. They circled for a while looking for Jacaerys until she finally managed to spot him on the beach not far from the fight. She could hear the sounds of battle clearly, so when she saw Jace standing on his own two feet, she knew she had to get him out of there as soon as possible before someone realised he was still alive.
Vermithor landed hard on the beach, and she slid down on his wing and ran to her brother.
Jace was weak and wet. She also noticed an arrow in his arm, but the wound didn't seem serious enough to prevent them from escaping together.
“Y/N” she didn't hear him say her name, but she saw his lips moving.
Jace breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that she was okay, and she did everything to get to him as quickly as possible.
They were only a few metres away.
A few steps away and then she would be able to take him in her arms and save him.
However, fate can be cruel. It takes away what we love without warning.
Neither she nor Jace noticed the arrow that was shot straight into his back. Jace stopped mid–step and staggered on his feet, and she had the impression that he was experiencing some worst nightmare. However, she didn't give up and still believed that they had a chance to survive. That she would manage to save him and get him to Dragonstone, where the maester would heal every wound on his body.
There was still a chance.
She believed in it with every fiber of her being, because if she lost him, she would die with him.
She was almost there when another arrow whistled. Jace watched her as she approached, as if he knew what was about to happen.
There was no other thought in his head but her.
They had come into the world together. And she was also supposed to be there when he was about to leave it.
“Y/N” he said to her before the last arrow hit his neck.
Jace fell, and she caught him in her arms at the last moment.
“Jace?” She whispered nervously, her voice breaking. “Jaecerys, wake up!” She touched his face, and his skin was still hot, just like it was always when she touched her. Hot dragon blood. “Jace, I beg you. I can’t live in a world without you.”
Her prayers were in vain, and when she kissed him for the last time, he was already dead.
She remembered their first kiss, touch, and declaration of love.
But she never wanted to remember the last time she tasted his lips, how he looked at her with love and told her he loved her. Their story had no right to end in such a drastic way.
They were only twenty. Their whole lives ahead of them. They deserved more time.
They were supposed to be king and queen after they helped their mother get back what was rightfully hers.
He had no right to die in front of her, and above all, to leave her alone in this cruel world.
She never believed in gods, but if one of them stood before her and asked her what she wanted, her answer would be only one.
Don’t take my love away from me.
She didn’t want to stay in this world when he was gone.
Okay, Buck’s friends and family might disagree. Sam (or was it Max?) might be one of the latest victims of Buck’s grudges. But he is generally a friendly, easygoing guy. A golden retriever in human form, if you will.
Except, he may or may not have beef with an inanimate object at the moment.
Buck stares at the monstrosity with such an intensity that he’s surprised laser beams don't come out of his eyes.
You were a few months along, and there’s been aches and discomforts that come along with that. Any remedy had only temporarily relieved any ache, until finally, you purchased it.
And obviously, Buck is ecstatic that his wife is no longer aching and more comfortable in her skin. However, it has more or less replaced Buck.
It being a pregnancy pillow. A U-shaped body pillow that has shown up everywhere around the house - when the two of you settle into the living room for a movie night, in the armchair that he just finished building in the nursery, and worst of all - in your marital bed.
Which is where the pillow currently lays, with its mocking eyes.
(Buck might slightly be losing it. He's allowed. He hasn't cuddled or spooned his wife without a fluffy barrier in nearly two weeks.)
"I hate you. You've ruined my life." Buck mumbles, staring daggers at the pillow.
Buck hears a hearty chuckle behind him, and turns around sheepishly to face you.
"I didn't know you felt that strongly about the pillow, babe." You giggle, hugging him at the waist, going comfortably slack against him like a marionette that just got its strings cut.
Buck hums happily, resting his chin on the top of your head, relishing at the feel of you against him. "It's been getting in the way of me doing this."
"You know, there's a way where it could be used to your advantage." You smirk, raising an eyebrow at Buck.
Buck furrows his brows, when you stand on your tiptoes to whisper into his ear. His eyes widen, and he practically trips over himself trying to lift you up, before depositing you on the bed with a giggly bounce.
And well, it's a good thing you were already pregnant, because that night could've only resulted in a baby.
Description: Buck’s distracted morning leads him to mistake a little blue pill for his daily vitamin. Now he’s painfully hard, throbbing with an urgency he can’t control, and Y/N has to decide how to handle the consequences.
The morning started normally: coffee, a quick kiss, Buck rummaging through the bathroom cabinet for his multivitamin. He was half-asleep, scrolling through his phone with one hand, the other grabbing the familiar orange bottle. He shook out a pill, tossed it back with a gulp of water, and didn’t think twice.
Twenty minutes later, he was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a strange heat spreading through his groin. At first, he thought it was just morning wood; annoying but manageable. But the feeling didn’t fade. It built a slow, insistent pressure that made his jeans feel too tight. His cock twitched, thickening against his thigh, and he had to adjust himself with a grimace.
“You okay?” you asked from the table, sipping your coffee.
“Yeah, just… uh-” He shifted, trying to hide the prominent bulge that was now impossible to ignore. The fabric of his jeans strained, outlining the rigid length of his shaft. “I think I grabbed the wrong bottle.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
He walked over, his movements stiff, and held up the bottle he’d left on the counter. Your eyes went wide when you saw the label: Sildenafil 100mg.
“Is that… Viagra?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice strained. “I wasn’t paying attention. Must’ve been thinking about the call last night.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Buck, you took a whole Viagra pill? On an empty stomach?”
“Apparently.” He pressed his palm against his crotch, trying to ease the ache. His cock was fully hard now, jutting upward, trapped against the denim. The head was sensitive, brushing against the zipper, and every tiny movement sent sparks through his nerves. “This is… really intense.”
You set down your mug, a smirk playing on your lips. “So what are you gonna do about it?”
He looked at you, his blue eyes dark with need. “I was hoping you might help.”
You stood up slowly, walking around the table until you were inches from him. You reached out, cupping him through his jeans. The heat radiated through the fabric, and he gasped, his hips automatically thrusting into your hand.
“God,” he breathed. “Please.”
“Take off your pants,” you said, your voice low.
He fumbled with the button, the fly, practically ripping the jeans down his thighs. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, dark red, curved upward against his stomach. A bead of precum glistened at the slit. He was harder than you’d ever seen him, the veins prominent, the head swollen and tight.
You wrapped your fingers around the base, and he groaned, his head falling back. The shaft was hot and pulsing in your grip, already slick with moisture.
“How long does this last?” you asked, giving a slow, experimental stroke.
“Hours,” he panted. “It said four to six hours.”
You grinned. “Then we’ve got time.”
You lowered yourself to your knees, the tile cool beneath you. His cock hovered in front of your face, the musky scent clean and male. You ran your tongue along the underside, from base to tip, tasting salt and skin. Buck shuddered, a breathy groan escaping his lips.
Then you took him into your mouth.
The stretch was immediate. He was thicker than usual, the Viagra making him engorged. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, your tongue swirling around the head. He bucked into you, one hand gripping your hair, the other braced against the counter.
“Fuck-that’s-yes,” he gasped, his hips moving in short, frantic thrusts.
You took him deeper, relaxing your throat, letting the head push past the back of your tongue. He filled your mouth completely, the taste of his arousal flooding your senses. You moaned around him, vibrations making him cry out.
“I’m not gonna last,” he warned, his breathing ragged. “Too much-you’re too good.”
But you didn’t stop. You increased the pace, your hand working the base while your lips worked the tip. You felt him pulse against your tongue, his whole body tensing.
Then he came—hot, thick spurts shooting down your throat. You swallowed, not missing a drop, keeping your mouth on him until he softened slightly. But even as the first orgasm rippled through him, his cock stayed hard, the Viagra still in full effect.
He pulled you up, kissing you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. “That was amazing,” he said, his voice still strained. “But… I’m still hard. And it’s not going away anytime soon.”
You could see it—his cock, still rampant, still leaking fresh precum. The need in his eyes was raw.
You pressed your body against his, feeling the rigid length dig into your stomach. “Then I guess you’d better fuck me,” you whispered.
He didn’t need a second invitation. He scooped you up, carried you to the bedroom, and laid you on the bed. Your clothes vanished in a blur of eager hands and tearing fabric. He knelt between your legs, his cock bobbing, the head nudging your wet folds.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Just do it.”
He pushed in, and you gasped. The stretch was immense, the Viagra had made him painfully thick, and you felt every ridge, every inch as he sank into you. He filled you completely, the pressure deep and overwhelming.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, his forehead dropping to yours.
He started moving, slow at first, letting you adjust. But the drug drove him, the need for release more insistent than ever. His pace quickened, his hips slapping against your thighs, each thrust driving him deeper.
“Harder,” you begged.
He obliged, grabbing your hips and pounding into you. The bed creaked beneath you, your moans filling the room. He was relentless; no control, just pure, animalistic need. Your nails raked down his back, and he growled, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you.
The angle shifted, and he hit a spot that made stars burst behind your eyes. You cried out, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him deeper.
“Right there, don’t stop-please-”
He didn’t. He drove into you again and again, his breath hot against your ear, his words a stream of filth. “So tight… taking me so good… gonna fill you up…”
Your orgasm built like a wave, cresting, crashing. Your walls clenched around him, and he groaned, his own release triggered by your spasms. He came inside you, hot liquid flooding your core, his hips still grinding as he rode out the aftershocks.
But even then, his cock didn’t soften. It stayed full inside you, twitching, hungry.
He pulled out slowly, a mix of your fluids trickling onto the sheets. His erection still stood proud, angry and swollen.
“Still hard,” he said, almost apologetically.
You laughed breathlessly. “We’re gonna need more water.”
You spent the next three hours trying every position: on your stomach, on your knees, riding him reverse cowgirl, bent over the edge of the bed. You used your mouth again, your hands, and even let him fuck your thighs until the skin was raw. By the time the effects finally began to fade, you were both exhausted, sweaty, and thoroughly satisfied.
His cock was finally soft, nestled against his thigh, sleeping peacefully.
He pulled you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. “I’m sorry about that.”
You smiled, your body aching deliciously. “Don’t be. Just… maybe stick to the right bottle next time.”
He chuckled, his hand sliding down your hip. “No promises.”
good things come to those who wait - evan buckley x reader
Based on this request: the reader and evan have their young son of three or four years old, who has already discovered that there is life after the time his parents gave him to sleep, so he begins to move from his toddler bed to evan and his wife's bed which by default becomes a cockblock😐so evan is TENSE and she practically begs anyone from 118 or my girl maddie to babysit her child for just one night to have some time alone with his wife🙏🏻😆
Buck was never a particularly patient person.
Even as a kid, he's been primed to be someone who wants now, needs now, and in a constant loop of go go go.
He has learned the beauty of patience as he grew older though, as he came into his own as a firefighter, and when he had a kid of his own. A little son, Theo, pushing four years old, and who was the best mix of both you and Buck. A boy that Buck loves more than the moon and the stars, but who has been testing Buck's patience every night for the past week or so.
Maddie currently stands before Buck in her kitchen, an amused smile already on her face. Buck had come over, early in the morning, with muffins and coffee and a big demand, so the baked goods were clearly a form of bribery.
"Alright, what is it? I know you, and I know there's a favour laced into these." Maddie asks, chomping on a blueberry muffin. She whispers a "damn, these are good", before looking at Buck questioningly.
"I need you to take Theo for the night." Buck pleads, his mouth pulled into a pathetic pout.
"Okay, done. I love any time I can get with my nephew. He can have a cousins' sleepover, they'll all love that. But why?"
"Y-you know." Buck stammers. "We just wanted a little date night."
"Oookay." Maddie drawls, unconvinced by Buck's explanation.
"It's to have sex, okay!" Buck blurts out. "Theo has decided to cockblock me at any possible turn. He was convinced there was a monster in his closet on Monday so he had slept in our bed, he came looking for the dog on Tuesday, he was convinced that he could see a star from only our bedroom window on Wednesday, and even when we try to do something in the shower, he gets the sudden urge to pee that very second. It's bad, Maddie."
Maddie blinks.
She then clears her throat, dropping the muffin back into the basket. "So these are help-me-get-laid muffins?"
Buck shoots her a deadpan look before dropping his head onto the kitchen table in despair.
Maddie giggles. "I'll take him for the weekend, you idiot. I also never want to know this much about your sex life, ever again."
"...Noted."
Later that night, you and Buck are back at Maddie's, dropping Theo off for the sleepover.
"Bye, sweetheart. I love you." You say sweetly to Theo, giving your son a warm hug and a sweet kiss to his cheek.
"Bye mama." Theo responds before darting off to join his cousins in Jee's room.
"Bye Mads! Call if you need anything." You tell Maddie, waving behind your shoulder as you and Buck leave the house.
"Please don't need anything!" Buck calls out.
"Use protection! Or don't, Theo should have a sibling." Maddie chuckles.
"Huh?" You question Buck, but Buck simply pulls you quicker towards the Jeep.
Once the two of you are buckled in, Buck looks over at you in the passenger seat. "Hey." He says softly.
"Hey." You whisper back.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Buck." Your lips meet over the centre console like magnets, and all sense of time is lost in the taste of each other's mouths, in the taste of home.
A rapid knock on the passenger window startles the two of you. Chim stands, chewing gum in amusement. "Please start your sexcapades somewhere that is not on my front lawn."
Buck groans. "I'm never telling Maddie anything anymore."
"That's not true." Chim smirks.
"That's not true." Buck confirms with a sigh.
With a departing wave, Chim returns inside, while you giggle. "I can't believe you arranged a sleepover for our son so that you can have sex in peace. Shame on you."
"Can you blame me? My wife is a smoke show."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend. Drive us home, to a bed."
"Yes ma'am." Buck salutes, before driving off.
An hour later, the two of you are sweaty, panting, and Buck is mid-thrust when his cellphone starts ringing. And it would've been ignored, except it was the specific ringtone he had for Maddie, so you reach over and put in on speaker, while Buck rests his forehead against the crook of your neck to try and calm down.
"Sorry guys", Maddie's apologetic voice comes through the speaker. "But Theo really had to talk to you."
The two of you still, before your son's cute voice comes through the line. "Mama? Daddy?"
"Yeah bud, everything okay?" You ask, brow furrowed in concern.
"Yeah! I'm having so much fun. I just forgot to say I love you."
Buck's face twists into a look of pure adoration. "We love you so much, buddy."
"Okay, good night!" With all the tact and abruptness of a toddler, the call ends.
The two of you laugh breathlessly.
"Now, where were we?" Buck smiles down at you.
(The two of you actually end up giving Theo a sibling from that night.)
(Maddie and Chim tease you relentlessly about it.)
good things come to those who wait - evan buckley x reader
Based on this request: the reader and evan have their young son of three or four years old, who has already discovered that there is life after the time his parents gave him to sleep, so he begins to move from his toddler bed to evan and his wife's bed which by default becomes a cockblock😐so evan is TENSE and she practically begs anyone from 118 or my girl maddie to babysit her child for just one night to have some time alone with his wife🙏🏻😆
Buck was never a particularly patient person.
Even as a kid, he's been primed to be someone who wants now, needs now, and in a constant loop of go go go.
He has learned the beauty of patience as he grew older though, as he came into his own as a firefighter, and when he had a kid of his own. A little son, Theo, pushing four years old, and who was the best mix of both you and Buck. A boy that Buck loves more than the moon and the stars, but who has been testing Buck's patience every night for the past week or so.
Maddie currently stands before Buck in her kitchen, an amused smile already on her face. Buck had come over, early in the morning, with muffins and coffee and a big demand, so the baked goods were clearly a form of bribery.
"Alright, what is it? I know you, and I know there's a favour laced into these." Maddie asks, chomping on a blueberry muffin. She whispers a "damn, these are good", before looking at Buck questioningly.
"I need you to take Theo for the night." Buck pleads, his mouth pulled into a pathetic pout.
"Okay, done. I love any time I can get with my nephew. He can have a cousins' sleepover, they'll all love that. But why?"
"Y-you know." Buck stammers. "We just wanted a little date night."
"Oookay." Maddie drawls, unconvinced by Buck's explanation.
"It's to have sex, okay!" Buck blurts out. "Theo has decided to cockblock me at any possible turn. He was convinced there was a monster in his closet on Monday so he had slept in our bed, he came looking for the dog on Tuesday, he was convinced that he could see a star from only our bedroom window on Wednesday, and even when we try to do something in the shower, he gets the sudden urge to pee that very second. It's bad, Maddie."
Maddie blinks.
She then clears her throat, dropping the muffin back into the basket. "So these are help-me-get-laid muffins?"
Buck shoots her a deadpan look before dropping his head onto the kitchen table in despair.
Maddie giggles. "I'll take him for the weekend, you idiot. I also never want to know this much about your sex life, ever again."
"...Noted."
Later that night, you and Buck are back at Maddie's, dropping Theo off for the sleepover.
"Bye, sweetheart. I love you." You say sweetly to Theo, giving your son a warm hug and a sweet kiss to his cheek.
"Bye mama." Theo responds before darting off to join his cousins in Jee's room.
"Bye Mads! Call if you need anything." You tell Maddie, waving behind your shoulder as you and Buck leave the house.
"Please don't need anything!" Buck calls out.
"Use protection! Or don't, Theo should have a sibling." Maddie chuckles.
"Huh?" You question Buck, but Buck simply pulls you quicker towards the Jeep.
Once the two of you are buckled in, Buck looks over at you in the passenger seat. "Hey." He says softly.
"Hey." You whisper back.
"I love you."
"I love you too, Buck." Your lips meet over the centre console like magnets, and all sense of time is lost in the taste of each other's mouths, in the taste of home.
A rapid knock on the passenger window startles the two of you. Chim stands, chewing gum in amusement. "Please start your sexcapades somewhere that is not on my front lawn."
Buck groans. "I'm never telling Maddie anything anymore."
"That's not true." Chim smirks.
"That's not true." Buck confirms with a sigh.
With a departing wave, Chim returns inside, while you giggle. "I can't believe you arranged a sleepover for our son so that you can have sex in peace. Shame on you."
"Can you blame me? My wife is a smoke show."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, my friend. Drive us home, to a bed."
"Yes ma'am." Buck salutes, before driving off.
An hour later, the two of you are sweaty, panting, and Buck is mid-thrust when his cellphone starts ringing. And it would've been ignored, except it was the specific ringtone he had for Maddie, so you reach over and put in on speaker, while Buck rests his forehead against the crook of your neck to try and calm down.
"Sorry guys", Maddie's apologetic voice comes through the speaker. "But Theo really had to talk to you."
The two of you still, before your son's cute voice comes through the line. "Mama? Daddy?"
"Yeah bud, everything okay?" You ask, brow furrowed in concern.
"Yeah! I'm having so much fun. I just forgot to say I love you."
Buck's face twists into a look of pure adoration. "We love you so much, buddy."
"Okay, good night!" With all the tact and abruptness of a toddler, the call ends.
The two of you laugh breathlessly.
"Now, where were we?" Buck smiles down at you.
(The two of you actually end up giving Theo a sibling from that night.)
(Maddie and Chim tease you relentlessly about it.)
He knows you're there, leaning on the doorframe, watching him.
"Something wrong?"
"No. No. You're wearing that?"
He turns at that. "I am."
There's no point in hiding your very visceral reaction to his choice of suit. He can read you like a book, hear the change in your breathing, the pounding of your heart.
"Car's gonna be here in a minute," he tells you, eyes lingering on your bare legs. "You should finish getting dressed."
"Hmm. Probably." You shrug, moving to stand directly in front of him. He lets you work the button on his pants and slide your warm hand inside, palming him through his boxers.
“I just need to do something really, really important first -” you glance at him with a wicked grin, dropping to your knees.
His breath catches as you loosen his pants around his thick thighs, and when your mouth closes around him, his hand finds the back of your head like it’s instinct, like he has to hold on or lose his balance.
You gaze up at him, eyelashes fluttering with each inadvertent twitch of his hips. You take him deeper, your tongue curling around him, the swollen head of his cock nudging the back of your throat.
You hollow your cheeks, your soft palms against the hard muscle of his trembling thighs.
He’s a vision in this suit. Strong pinstripes, sharp shirt. You knew it when you saw it on the hanger, but on him? With the salt and pepper in his beard, and his blue eyes glued on watching your lips stretch around him? He’s heaven.
You pull back with a wet pop, then kiss his swollen tip, licking up a bead of pre-cum with a smug little smirk. “Still with me?”
He swore violently, hips twitching. “Car’s gonna be here -”
You lick up the length of him, “I should stop then?”
"No - God, sweetheart, I can't hold on much longer," he breathes. Ypu take him again, your hand wrapped around his base.
A tap against your hollowed cheek indicates exactly what you want him to do, he groans, his body aching with need. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Hmm,” you confirm, the sound vibrating around him. He hesitates for just a moment more, then gives in, still holding your hair back from your face so he can see lipstick stained lips wide around his rock hard cock.
He fucks your mouth like he hasn’t already felt the slick warmth of your tongue around him today.
The muscles in his thighs tighten under your hand and his cock pulses in your mouth as he comes, spilling into your waiting, wanting mouth. You swirl your tongue once more and let go with a soft pop. Gently, not ruining the suit, you zip the pants and straighten his shirt.
“I love you -” he breathes, hands reaching for you.
“Make it up to me later, Congressman, I’ve gotta get dressed.” You place a gentle kiss on his mouth, his heart races under your hand.
It was the end of a long shift at the 118. It wasn’t a bad day, really, just not very many calls came in, so the hours dragged on. You were itching to get out of the firehouse all day, wanting to go get ready for your blind date that your friend set up for you with some guy. You had no idea what to expect, but you had been single for so long that you were ready to try anything.
Truthfully, the reason you had been single for so long, and why you desperately needed to meet new people, was because you had started to develop some unprofessional feelings for your co-worker, Buck. There was something about him. He could make you laugh harder than anyone you knew, he put your needs ahead of his own, he always had your back. And plus, it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes. Last week, while working out at the firehouse gym area, you caught yourself staring at the muscles on his back as they contracted with every movement. Then a couple of days later he was standing next to you while you two were working on the engine, and all you could think was ‘I want to climb him like a tree.’ Needless to say, it was becoming crucial that you find someone else to date and ‘climb’ before the issue became bigger and started effecting your work.
Right before it was time to leave for the day, Buck called you to help him sort out some boxes which he was carrying into the supply closet. You were already basically changed and ready to go when he asked, but you couldn’t say no to him, even though you had plans to get to. ‘How long could it possibly take?’ You thought.
You got in the supply closet, unloading the boxes and placing their contents neatly on the shelves, as he carried more boxes into the room. When he had carried all the boxes in, he started helping you with the restocking.
“Thanks for helping, I can take it from here,” He says
“Oh, yeah, that’s great, I actually have plans tonight so, I’ll take you up on that,” You say, grabbing the door handle, and twisting it. But it doesn’t budge.
“Uhm, Buck, does this door lock from the outside?” You ask, frustration in your voice.
He furrows his brow, trying the door handle himself, trying to jimmy it open, then *pop* and the door handle comes off in his hand.
“Uhm, you might want to cancel your plans.” He said sheepishly with a small smile.
“Seriously!” You put your hands in your hair, “just great.” You were upset that you were missing your date, but even worse, here you were, stuck in a supply closet with the guy you were trying to get you mind off using the date. Just your luck. “I can’t even call to cancel, I have like no bars in here.”
“Yeah, me neither…It’s fine, right? We can just radio for help,” He assured, “except, I think I left my radio out there so, ugh…”
“Buck, I was already changed out of my uniform. My radio is not on me either. Oh, damn this day!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down. B shift will find us, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” B-shift had already left on a call when you two were still carrying boxes, “They’ll be back soon, I’m sure. Then they’ll get us out of here. I’m sure they’ll be here in no time.”
————— 2 hours later —————
The Firehouse was still quiet and empty, not a soul in there but you and Buck. Even if anyone were to walk in, they would have to go to the very back of the building near the changing rooms to even hear you banging on the door, and at that point, you had given up on trying to alert anyone of your presence. It was too late anyway, your date was probably already back home, disappointed that you blew him off. You sit on the ground defeated.
“Are you okay?” Asked Buck, with genuine concern on his face.
“I’m just peachy.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, not really. I’m just bummed out that I missed my plans, that’s all.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. If you were so keen on going out tonight, we can have a drink at the bar down the street when we get out of here,” He assured you, oblivious to the fact that that was the opposite of a solution to your problem. You needed someone else to take your mind off him, not after work drinks with your work crush. You smile and thank him for his offer, not wanting to come off weird.
It was ironic, the two of you stuck in there when a large part of your jobs involved getting people out of places. Usually, you would have had a team of people and actual tools. Now all you have is each other and cleaning supplies. It wasn’t too bad. No life-or-death situation. Just a few weeks ago you would have found it hilarious and maybe even fun just being stuck in a closet with Buck. But ever since you became aware of the scent of his skin, of the way his eyes gleam when he smiles, the way his veins are so visible on his forearms, you knew time alone together like this was just asking for trouble.
“What are you worried about?” He asks, pulling you out of your focus.
“What makes you think I’m worried?”
“The way your eyebrows are basically touching, for one,” He chuckled, “Is it really that bad being stuck in here with me?”
You share your head, “No, no. It’s just…really boring. There’s nothing to do in here.”
“Well it would probably be less boring if you actually talked to me, instead of playing with your fingers.”
“Fine. Yeah…what do you want to talk about?” You ask.
He ponders for a few seconds then speaks, “What plans did you have?”
Oh boy,… “A date.”
“Oh,…I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”
“I’m not, it’s a blind date. I’ve never even seen a picture of the guy. I just know his first name. Matt.”
“Sounds nice…Matt,” He repeats. You laugh at his response. “Okay, yeah, fine. The name doesn’t tell me much about how nice he is. I’m just being polite.” He says, laughing along with you. “Actually, when I was in middle school, there was a kid in my class called Matt and he would take his shoes off and just walk around barefoot stinking up the room, so when you said Matt that’s all I could picture,” he recounts.
You laugh, now unable to associate anything with the name Matt but smelly feet, “Way to ruin him for me.”
“Oh, you just stood him up on your first date. I don’t think it was gonna go anywhere,” He chuckled.
“Yeah,” You sighed, “guess my friend will have to set me up on a new blind date with some other guy I’ve never met.”
“Why do you want to go on dates with guys you’ve never met? It’s not like you find it hard to get guys’ attention. I’ve seen how guys look at you at bars and stuff.” He asks, a hint of pink dancing on his cheeks.
“It’s…it’s just complicated,” You sigh.
“You’re just gonna say its complicated and leave me curious?”
“It’s a long story,” You lie
“Well, if you haven’t noticed, we’ve got nothing but time.”
“I really, can’t tell you!” You blush
“That’s just making me want to know more,” he teases.
“Buck, drop it.”
“No, tell me,” He says, sitting closer to you on the closet floor.
“Seriously, stop!” You say sternly, louder than you mean to. He’s taken aback but he only shows it for a second. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…embarrassing.”
“No, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have pushed. Sometimes I forget we’re coworkers.”
“What do you mean?” You ask curious.
“Oh, just that we’re such good friends here, and we spend hours and hours together, that I just forget that there are boundaries, you know. We’re not actually friends. We’re coworkers, so I shouldn’t push you or make you uncomfortable.”
“We’re not friends?” You ask, failing to hide the disappointment in your voice.
“That’s not what I meant. This is coming out all wrong. I just shouldn’t act too familiar, that’s all. I was just trying to apologise for pushing you.” He explains.
There’s silence, then he goes on, “For the record, you’re one of my favourite people. Even if we are coworkers first.”
You gulp, “I think we’re definitely not just coworkers, Buck.” This makes him smile softly, his head turning to look at your face, his eyes soft in the dim light of the closet.
“What do you mean by that?” He asks, his voice barely audible.
“That we’re…friends, isn’t that what we were talking about?” You answer, searching his face for a hint of something else. Then you see it. The corner of his lip twitches, just the faintest hint of disappointment. You feel yourself get hot in the face.
“Why do you need to go on blind dates?” He whispers.
“Buck…” You look away, but he grabs your chin, gently turning you towards him.
“Tell me”
“You.”
The disappointment is gone from his face now, replaced with a smirk. You feel embarrassed. You’ll never hear the end of this. Why would you say that? Why would you cave? His hand remains on your chin, his eyes trained on you.
“Buck, it’s not a big deal, okay, just-“ You begin.
“Can I kiss you?” He cuts you off. You’re taken by surprise but you nod yes.
He leans down, closing the gap between the two of you. His lips on yours send electricity through your body. When his tongue licks your bottom lip you part them without hesitation, letting him freely explore your mouth. Your hand creeps up his arm, resting on his shoulder. You can feel how strong he is under his shirt, amplifying the desire you feel for him. The two of you get up off the floor for better leverage, still kissing.
You push him against the shelves, some of the items you had been organising falling off, as your bodies collide. You tug at his uniform and he wastes no time ripping it off, his muscular chest now exposed to you. You pull your own shirt off, dropping it to the floor. You swear that he growled when he saw your body. His lips latched onto your chest, kissing and biting softly, trying to leave a mark on your breast.
“That’s to remind you of this if you get the idea to set up a blind date again,” He whispers in your ear. Soon, his hand is on your back, grabbing the band of your bra, seemingly unsure of whether he should unclasp it or if that’s too far. You decide to give him a hint by shrugging off the straps and he undoes the clasp, letting it fall to the ground.
Your head was spinning. Was this a good idea? God, no. You were at work, you could get caught. Even worse, you were half naked making out with Buck. Dear, sweet, Buck. Your favourite coworker. The golden retriever. You had heard rumours about how he was a player when he first joined the 118, stealing the engine for impromptu hookups. Something about a nickname, ‘firehose’? You weren’t sure whether to believe them, having met a more timid Buck who respects women, babysits and bakes banana bread. But right then in that closet, you were starting to realise that there might have been some truth to those stories; he definitely knew what he was doing.
His hand grabbed your breast, rubbing his thumb over your nipple, while his other hand was at your hip, his thumb hooked in your jeans' belt loops. He pulled away from your neck just to stare at you, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your curves. You decide you want to tease him a little, show him he’s not the one in charge. You lower yourself onto your knees before him, looking up at him with big doe eyes. His Adams apple moved when your eyes met, his hands holding on to the shelves behind him.
He towered over you at his height, now even more apparent since you were on your knees. Your fingers fumbled with his belt, taking your time just to make him squirm. Then, you pulled down his trousers and boxers in one motion, freeing him from the tightness in his pants. His length sprung out, already hard for you. You had an idea now where the ‘firehose’ nickname came from, and you smirked to yourself, eager to taste him. You wrapped your fingers around him, earning a groan, and stroked him slowly, ghosting your thumb over his tip. His hand grabbed a fistful of hair, twirling it into a pony tail to keep it out of your face, clearly hinting at what he wanted. You obliged, using your tongue to rub the tip while still stroking him with your hand. When you swallowed him down your throat he threw his head back, a deep groan coming out of his lips. You took him as deep as you possibly could, tears forming at your eyes and fighting against your gag reflex, but the curses and moans coming from above you made it worth it. You could feel your own reaction, a wet spot forming between your legs. His grip on your hair tightened and he spilled into your mouth with a loud moan, come dripping down your chin.
He helped you back up on your feet, kissing you, tasting himself on your mouth. When he pulled away he grinned and asked if he could return the favour. You were quick to say yes, and in no time he was helping you pull your jeans off. He got on his knees where you were before and slowly pulled your panties down your legs, admiring the way your folds ever so slightly stuck to the fabric with your wetness. He grabbed one of your legs and draped it over his shoulder, and you grabbed onto his hair to steady yourself. His tongue found your clit, licking and lapping like he was starving for it. Starving for you. He licked and licked, introducing a finger to the mix, and then another. His free arm held your thigh while his other hand worked inside of you, massaging your g-spot. Soon, you felt a familiar pit in the depths of your stomach. Your legs began to shake making it harder to stay upright, but he held you in place with his strong arms. You finally let go, coming on his tongue and clenching around his fingers.
While catching your breath you couldn’t help but notice that he was already at half mast again. The act of eating you out had aroused him so much that he had already hardened again, and that turned you on even more. You leapt to him, embracing him, with a sloppy kiss on his mouth.
“I want you,” you moaned into his mouth. His eyes widened. He wanted you too, but after you had both already finished, he wasn’t sure if that was still on the table. His expression quickly turned to a crooked grin as he pushed you up against the door, then flipping you around so that your chest was pressed up against it. He grabbed your hips, roughly pulling you to him, forcing you to bend over. After licking his fingers, he ran them between your folds, making you writhe in anticipation. His fingers dug into your plush ass, holding you steady. You whimpered, wanting so badly to feel him inside you and hearing your sounds made his ego swell.
You felt his tip at your entrance, parting your lips. At the same time, his hands grabbed your hair, moving it off your neck, replacing it with his mouth. “Tell me how badly you want this,” he whispered in your ear.
“I want you more than anything,” you say obeying his request.
Without another word, he pushes his cock inside you, burying himself to the hilt. You gasp audibly the sheer size of him sending shockwaves through your body. You felt like you had been split open but somehow in a good way. You quickly adjusted to his size, the intense pleasure masking any pain.
“Good girl,” he grunts, “You’re taking me so well.”
Your heart swells at his comment and you enjoy so badly hearing how good and obedient he thinks you are. He thrusts into you faster now, somehow going deeper than before. He touches your cervix with each thrust making you groan but its not rough enough to hurt at all. Instead, every thrust makes you see fireworks.
He fucks into you like his life depends on it, grunting and moaning in your ear. Nothing too loud, but in this tiny closet you can hear his every breath and noise, and you can tell that he is enjoying himself too, which in turn maximises your pleasure. His hand snakes around you, positioning itself between your thighs, and his fingers rub your clit. His thrusts never falter, still keeping his steady rhythm. The door rattles and shakes with every movement of your bodies, and your tits pressed up against it are overstimulated from the friction.
Buck leans closer to you, his tall body enveloping you as he presses his chest to your back, now flush against your body. He’s so deep inside you you can almost taste him. His other hand, the one that isn’t playing with your clit, wraps around your chest, grabbing your tits and pulling you back towards him. You couldn’t possibly be any closer to each other than you are right now.
You feel his strained breathing and erratic thrusts and you know he is close. You let yourself get pulled towards him, your own orgasm fast approaching. Your legs are now jelly and you’re thankful he is gripping you so hard or you would not be able to stand. His mouth whispers into your ear, “God, please, baby, come for me. I need you to come for me. I’m so close…I need you to come. Be a good girl.”
The words are enough to push you over the edge. Pleasure shoots from your core, making your legs vibrate underneath you, and your back arch against his touch. When he feels you tightening around him, he is done for. You feel his balls twitch against your skin, and soon you are being filled up and painted from the inside. You aren’t sure if its just his larger-than-average size that has you feeling so full, but it feels like he came a cup full, making you feel like you’re overflowing.
When he finally pulls out of you, come runs down your legs, but he is quick to scoop it up with two fingers, pushing it back inside your needy hole, finger fucking it back inside you. The act makes you blush. You’ve never experienced anyone like him. Nothing had ever come close.You silently got dressed, both panting and trying to get your heads on straight after that intense encounter.
“That was…wow,” You say, breaking the silence.
“You liked it?” He asks, pulling you in for another kiss.
“Beats sitting here in silence waiting for someone to realise we’re in here, that’s for sure,” you teased.
“I never would’ve guessed you’re so…bold,” He whispers against your lips.
“I could say the same for you,” you smile and he laughs. He kisses you again when you hear the engine finally pulling back into the firehouse signifying that B shift was back. You quickly fixed your hair while he banged on the door. Soon enough, someone came and opened the door for you.
When you finally made it out on the street, he grabbed your arm. “I meant it about the drinks, by the way.” He said with his usual goofy smile plastered on his face.
“Buck, it’s so late. I doubt that anywhere is open right now.”
“Well,” He shrugs, “I have drinks at my place.”
You roll your eyes but you’re following him to his car. He opens the passenger door for you, helping you up into his range rover, kissing your lips softly when you’re settled.
“By the way, I don’t think I told you, I like you too, you know?”
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You loved your husband. Truly, you did. He did everything in his power to make you feel good, treating you as the most delicate flower, his little deer. But you wanted him to know you weren't all that easy to break.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT (18+); a bit of primal play; loving husband Cregan who just wants to make you feel good; rough(er) sex per reader's request
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4.8k
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: No description of the reader (except that the reader has hair), no use of (y/n). English is not my first language. I am not responsible for the media you choose to consume. I finished and beta read this while extremely tired, so please do not even start with me, okay? Enjoy <3.
𐔌 . ⋮ 𝒶𝑒𝓇𝒶 .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱
It was bitterly cold in the north, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones and turned breath into mist. Yet, there was a warmth to be found in your new life with Lord Stark. He seemed to know how to shield you from the sharp bite of winter. Wrapping you in furs, he ensured your chambers of Winterfell were among the warmest and cosiest in the castle.
His care for you was evident, though his expressions of love were often quiet and reserved. He seemed to hold back, as if afraid that he might hurt you somehow.
As your husband, he allowed you the freedom to practice the Faith of the Seven, even facilitating the construction of a sept within the castle just for you. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a sign of his affection and respect for your beliefs. Cregan’s love was steady and peaceful, a protective force that enveloped you. He viewed you as his Lady of Winterfell, a fragile flower that needed shelter from the harsh winds and the unknown dangers lurking beyond the Wall.
Despite your reassurances that you were perfectly capable of handling life’s challenges—and your eagerness to even join him on hunts—Cregan still saw you more like a soft deer than a fierce wolf. Who could blame him? You had a beauty that had captivated the entire North, a vision that stirred admiration wherever you went.
His concern for your safety extended far beyond the winter chill, infiltrating every aspect of your life, especially in the bedroom. At first, his tender approach felt comforting. Cregan’s hands were gentle, his caresses like a soft breeze, treating you with an almost reverent care. But as time passed, you yearned to uncover another side of him, the warrior you’d heard about from your maids’ whispers.
Northern men were renowned for their power and vitality; tales of their prowess stirred a deep longing within you. You found yourself yearning for that fierceness, that raw energy. You dropped hints like breadcrumbs, letting your gaze linger on his strong arms, offering teasing touches during quiet conversations. Yet, no matter how suggestive or inviting you tried to be, nothing seemed to spark the fervour you craved.
As the sun dipped low in the sky, you spent another quiet day mending one of your husband's coats. A way for you to show your gratitude through these simple acts of care. You called the maids, asking them to fetch both of you warm drinks, eager to welcome Cregan back from his time in the yard.
When he entered, his cheeks were flushed from the crisp air, and a hint of snow clung to his clothes. You greeted him with a soft smile, setting the coat aside to focus on him. Taking a seat beside him, you placed your warm hand gently over his, feeling the strength in his grasp as the flickering candlelight danced around the room, creating a soft glow. The warm atmosphere wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, making the moment feel even more special.
“How has your day been, my Lord husband?” you asked, your voice soft in the quiet space. Cregan’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you basking in the warmth of each other’s presence.
Cregan looked at his wife, his eyes softening as they took in your features illuminated by the flickering candlelight.
He squeezed your hand gently, his calloused fingers brushing against your soft skin. The contrast between you was stark, a warrior's hand and a lady's hand entwined.
Cregan leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "It has been a long day, my lady," he admitted, his voice low and tired. "The men are in good spirits, but the cold is taking its toll. I fear this winter will be a harsh one. And what of you, my dear? I trust you have not caught a chill in my absence?" He reached out with his free hand, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.
Cregan's gaze drifted to the coat you had been mending, a small smile playing on his lips. "You need not trouble yourself with such things, my love. I have a whole host of maids and servants to attend to such tasks." He brought your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.
A blush crept across your cheeks, but it was not solely from the winter's chill. The brush of his lips against your skin had ignited a different sort of warmth within you, a longing that had been growing with each passing day in his presence.
"I want to," you replied bluntly, holding Cregan's gaze with unwavering intensity. Your eyes locked as you leaned in until your foreheads nearly touched. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours in the space between you.
"My lord, I wish to do this for you," you murmured, your voice low and fervent. "After all that you have done for me, after the care and protection you've shown me, it is my desire- no, my duty." You turned your hand in his grasp, interlacing your fingers tightly as you held his gaze.
Cregan felt a stirring within him at the intensity in your gaze, the way your fingers tightened around his. He could see the longing burning in your eyes, a hunger that went beyond the simple act of mending a coat.
Cregan's eyes searched yours, a battle raging within him. The urge to take you, to claim you with the passion of a man who had been starved of it for so long, warred with the need to protect you, to keep you safe from the coarser nature of his self.
He leaned in closer, his lips now a mere hair's breadth from yours, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. "You are my wife, my lady." His thumb brushed over your lower lip, tracing the soft curve. "But if it pleases you to care for me, to show me such kindness, who am I to deny you?"
His other hand slid up your arm, over the fur-lined sleeve of your gown, coming to rest on your shoulder. He could feel the warmth of your skin beneath, the way your body responded to his touch. It took all of his self-control not to have his way with you right there, to feel your soft curves pressed against him.
You let your hand linger on his, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “But if I am your lady, I should at least act like it. Keep your clothes mended. Warm your bed.” You tilted your head, brushing your lips just shy of his jaw. “Among other duties.”
Cregan’s breath hitched. That was new.
His eyes darkened, the shift subtle but unmistakable. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he studied your face, and you saw it—that flicker of the wolf, straining at its leash.
“I do not wish to overwhelm you,” he said slowly, as if even speaking was a struggle.
You leaned back just enough to smirk. “Perhaps I’d like to be overwhelmed.”
The silence between you was charged, stretched thin with heat. You stood then, letting your fingers trail along his shoulder, your voice lilting with mischief.
“Or are the great wolves of the North all bark and no bite?”
That did it.
In a flash, Cregan was on his feet. You squealed—actually squealed—and darted away just as his hand reached for your waist. The candlelight flickered wildly as you flew down the hall, your laugh echoing off the cold stone walls.
“Get back here, little deer,” Cregan growled, his voice rougher now, the calm Lord Stark unravelling with every step he took behind you.
You ducked into a side corridor, skirts gathered in your fists, heart pounding with thrill. He was close—you could hear the heavy thud of his boots behind you, steady, relentless.
“You think teasing me’s wise?” His voice was closer now, and laced with amusement. “You’re tempting the wolf, girl.”
“Good,” you shot over your shoulder. “Maybe the wolf’s what I want.”
Cregan's eyes flashed with a hunger that made your heart race. He lunged forward, catching you around the waist and pulling you back against his chest. You gasped as you collided with the solid wall of his body, the breath knocked from your lungs.
"Careful what you wish for, my lady," Cregan growled in your ear, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "The wolf has a very different appetite than the man."
He spun you around to face him, his hands gripping your waist tightly. His eyes raked over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, and the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath. He could feel the heat of your skin through the thin fabric of your gown, could feel the way your body trembled against his.
One hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair and tugging your head back to expose the column of your throat. The other hand gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him until you could feel every hard inch of his body pressed against yours.
"Gods, you drive me insane, woman," Cregan murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "So many times I've wanted to just rip your pretty little gown off and show you how a northerner really takes his wife."
Shuddering, you whispered his name like a prayer, breathless and needy. "Cregan..." Your voice trembled, eyes wide and vulnerable, gazing up at him through long, sooty lashes. You were a deer caught in the wolf's sight, knowing you were about to be ravished.
Your chest rose and fell with every uneven breath, labouring as you inhaled, the swell of your breasts straining against the confines of your gown. The delicious sting on your scalp sent jolts of pleasure-pain straight to your core.
"Please, my lord..." you mewled, your lips parted and inviting. "Show me. Take me. Ruin me. Claim your right..."
Another squeal burst from your lips as strong arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you clean off the ground. You squirmed, breathless with anticipation.
He pinned you against the cold stone wall, but his body was all heat, pressed flush to yours. His voice was low and wicked against your ear. “I warned you.”
And then, he kissed you. Hard. Thorough. Like a man making up for lost time.
When he finally pulled back, just enough for air, your eyes were dazed, lips tingling. He smirked, his voice gravel and fire. “You’ve got what you asked for now, my lady.”
You gave a breathless laugh. “Not nearly enough.”
He growled, a real, low sound in his chest, and bent to scoop you up in his arms.
Cregan carried you swiftly down the corridor, his long strides eating up the distance. He kicked open the door to your shared chambers, the heavy wood slamming against the stone wall. The room was dimly lit, the fire casting long shadows across the bed.
He tossed you onto the furs, your skirts riding up to reveal a flash of your smooth thighs. Cregan loomed over you, his eyes glinting in the low light. He shrugged off his cloak, letting it pool on the floor, before attacking the fastenings of his tunic, when he froze.
You were sitting up on your knees, eyes gleaming in the firelight. “No,” you murmured, holding up a hand, your voice sultry, commanding. “Let me.”
Cregan stilled. His chest rose and fell, heavy with breath, as he watched you.
You began with the outer fur-lined surcoat, undoing the clasp at your throat. It slid from your shoulders and down your arms, falling behind you in a soft heap. The next layer—the fitted kirtle—was laced tightly up your front. You met his gaze as you undid each loop with slow, deliberate fingers, one by one, the tension in the fabric easing with every pull.
“You think I'm delicate,” you said, your voice low and dangerous. “Fragile. Something to protect.” You loosened the bodice until the fabric gaped, revealing the thin linen shift beneath. “But I’m not. Am I?”
Cregan said nothing. His jaw clenched. His eyes darkened.
You let the kirtle slip down over your hips, pooling around your knees. Now only the shift remained—thin, nearly sheer in the firelight, clinging to your body from the warmth of the room and the heat rising from your skin.
Still, on your knees, you slowly lifted the hem of your shift. Just a little at first, baring the smooth skin of your calves, then your thighs. His gaze locked onto your hands, following every inch as more of you was revealed.
“You’ve been gentle for too long,” you whispered, bunching the shift around your hips. “Careful. Controlled. Dutiful.” You hooked your thumbs beneath the neckline and pulled it down over your shoulders—slowly—exposing the curve of your breasts inch by inch. “But I didn’t marry the Lord of Winterfell for gentle.”
The shift slipped off your arms and fell into your lap.
Now, fully bare in the golden firelight, you stood upright, bold and unashamed. Your voice dropped to a daring whisper. “I married the wolf.”
Cregan stood frozen, his eyes roving hungrily over every inch of newly exposed skin. The firelight danced across your curves, casting shadows that accentuated the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the flare of your hips. His gaze lingered on the juncture between your thighs, where a glistening dampness betrayed your arousal.
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking audibly in the charged silence. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out and wrapped a calloused hand around your throat, his thumb brushing over the racing pulse at the base of your neck. His other hand gripped your ass, fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
"You play a dangerous game, my little wife," Cregan growled, his voice low and rough with barely restrained desire."You think you can handle the wolf? The one that wants to pin you down and take you until you scream?" His grip tightened ever so slightly, a silent warning. "Until you beg for mercy? Until the only name you remember is mine?"
You gazed up at Cregan, your eyes sparkling with desire in the flickering firelight. A coy smile played at the corners of your lips as you felt his strong hand wrap around your throat, his thumb brushing over your racing pulse. You arched into his touch, pressing your body flush against his.
"I can handle everything and more, my lord. I've yearned for you to ruin me, to claim me so rough that I can't even form a single thought."
Cregan's eyes flashed with a primal hunger at your bold words. Without warning, he crashed his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to stake his claim. One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back to grant him better access, while the other hand slid down to grip your hip, pulling you harder against the thick ridge of his arousal.
He walked you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, then pushed you down onto the furs. Looming over you, he made quick work of his breeches, shoving them down his muscular thighs along with his smallclothes. His manhood sprang free, long, thick and hard, the engorged head already weeping with need.
Cregan crawled over you, settling his hips between your spread thighs. He reached down to run a finger through your slick folds, groaning at the wetness he found there.
He caught your wrists in one large hand and pinned them above your head, his hips rocking forward to grind his thick length along your slick folds. The coarse hair at the base of his shaft rasped against your sensitive folds.
"Gods, you're dripping," he growled, his voice rough with lust.
He rocked his hips harder, the thick head of his cock catching on your entrance with each pass. His free hand slid down your body, calloused fingers skimming over the swell of your breasts and the dip of your waist, before settling between your thighs. He circled your clit with the rough pad of his thumb, the slick sounds of your arousal filling the room.
"Beg for it," Cregan demanded, his breath hot against your ear. "Beg me to ruin this tight little cunt and make you mine." He pinched down hard on your clit, sending pleasure and pain through you. "Go on, my lady. Let me hear that pretty voice scream for your husband's cock."
You gasped sharply as a hot sensation pierced through your core, back arching off the furs. Your eyes flew open wide, meeting Cregan's wild, hungry gaze. But the man you'd married, the lord you'd given yourself to, was gone. In his place crouched a beast, eyes black as night, pupils blown wide with primal lust. You shuddered under the intensity of his stare, feeling more like prey than a bride.
"Cregan," you whimpered, voice trembling. Fear and exhilaration warred within you as you gazed up at him, your heart pounding wildly against your ribs. Some dark part of you thrilled at the thought of being taken by this feral creature, claimed so roughly that you'd be forever marked as his.
"Please," you breathed, hardly recognising the needy, desperate edge to your voice. "Please, my lord...fuck me" This was no longer your gentle husband, but a wolf, an animal, a man consumed by the basest of instincts. And the Seven help you, but you wanted nothing more than to have him eat you alive. Let the whole castle know how the Lord of Winterfell fucks his sweet lady wife.
Cregan chuckled darkly, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Beg properly," he growled, grinding his thick length along your dripping slit. "You'll have to do better than that. I want to hear you scream it."
His fingers circled your entrance teasingly, not yet delving inside, as his thumb rubbed firm circles around your throbbing clit. Your hips bucked up against his hand, seeking more friction, more pressure, but he pulled away, denying you the release you craved.
"Beg for my cock like the desperate little slut you are," Cregan demanded, his voice a low, menacing rumble. "Tell me how badly you need to be split open on your husband's thick meat. How you can't wait to feel me pounding into your greedy drooling cunt until you're sobbing for mercy."
You trembled beneath Cregan, tears of desperate need welling up in your eyes. Your voice shook as you forced out the words, the tone of your voice foreign to your ears. "Please, my lord," you whimpered, your usual composure shattered. "I-I can't...I need..." A choked sob escaped your lips as you bucked your hips, seeking any friction against your aching, dripping core.
"Please, Cregan! I'm b-begging you...fuck me! I'm s-so empty, so desperate for your cock. I'll do anything, please...fill me!"
Cregan smirked wickedly at your desperate plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's more like it," he purred, his voice a low, sinful rumble. Without warning, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
A guttural groan tore from his throat at the feel of your tight walls clenching around him, gripping his shaft like a velvet vice. He paused for a moment, savouring the exquisite sensation, before drawing back and slamming in again, even harder this time.
"Ohhhh!" You cried out, back bowing sharply as Cregan's thick cock speared into your core, splitting you open in one brutal thrust. "Cregan!" Your voice shattered, a desperate wail tearing from your throat as you felt every rigid inch of him plunging deep, stretching you beyond what you thought possible. Your eyes rolled back, tongue lolling out as you were split open on his thick shaft.
"Yes, fuck, you feel so fucking good," Cregan snarled, his hips setting a deep, relentless rhythm. He hooked your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half, allowing him even deeper into your core. The angle had him kissing your womb with every thrust, the head of his cock ramming against that secret spot deep inside that made stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Ohhhh, gods!" You whimpered, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as you gazed down at the obscene sight of his shaft disappearing into your body. "It's...it's so big! You're s-splitting me in half!"
You babbled incoherently, feeling every veiny, rigid inch of him in your most intimate depths. Your tummy bulged obscenely with each savage thrust, the outline of his cock visible through the skin.
Lewd, wet squelching noises filled the room, the depraved sounds of your husband's heavy balls slapping against your ass.
You begged him not to stop, voice breaking on a wail. Drool dripped down your chin as you surrendered to the mindless ecstasy of being so ruthlessly fucked.
Cregan pistoned his hips at a relentless, punishing pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the heavy bed frame against the stone wall. He could feel your slick walls fluttering and clenching around his shaft, gripping him like a silken fist as he drove into your core again and again.
"Fuck, your cunt feels like heaven," Cregan growled, his voice strained with pleasure and exertion. He lowered his head to capture one of your bouncing tits in his mouth, sucking hard as he bit down just shy of pain. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping the flesh hard enough to leave finger-shaped bruises as he yanked you harder against him.
"That's it, take it all like the good little wife you are," Cregan snarled, his breath hot against your skin. "This cunt was made to be bred by me."
You were lost to the brutal pleasure, your mind fracturing with each savage thrust of Cregan's hips.
Your nails raked down Cregan's sweat-slicked back, trying to ground yourself. Incoherent babbles and sputters only leave your lips, becoming brainless by how incredibly good it felt. His cock dragging against your gummy walls.
"Hnn-... har-harder," you gasped, your hips bucking uncontrollably to meet his brutal pace. The noble lady reduced to a mewling, drooling mess by her husband's relentless fucking.
"As my lady commands," Cregan rumbled, his voice a dark promise before he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, your ass high in the air. This was new. He had never taken you from behind before.
He gripped your hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks as he spread your soft cheeks. Admiring the view with a low hum.
Cregan's cock, slick with your juices, slid between your ass cheeks, the thick head catching on your puckered back entrance. You gasped, a thrill of nervousness and excitement shooting through you at the unfamiliar sensation.
"Cregan?" you asked breathlessly, looking back over your shoulder at him with wide, uncertain eyes.
Your voice trailed off as Cregan's hand cracked down on your ass, the sharp sting making you clench around nothing."Shh, little one," he soothed, rubbing the reddened flesh gently. "Don't worry, my dear. I won't do anything you don't want me to do."
He leaned down to press a kiss to your shoulder, his lips trailing up the side of your neck to your ear. "But I am going to fill this sweet cunt until you're dripping with my seed," Cregan promised.
You gazed back at Cregan over your shoulder, your lips trembling and cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on your brows. Your legs quivered beneath you, knees weak from the relentless pounding of his hips. You were his, the little deer finally caught and submitting to the wolf.
"Please, my lord," I breathed, my voice hoarse from screaming his name. "Fill your wife's needy cunt with your seed." Even forming sentences seemed too hard for you. "I'm your prey."
Cregan smirked at your breathless plea, his eyes glinting with dark satisfaction. "That's right, you're mine now," he growled, his voice a low, possessive rumble. "My sweet little deer, all caught and ready to be bred."
With that, he slammed his hips forward, burying his thick length to the hilt in your dripping cunt. He set a slow, deep pace, the bed shaking and creaking beneath you with the force of his thrusts. The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, mingling with your desperate cries and Cregan's guttural groans.
His heavy balls slapped against your sensitive clit, the obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room.
Cregan's hand slid to wrap around your hair, tugging on it just enough to make you squeeze around him. "That's it, so good to me," he growled, his breath hot against your ear.
You let out a guttural moan with each deep, punishing thrust, your body jolting like a ragdoll. Drool dripped down your chin as you panted and mewled, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.
"Mmmhhh...aahhhnn..." You whimpered pitifully, your upper body collapsing onto the bed as Cregan took you from behind like a beast in a rut. Ass raised high and presented for your lord's use, just as a good wife should be.
Cregan's breath came in harsh pants, his heart pounding against his ribs as he felt his release fast approaching.
"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing around me," Cregan grunted, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Your greedy little cunt is milking my cock, just begging to be filled with my seed." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, grinding his pelvis against your ass.
Cregan's rhythm began to falter, his thrusts growing more erratic as he chased his pleasure. "I'm close," he bit out through gritted teeth, his grip on your hips tightening even further.
"A-Cregan!" You cried out, your voice breaking as your body began to tremble uncontrollably. Tears of overwhelming pleasure streamed down your flushed cheeks.
Your nails dug into the bedsheets, fisting the fine linen as you felt your climax fast approaching. The intense, building pressure in your core threatened to consume you entirely. "P-Please, I n-need...I need you inside me when I...when I..." You couldn't even bring yourself to say it, too lost in the throes of ecstasy to form the words.
"I'm...I'm going to...ahhh!" Your cry of rapture echoed through the chamber as you felt your body stiffen, your walls clenching down on Cregan's pistoning shaft as your climax crashed over you.
Cregan let out a roar, your release triggering his own. With one final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you, his heavy balls pulsing as he emptied himself into your spasming depths.
"Ahh!" Cregan bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls as thick ropes of his hot seed painted your insides. His hips jerked and shuddered against your ass as spurt after spurt of his cum flooded your womb, marking you as his.
He collapsed against your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he struggled to catch his breath. Cregan's heart raced against your spine, his skin slick with sweat and flushed with heat.
"Gods, woman," Cregan panted, his voice rough and sated. "I love you." He pressed a tender kiss to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin. "My sweet, perfect wife. My lady."
You turned around under him and gazed up at Cregan through heavy-lidded eyes, a soft smile playing at your lips as you tried to catch your breath beneath his solid weight that caged you. "I love you too, my darling wolf," you murmured, your voice low and sated. "You always know just how to make your lady feel cherished and desired." You reached up to caress his cheek, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. "Thank you."
Cregan leaned into your touch, his eyes softening as he gazed down at you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your palm, his lips lingering on your skin. "No, thank you," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "For being my perfect wife, for giving yourself to me so completely." He brushed a strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. "I am the lucky one, my lady." Cregan's gaze drifted over your face, taking in the flush of your cheeks, the sparkle in your eyes.
A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his face. "And I'm not nearly done with you yet," he purred, his voice a low, wicked rumble. "The night is still young, and I intend to spend every moment worshipping my beautiful bride." He rolled his hips, grinding his softening length inside you, a reminder of the pleasure to come. "By the time I'm through with you, you won't be able to walk out of this room."
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 (n my pookies)
@bey0nd-1he-stars @targaryenprincess1 @knight-of-flowerss @venusbyline @therogueflame
The moment the monitor flatlines, Buck forgets how to breathe. The shrill scream of it cuts through him like glass, splintering the last fragile thread holding him together.
“No—no, no, no—SOMEONE HELP!”
He’s on his feet, shoving the chair back so violently it crashes against the wall. Nurses rush in. Alarms blare. The room is suddenly chaos—but Buck is the still point at the center of it. Frozen. Pale. Eyes wide as his whole world slips through trembling fingers.
“She was just moving,” he gasps. “She—her hand moved—I swear to God—”
They’re already pulling him back. Code blue. Hands on chest. Chest compressions. Fast. Hard. Unrelenting.
Buck stumbles into the hallway. Eddie catches him, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with bare hands.
“No—she can’t—she was just here—I FELT HER—”
The sound of the defibrillator charging coils down the hallway.
“Clear!”
He watches the jolt ripple through her.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
No response.
A nurse closes the curtain halfway. Buck screams.
“I NEED TO SEE HER—LET ME SEE HER—”
His knees hit the linoleum before his brain even realizes he’s falling. His hands cover his face, and his voice shatters beneath them.
The wind outside howls against the ICU windows. It moans like it’s grieving too—rattling the panes, pushing against the glass as if trying to crawl inside and hold him. The rain has started. A slow, cold drizzle that runs down the windows in crooked trails like tears.
Buck doesn’t know how long he stays there.
Long enough for his voice to crack.
Long enough for his fingers to go numb.
Long enough to realize that if she dies, so does he.
“She was just here,” he whispers, forehead against the floor. “She was just here.”
———
There’s no pain here.
No beeping. No blood. No wires.
Just… quiet.
Soft, muted quiet—like the whole world’s holding its breath.
You’re standing in a field, barefoot on damp grass. The air is warm and thick with the scent of wildflowers. Lavender. Honeysuckle. Sunlight cuts through tall trees in golden shards. It should feel peaceful. Beautiful, even.
But your chest aches like something important is missing.
Like you forgot to breathe. Like your heart doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be beating anymore.
The wind shifts, and it’s the kind that lifts your hair and brushes your skin so gently it feels like a memory. The breeze smells like home.
And then—
You hear it.
Footsteps.
Familiar. Light.
You turn.
Your breath catches.
“Mom?” you whisper.
She’s walking toward you with that same soft smile she used to wear when she’d wake you up for school with a kiss on your forehead. Her hair is down. She’s barefoot too. And behind her—
“Dad,” you whisper, a sob cracking in your throat.
He’s smiling too. His arms are open.
You run.
You hit them like a wave, arms wrapping around their waists, your body collapsing into theirs like you’re still five years old. Their hands come up, stroking your hair, cradling your head.
“I missed you,” you choke. “God, I missed you—”
“We know, baby,” your mom murmurs. Her voice is exactly the same. Gentle. Sacred. “We missed you too.”
You pull back just enough to look at them, to memorize the lines of their faces again.
“I thought you were gone.”
“We are,” your dad says, softly. “But you’re not.”
You look around the field again, confused.
“Then where am I?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He just gently takes your hand and presses it to your chest.
You feel it.
A thready, slow heartbeat.
Barely there.
“You’re not done fighting,” he says.
Your mom strokes your cheek. Her eyes shine. “He’s waiting for you.”
You flinch.
“Buck—” His name breaks on your lips. “He thinks I’m dead. He was there when I—he heard the monitors—he was right there—”
Tears spill down your face before you realize you’re crying.
“Sweetheart,” your mom whispers, pulling you close again. “He’s breaking. But he hasn’t stopped hoping. Not for a second.”
“I’m scared,” you admit. “I don’t know if I can come back. Everything hurts.”
“You don’t have to be unafraid,” your dad says. “You just have to be willing.”
You grip his hand tighter.
“Do you want to go?” he asks you gently. “Be here—with us?”
The question sits in the air like smoke.
You look between them.
This would be easier. No more pain. No more heartbreak. No more wondering if you’re enough. If you’re too much. If you’ll ever stop falling apart.
But then—
You remember the marsala sauce.
The look on Buck’s face when he begged you to wake up.
The way his voice cracked when he said he was sorry.
And you know.
You’d never forgive yourself if you left him like that.
“I want to stay,” you whisper. “I want to live.”
Your parents smile.
Your mom kisses your forehead.
“Then go, baby.”
“Go back to him,” your dad adds. “He’s waiting.”
———
The flatline doesn’t stop.
It drills into Buck’s skull like a spike — one long, steady note of devastation.
His world narrows into sound:
That alarm.
The hiss of the ventilator disconnecting.
The soft shuffle of the nurse’s footsteps.
And then, silence.
Too quiet.
The kind of quiet that confirms your worst fear.
“No…” Buck breathes. His knees hit the floor beside her bed. “No, please—please don’t do this…”
The ICU nurse checks again. Calm, composed. Doing her job.
“Time of death?” the attending doctor says softly, eyes on the monitor, his voice muted through the ringing in Buck’s ears.
Buck grabs her hand. “No. No! You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to say that! She just moved — I felt her move! You said she was stable!”
The doctor’s face is soft with sympathy but firm with finality. He looks to the nurse and nods.
And then they leave.
They leave him in the room.
Alone.
With her body still and her hand still cooling in his.
The curtain falls back into place.
Outside, down the hall, Eddie stands, eyes locked on the closed doors. Chim’s sitting, head in hands. Hen hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Bobby paces like he’ll wear through the floor.
None of them go in.
Because Buck asked them not to.
He didn’t want anyone to see what he’d become.
⸻
Inside the Room
The wind wails outside. The room is dim, shadows crawling across the floor. Machines buzz faintly.
Buck is still on the floor, forehead pressed to her hand like he could breathe life back into her.
His body shakes. His whole chest convulses.
“I was supposed to come home,” he sobs. “You waited for me… You made dinner for me. You tried, and I couldn’t even text you back.”
His voice is a rasp now — hoarse and shredded, spoken into the dark.
“I was scared,” he whispers. “But not of you. Never of you. I was scared of how much I loved you. Scared I’d lose you if I let you see all the messy shit in my head.”
His thumb strokes over her knuckles.
“But I lost you anyway.”
He presses her hand to his lips, trembling.
“I never said it enough. I didn’t show it enough. I kept thinking there’d be time.”
His breath shudders.
“There was supposed to be more time.”
His voice collapses into a sob, and then another. Deep, aching, guttural. He presses his face into the bed, curls around her hand like a man begging God not to take the only thing keeping him alive.
“I can’t do this without you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to. You hear me? I don’t want to!”
Thunder rolls far off in the distance. The wind picks up. The curtain flutters like breath.
Then—
Something shifts.
Not big. Not loud.
But something.
Buck stills.
Very slowly… he lifts his head.
The monitor that had flatlined — that had drawn the line between life and loss — flickers.
A small sound. Beep.
Then another.
His eyes widen. He scrambles upright, hand flying to her wrist.
“C’mon. C’mon, please…”
The pulse is faint.
But it’s there.
“HEY! NURSE!” Buck bellows, nearly throwing the door open. “SHE’S BACK—SHE’S BACK—SHE HAS A PULSE!”
The nurse rushes in with a code team. The room erupts with motion again, but this time it’s not grief — it’s hope.
They check monitors. Shout orders. Hook her back to the machines.
And Buck is still right there. Hands trembling, tears still falling, eyes locked on her face.
“Come on, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come back to me. You’re almost here.”
She doesn’t open her eyes yet.
But the pulse grows stronger.
Her chest rises more fully with each breath the ventilator gives her.
And her hand?
That fingers-curled hand in his?
It twitches again.
This time, she doesn’t let go.
⸻
Just outside, in the waiting room—
Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting.
He hears Buck’s voice. Yelling.
But not in pain.
In hope.
Then the door bursts open.
Buck’s standing there, soaked in sweat and tears, breathless.
“She’s back,” he gasps. “She’s back.”
And then he’s on the floor again — but this time, Eddie catches him.
Buck falls into his arms like the weight of the world just slipped off his shoulders.
“She came back,” he chokes. “She came back to me.”
And this time, he lets himself cry.
Not for what he lost.
But for what he almost did.
———
One Week Later
The heart monitor beeps steady and slow.
The sky is a soft silver blue outside the window, the faint hum of early traffic drifting through the glass. Rain falls in a thin mist, clinging to the edge of the city like a secret it hasn’t told yet.
Buck hasn’t moved from the chair beside her bed. Not all night. Not since the monitor stopped flatlining and the room filled with the frantic sound of doctors bringing her back.
He’s barely breathed since.
She hasn’t stirred since they stabilized her again.
But now—
Now something shifts.
Her fingers twitch.
Just barely.
Then again.
Buck shoots up like a live wire, eyes wide. “Nurse—hey! Hey—she’s moving!”
The charge nurse is already at the monitor, eyes flying to the numbers. She glances down. Her voice is calm but clipped. “Get respiratory in here. She’s coming out of it.”
Another twitch. Her brows furrow. Her hand tugs weakly at the sheet.
She’s waking up.
“Y/N?” Buck’s voice is shaking. He stands over her now, leaning close, barely breathing. “Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe.”
Her eyes flutter. Her lashes twitch. A low, muffled sound escapes her throat — tight, gagging.
The nurse is already pulling gloves on. “She’s conscious and fighting the tube. We need to extubate—now.”
“Is she in pain?” Buck chokes.
“She’s panicking. Her body’s waking up faster than we planned for.”
Another breath catches in her throat — shallow, panicked.
You’re awake. Almost fully.
And there’s something in your throat you can’t breathe around. Something cold. Foreign. You gag. Panic coils up like fire. Your chest rises too fast. You try to reach, but your arms are heavy, like lead.
But then—
A hand wraps around yours.
Warm. Steady. Familiar.
“Hey, hey,” Buck’s voice breaks at the edges, cracking with both love and fear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. They’re going to take it out, okay? Just hold on. I’m right here.”
You blink.
His face swims into view — blurry at first, but then crystal sharp.
His eyes are shining, wide with tears. His thumb strokes your knuckles.
“I’m right here,” he whispers again. “Don’t be scared.”
Respiratory therapy arrives, fast and focused. The nurse nods to Buck. “You can stay. Just stay to the side and don’t get in the way.”
He nods, gripping your hand tighter.
You gag again. You want it out.
The respiratory therapist leans in. “Y/N, I know it’s scary, but we’re going to take the tube out now. I need you to cough when I say. Do you understand?”
You blink once.
Then again.
Enough to say yes.
“Good girl,” Buck whispers.
The therapist gets in position. “Okay. On three. One… two… cough—”
You do.
You gag, heave—
And the tube slides out in one long, horrible pull.
You gasp.
Buck’s heart breaks in that moment, watching you struggle for that first clean, clear breath. The tears slip from his eyes and land in the sheets.
You cough, hard, your throat raw and burning. Your eyes flood. A nasal cannula is slipped into place, giving you oxygen. You suck in the air like it’s the first breath of your entire life.
And maybe it is.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Buck soothes, brushing the hair back from your damp forehead. “You’re doing so good. I’m right here.”
You squeeze his hand so tight now. Desperate. Real.
The nurse steps back, eyes checking the vitals. “She’s stable. Off the vent. She’s going to be hoarse for a while, but she’s breathing on her own.”
Buck just nods, forehead against your hand.
You’re exhausted, but your eyes don’t leave his. And his — God, his — they don’t stop watching you like you’re the only star in the sky he’s ever wanted to find his way back to.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, lips trembling as he kisses the back of your hand. “I thought you were gone.”
You open your mouth, voice raw.
A croak.
He grabs the water before the nurse can even move. “Here—small sips, okay?”
You take a sip — it burns a little, but the water is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever tasted.
You blink. Tears slipping down your temple now. “You were here?”
“I never left,” Buck breathes. “Not for a second.”
You close your eyes.
The worst part is over.
You’re back.
And he’s here.
———
Your hand is trembling in his. Your throat is scorched raw, but your heart aches louder.
Buck sinks down into the chair, still gripping you like you might disappear again. His free hand presses against his lips for a second, like if he doesn’t hold it there, the emotion will pour out too fast.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry.”
Your lashes flutter, slow and wet, as you turn your head the tiniest bit toward him.
“I didn’t come home,” he says, voice cracking. “You cooked dinner, you waited for me, and I didn’t show up. I didn’t even tell you I took that shift. And then when you came to the station—when you dropped that food off—I just… I froze. I didn’t stop you.”
You try to speak again. Your voice catches.
“Water,” he murmurs, grabbing the cup again.
You sip. The plastic straw feels foreign, but the water is cool and kind. Your next breath is a little easier.
“Evan,” you rasp, throat like sandpaper.
His name on your tongue makes his head drop, shoulders folding in like you knocked the wind out of him.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, barely audible.
“You didn’t scare me,” he says hoarsely. “You wrecked me.”
His eyes find yours again, red and wide.
“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you because I didn’t come home. Because I was too much of a coward to tell you I was scared of being loved that hard.”
Your brows pull together, a tear sliding down your cheek.
He’s already reaching to wipe it away.
“You were trying to fix things,” he says, voice small. “And I made you walk away thinking I didn’t care. That I didn’t love you. And that—that’s the thing that’s been killing me every second since.”
You squeeze his fingers.
“I knew,” you whisper, broken but sure. “I knew you loved me.”
He shakes his head, one tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t show it. Not that night. Not the way you deserved.”
You manage another sip of water.
“You were scared,” you say gently. “I was too.”
Buck presses his forehead to the back of your hand again. You can feel his breath shaking.
“I should’ve answered you that morning,” he murmurs. “When you asked if I was still in it with you. I should’ve said yes. Because I am. I always was.”
Your hand finds the side of his face, weak but determined. He leans into it like he’s been waiting his whole life for your touch.
“Then say it now,” you whisper, voice cracking with everything inside you. “Say it like you mean it.”
He lifts his head slowly.
“I’m in this,” Buck says, like a vow. “With you. All the way. No more running. No more hiding. No more shutting you out.”
You nod, tears slipping freely down your cheeks now.
“I thought…” you breathe, “I wouldn’t get to see your face again.”
He shakes his head, cradling your hand against his heart.
“I would’ve traded mine for yours.”
Silence falls for a moment, but it’s not heavy anymore.
It’s full.
Full of the weight of survival. Of love. Of a second chance neither of you are going to waste.
“You came back to me,” Buck whispers.
“I always will,” you rasp.
His thumb brushes the side of your wrist, just over your pulse, and you both feel it — there. Steady. Alive.
The coffee pot hisses lowly in the background, but you don’t move to pour a cup.
Buck’s standing near the kitchen counter in his uniform pants and undershirt, tugging on his boots like he’s trying to outrun the tension hanging in the air. He hasn’t looked at you once since he walked out of the bedroom. Not while brushing his teeth. Not while grabbing his keys. Not even when you greeted him with a hesitant, quiet, “Morning.”
You’re still in your pajamas, arms crossed tight over your chest, holding your breath like it’ll stop you from saying something you’ll regret.
But he’s the one who speaks first.
“I’m gonna be late,” he mutters.
That’s it. That’s all you get.
Not good morning. Not I’m sorry for last night. Just that distant, flat tone you hate. The one he uses when he’s already halfway out the door, emotionally and physically.
“Then be late,” you bite out before you can stop yourself. “Be late and talk to me.”
Buck freezes with his boot half-laced, finally—finally—lifting his eyes to you.
You expect softness. Regret. Anything.
But his gaze is cold. Exhausted.
“I don’t want to fight with you again.”
“Then stop running away from me every time I try to fix this!” you snap.
The words crack like a whip across the quiet morning, and for a second, he doesn’t move. Just stares.
“You said I make everything harder,” he says finally, his voice quieter, but sharper. “Do you remember that? Last night? When you were mad—you said loving me is exhausting.”
Your mouth opens—closes—opens again. The memory rushes back, half-blurred by tears and frustration. You did say that. Not because you meant it, but because you were hurt. Because you were trying to get him to hurt too.
“Buck…” your voice falters. “I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”
“You didn’t even try to take it back.”
“I—I was upset. You kept shutting me out—”
“I shut down when I’m overwhelmed!” he explodes, and now the room isn’t quiet anymore.
“I know that!” you yell back. “But you shut me out even when I’m just trying to love you! What do you want from me? You want me to give you space? I do. You want me to show up and be patient? I do that too. But you’re never really here, Buck. You’re never fully with me.”
He turns away like he can’t stand to look at you. And somehow, that hurts more than anything he’s said.
“I have a job,” he mutters.
“And I have a heart!” you fire back. “And you’ve been breaking it piece by piece, every time you act like I’m the enemy just because I want more from you than silence!”
He exhales hard, grabs his shirt, and starts pulling it on. “I can’t do this right now. I’m going to work.”
“So that’s it?” you ask, voice cracking. “You’re gonna walk out like everything’s fine?”
“I didn’t say it was fine,” he says over his shoulder. “I just said I have a shift to cover.”
“Right,” you whisper. “Because running into burning buildings is easier than facing me.”
That one makes him stop.
His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides. He turns just enough to look at you—but not close enough to bridge the canyon between you.
“I’ll be back tonight.”
And before you can say anything—before you can tell him you’re sorry, or that you didn’t mean it like that, or please don’t leave like this—the door shuts behind him.
Hard.
And just like that, the morning falls silent again.
But now, it’s worse.
Because that’s the last thing you said to him.
And by tonight… you won’t even know if he’s coming home.
———
The first thing you reach for is the cast iron skillet.
Not because it’s convenient—but because it’s his favorite. You haven’t used it in weeks, and the weight of it in your hands feels heavier than it should. Like it knows this meal has more to carry than just calories.
It’s a little after 7:00 when you start the prep, soft music playing low in the background—some jazz playlist Buck said once reminded him of his mom’s kitchen when he was little. You’re not trying to win him over. You’re trying to reach him. To say with this meal what your mouth failed to this morning.
You’re making chicken marsala, his comfort food. The real kind—not the 20-minute kind with shortcuts and cornstarch and cheap wine. You’re talking browned mushrooms and shallots in butter, reduced marsala with stock, pan-seared chicken cutlets finished in the oven. It takes time. Effort. Intention.
Everything you wish you’d put into the conversation you had with him before he left this morning.
⸻
The chicken is sliced and floured by 7:18.
You take your time with the mushrooms, caramelizing them until they’re deep golden and nutty. You remember the first time you made this for him—he said it tasted better than any restaurant. You laughed, thinking he was exaggerating. Then he kissed your cheek and asked for seconds.
Your eyes sting now as you stir.
You glance at the clock. 7:47.
He has two more hours on shift. He said he’d come home after. You want to believe him.
So you keep cooking like he will.
⸻
By 8:10, the sauce is reducing and the house smells rich and warm. You even took the time to roast baby potatoes with garlic and rosemary and steam green beans the way he likes—still slightly crisp. You set the table for two. His side has the glass of cabernet you know he won’t drink more than two sips of.
You’re wearing one of his old firehouse tees. The one that got too small in the shoulders but he refused to throw out.
And while the chicken rests on a warm plate in the oven, you finally sit down at the counter and let yourself think.
How do I bring it up?
You know he hates conflict. You know he gets overwhelmed fast. You’re not perfect either—you push, you poke, you say things to test if he’ll stay. You don’t want to do that this time.
Maybe I’ll start with: I miss you.
Simple. Honest. Less threatening.
Or maybe: I didn’t mean what I said yesterday.
Because you didn’t. You never meant it. He exhausts you sometimes, yes—but you never meant him. You meant the space between you. The way he shuts down. You just… don’t know how to reach through the wall when it goes up.
The smell of dinner still fills the apartment. Everything’s still warm.
8:57.
You fluff the potatoes with a fork and smile. Almost time.
⸻
9:23.
You open your texts. Nothing. You refresh. Nothing.
You click on his location and see the familiar dot at the station. Still there. Maybe paperwork ran late. Maybe someone needed a minute to talk. You know how it goes.
You pour a glass of wine. Just half.
⸻
9:51.
You go ahead and put his plate in the microwave to keep it warm. Not reheat—just enough so it’s not cold when he walks in. You picture his tired face lighting up when he smells the marsala sauce. You imagine him slipping his arms around your waist from behind, whispering “You made this for me?”
You’ll say yes, and then you’ll apologize first. You’ll say it was a bad morning, and you love him, and you don’t want to keep hurting each other every time things get hard. You’ll say “We’re better than this, right?”
He’ll nod. Kiss your forehead.
It’ll be okay.
⸻
10:37.
You’re pacing now. Your stomach’s tight with something halfway between worry and dread. You check your phone again. Still nothing. You almost call, thumb hovering over his contact—but you stop yourself. You don’t want to seem clingy. He said he was coming home.
He promised.
⸻
11:02.
You call.
Voicemail.
You wait five minutes. Then call again.
Still voicemail.
You open Eddie’s contact. Then Chim’s. You don’t press call, but your thumb hovers. Maybe they’d know. Maybe something’s wrong. Maybe—
Your phone buzzes.
It’s not him.
It’s a text from one of his coworkers:
“Hey Y/N, thank you for being ok with Buck canceling your dinner date tonight, my baby is sick and we’re taking her to the hospital. I really appreciate both of you.”
Your breath leaves your body like a punch to the ribs.
Third shift.
Third.
That means 9pm to 7am.
And he didn’t tell you.
Not a single word.
⸻
The anger doesn’t hit all at once. It builds—slow and hot, like the marsala sauce did earlier, except now you’re burning from the inside out.
He looked you in the eye and told you he’d come home tonight.
He let you wait. Let you hope. Let you believe that maybe he wanted to fix this too. And the whole time, he knew. He knew he wasn’t coming.
You grab the to-go container from the top shelf of the cabinet—the one he uses when he packs leftovers for shift. You fill it with the marsala. The potatoes. Everything.
You don’t care that it’s after 11.
You don’t care that you’re not wearing shoes yet.
You’re going to the firehouse.
You’re going to look him in the eye and ask him why.
——
The firehouse is alive with the usual noise — radios buzzing, boots clacking, men focused on their shift.
You burst through the door, the cold container of chicken marsala digging into your palm. The food’s cold, just like your patience.
Buck’s sitting at the table with Eddie and Chim, playing cards like it’s some damn party and not a damn job.
You don’t hesitate. You throw the container on the table with a slap loud enough to stop the whole room.
“Are you serious right now?” Your voice is sharp, venom dripping from every word.
They all look up, startled. Buck’s face goes tight — but you don’t care.
“You said you were coming home,” you spit, stepping closer, rage burning in your chest. “You looked me in the eye and said, ‘I’ll be home after shift.’ And then you pick up another goddamn shift and don’t even have the decency to tell me?”
His mouth opens, but you cut him off.
“I waited. Two fucking hours—waiting for you to walk through that door. Waiting for you to show up so I could finally fix this damn fight. And all I get is silence.”
You’re shaking now. The fire’s burning so hot it’s almost painful.
“Do you know what it feels like to cook your favorite meal for an hour and a half, spend every second thinking about how to not start another fight—and then find out you didn’t even come home?”
Buck’s jaw clenches. You see the guilt trying to crawl out, but you don’t give a damn.
Before things can get worse, Bobby steps in between you two.
“Y/N, enough,” he says, calm but firm.
You laugh, bitter and loud. “No, Bobby. I’m done. Done pretending I’m not fucking furious. Done waiting on someone who can’t even text me.”
You turn sharply and walk out, leaving the cold food and the broken silence behind.
The street is nearly empty—just you, the hum of the engine, and the boiling silence inside your chest.
You grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. Your pulse is still racing from the firehouse. From him. From the way he sat there laughing, like you hadn’t been home, pacing in the kitchen for hours with a full plate of his favorite food going cold on the counter.
A sob claws its way up your throat but dies before it reaches your mouth.
You’re so caught in your spiraling thoughts, you almost miss the headlights screaming toward you from the side.
Almost.
Too fast.
Your head whips to the left—brakes screeching—but it’s too late.
The other car slams into your passenger side at full speed, a T-bone hit with the force of a missile.
Metal screams. Your body jolts violently as the impact rips through you like lightning. The car spins uncontrollably, tires screeching, glass exploding like gunfire.
Time slows down.
Your head whips forward, then back, as the car spins once—
Twice—
Then slams sideways into a tree with bone-crushing force. The passenger side caves inward, the entire right half of the car crushed like paper.
Your head hits the driver-side window with a crack, blood immediately pooling from your temple. The airbag deploys a second too late to save your ribs from the force. Pain sears through your abdomen—blunt trauma, maybe internal bleeding. You can’t tell.
The door won’t open. Your hands won’t move.
You taste copper.
You can’t scream.
The cold rushes in through shattered glass. Somewhere outside, someone’s shouting.
A pair of headlights flicker in the distance. A car screeches to a halt. Someone runs toward you.
“Oh my God! Call 911! Call 911 now!”
Another voice: “She’s still breathing—barely!”
You’re fading fast.
“Miss? Stay with me! Stay awake—hey, look at me. Look at me!”
A stranger presses on your side. It hurts so badly you nearly black out. The pain is unbearable. But you’re too weak to fight it.
Blood coats your seat. Drips down your wrist. Puddles on the floorboard.
Your car is unrecognizable.
And you? You might be dying.
Somewhere close—only three blocks away—sirens are screaming louder and louder.
The 118 is coming.
So is he.
But you don’t know if you’ll still be awake when he gets there.
——
(Station 118)
“Motor vehicle accident—two vehicles involved. One critical. Location—”
Buck hears the dispatcher say the street name and his body freezes.
He knows that road.
He knows who drives that road home from the firehouse.
“Buck,” Bobby says quickly, already picking up on it, “Don’t jump to—”
But Buck is already running. Helmet in hand. Vest half on. Sprinting to the rig like his life depends on it. Because it does.
The rig tears through the streets. It’s barely been three blocks. That’s how close she was. That’s how stupidly close—
Chim is driving. Eddie’s beside him. Hen’s checking gear.
And Buck is staring out the windshield, praying, pleading, bargaining.
Please don’t let it be her car.
Please don’t let it be her.
Please. Please. Please.
They turn the corner—
And he sees it.
Her car. Or what’s left of it.
A mangled, twisted wreck of metal, glass, and blood. The entire passenger side crushed like a soda can against a tree. Her car is barely recognizable—but Buck knows it. He knows the shape, the color, the dent on the rear left bumper from that time she backed into a post.
He jumps out of the rig before it’s even in park.
“Buck!” Bobby yells. “Wait!”
But he’s already running.
And then—he sees her.
Slumped sideways. Blood all over her. Her face pale. Her eyes half-lidded.
“No—NO—”
He drops to his knees by the driver’s side as Chim and Hen rush in.
“I’ve got no access here!” Hen shouts. “We need to cut her out!”
“Vitals are crashing!” Chim yells.
Buck’s voice shreds open as he pounds on the glass.
“Y/N—HEY—HEY, STAY AWAKE, BABY, STAY AWAKE—”
She flinches faintly. A moan. Barely.
He’s never felt fear like this. Not during the ladder collapse. Not during the tsunami. Not during lightning strikes or bomb threats.
This is worse.
This is her.
Bobby grabs him, yanking him back as they start cutting open the door.
“Let them work, Buck!”
“She’s bleeding out—she’s bleeding—”
“She’s alive,” Eddie says hoarsely, eyes locked on her. “But she won’t be for long if you don’t let them do their job.”
The door peels open.
It takes every ounce of strength Buck has not to fall apart when he sees the blood soaked into her seat, the way she gasps when they touch her abdomen, the deep gash on her temple.
She looks at him—just for a second. Eyes glassy. Barely there.
He reaches for her hand.
“Hey… hey, baby, I’m here. I’m right here, okay?”
Her lips move. He leans in. She’s trying to say his name.
Then her eyes roll back.
The monitors scream.
“She’s coding!” Hen yells.
“Go, go, go!” Chim shouts.
They hoist her out on the board, blood dripping to the pavement, and Buck runs after them—bloody hands shaking, lungs heaving, heart breaking wide open.
As the ambulance doors slam shut, Buck is left on the street, on his knees, shaking and sobbing—
Whispering over and over into the dark,
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
The hospital lights are too bright. Too white. Too sterile.
Too clean for how bloody his hands still are.
Buck hasn’t sat down.
Not once.
He’s pacing—back and forth, back and forth—the soles of his boots leaving faint red smudges on the white floor, reminders of how he held her, how her blood soaked into his skin, his sleeves, his soul.
It’s been twenty-two minutes.
Twenty-two minutes since the double doors swung shut behind the gurney.
Twenty-two minutes since she coded in the back of the rig and Hen fought like hell to bring her back.
“She’s got a pulse!” Hen had shouted.
“Go, go, go!” Chim had banged on the ambulance wall.
They’d barely made it.
Now, she’s in the OR.
“Any update?” he asks the nurse at the desk—again.
She looks up. Same look of sympathy. Same rehearsed, practiced tone.
“She’s still in surgery, Mr. Buckley. The doctor will come out as soon as they can.”
He nods, but it’s barely a movement. His jaw clenches. His hands ball into fists at his sides.
He can still see her face.
How pale she was.
The blood in her hair.
The way she looked at him like she was already slipping away.
And all he can think is: I was supposed to come home. I was supposed to eat dinner with her. I was supposed to say sorry.
Not scream at her.
Not make her feel unwanted.
Not send her home in tears.
His stomach twists as the weight of it crashes down on him. He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out the to-go container.
Her handwriting on top.
“Your favorite. Still warm. I love you.”
He breaks.
Eddie finds him in a chair, head in his hands, the note clutched to his chest. His shoulders shake with every quiet sob.
“She was trying to make things right,” Buck chokes out. “And I—God, I didn’t even give her the chance.”
“Buck,” Eddie says, crouching beside him, voice steady but wrecked, “She’s strong. She’s in there fighting. But you’ve gotta hold it together until she wakes up.”
“If she wakes up.”
Silence.
Then:
“She will.”
Buck sits there, numb and bloodied and broken, staring at the doors like he can will them open.
“Ten more minutes,” he whispers. “I’ll ask again in ten.”
And he will.
Every ten minutes.
Until someone tells him the only thing he wants to hear:
That she made it.
Buck sits hunched over, forearms resting on his knees, fingers twitching against one another like if he stops moving, he’ll come undone.
Eddie sits in the chair next to him, silent, steady, like he always is. He doesn’t ask. He doesn’t prod. He just waits.
And eventually, Buck cracks.
“It started over something stupid,” he says, voice rough. “I don’t even remember what. Something about the way I didn’t respond when she asked if I was okay.”
Eddie glances at him, quiet.
“She asked, and I brushed her off. Said I was tired. Said I had a long shift ahead.” Buck lets out a bitter laugh. “She tried to get me to talk about it, and I shut down. Again.”
Eddie’s silence isn’t empty. It’s full of understanding. Full of memories.
“She said it felt like I only let her in halfway. That sometimes I didn’t even try.”
Buck swallows hard. His voice softens.
“And she wasn’t wrong. She never is when it comes to me.”
He wipes his palm across his mouth, shaking his head.
“I snapped at her, man. She was just trying to talk, to understand, and I told her I didn’t want to do this before work. I told her, ‘we’ll talk tonight.’ Like that was enough.”
“She believed you.” Eddie’s voice is low, even.
Buck nods. His eyes are glassy again.
“She asked me if I was still in this with her. If I was still trying. And I just stood there. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t answer her, Eddie.”
Eddie looks over, eyes dark.
“And then I walked out. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like she didn’t mean anything.”
The words sting coming out. Buck flinches at the truth in his own mouth.
“I was already halfway to the firehouse when I felt it. That regret. That voice in my head screaming at me to turn around. But I didn’t.”
“Why?” Eddie asks, gently.
Buck’s voice is barely a whisper.
“Because it was easier to go to work than it was to tell her I was scared.”
He swallows hard.
“Scared that I don’t know how to be loved like that. That I don’t know how to hold something so good without breaking it.”
Eddie leans back, sighs through his nose.
“You think picking up another shift was gonna keep her from seeing that?”
“I think it made it worse,” Buck whispers. “I think she cooked my favorite meal as an apology. I think she wanted to make it right and I didn’t even give her the chance.”
“You didn’t know she’d show up.”
Buck finally looks over.
“I shouldn’t have had to. She always shows up.”
His jaw tightens, grief crawling up his throat.
“And I didn’t.”
Eddie looks away. Doesn’t speak. Because he was there—when she walked into the station, shaking, eyes red-rimmed, voice raised with fury and heartbreak. He saw the way Buck froze, silent and stunned.
He watched her drop the container on the table, the note taped to the lid.
He heard her voice crack when she said, “I waited for you.”
Buck squeezes his eyes shut now.
“She left like I’d torn her in half. And I let her go. I just let her walk away.”
The waiting room door buzzes open in the distance, but no one comes out. Just a nurse crossing through.
Buck leans forward again, elbows on his knees, hands laced together.
“If she dies…” His voice catches. He swallows thickly. “If she doesn’t wake up, that’s the last thing I ever said to her. That silence. That nothing.”
Eddie’s voice is quiet but certain.
“She’s fighting. You have to believe that.”
“I do.” Buck wipes at his face. “But I also know… if she doesn’t make it, it’s not gonna be the accident that kills me.”
Eddie puts a hand on his shoulder, firm. Steady.
“You’ll get to tell her all of this, Buck. You’ll get to say everything you didn’t. Just hold on.”
Buck nods, jaw clenched.
Another ten minutes pass.
He stands again. Walks to the nurse’s desk.
“Any update?” he asks, voice breaking.
This time, the nurse looks back at him, expression softening—
“The doctor’s coming out now.”
The waiting room had never been quieter. Not even when Bobby had been under the knife. Not even when Chim had coded. Not even when Buck had nearly died himself.
Because this time, it wasn’t him on the table.
It was her.
And he couldn’t do a damn thing.
His palms were still sticky with dried blood.
Her blood.
He’d been pacing when the door opened. The air shifted. He felt it before he heard it.
The soft click of shoes on tile. The rustle of a white coat.
Buck turned.
A doctor. Older. Stern, unreadable face. The kind of look that didn’t tell you anything until it told you everything.
“Evan Buckley?”
Buck took one step forward so fast Eddie reached out, as if ready to catch him.
He stood stiff and cold and trembling like a thread pulled too tight.
The doctor didn’t force it. Just exhaled slowly.
“She was brought in with severe abdominal trauma, a major concussion, and internal bleeding. Her spleen was ruptured. There were signs of blunt force trauma to the ribs, a laceration on the liver, and she had lost significant blood volume on the scene.”
Buck could hear himself breathing. Could feel Eddie standing behind him, but he couldn’t look away.
“The impact was… catastrophic. The passenger side of the vehicle wrapped around the tree. She was partially crushed between the door and the seat.”
Buck closed his eyes. His fault. She shouldn’t have been in that car.
“But,” the doctor said, voice softening just a hair, “she’s alive.”
Buck’s eyes snapped open.
“She’s in critical condition. We were able to stabilize her for now. She’s intubated and on a ventilator. Her vitals are holding, but it’s going to be touch and go for the next 24 hours.”
“Is she awake?” Buck rasped.
“No. We placed her in a medically induced coma to let the brain swelling reduce and give her body time to fight.”
Buck swayed where he stood. Eddie’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades.
“You said she’s stable?” Buck asked, and his voice cracked like a boy’s.
“For now,” the doctor repeated carefully. “There’s no guarantee. Her body is in shock. But she’s young. And she’s strong.”
Buck nodded like his neck was made of splintered glass. “Can I see her?”
The doctor hesitated, then nodded. “Only for a few minutes. Let the nurses get her settled in ICU. Then we’ll bring you back.”
Buck breathed out like he hadn’t in hours.
The doctor started to turn away. Buck stopped him.
“Thank you,” he said, quietly. “For saving her.”
The doctor paused, gave him a look he’d remember for the rest of his life.
“She’s the one who saved herself,” he said. “She held on longer than most could have. Might be something worth holding on for.”
Then he walked away.
Buck stood there. Frozen.
“She’s alive,” he whispered. Like maybe if he said it out loud, it would stay true.
“She’s alive,” he said again, and this time he turned to Eddie, who had tears in his eyes too.
“Yeah,” Eddie said, gripping Buck’s arm. “She’s alive.”
But Buck didn’t feel relief. Not yet.
Because she hadn’t opened her eyes.
Because she hadn’t heard him say sorry.
Because she’d still left thinking he didn’t love her.
And that might be the part that killed him first.
The ICU was too quiet.
No sirens. No radios. No alarms.
Just the slow, soft beep… beep… beep of the heart monitor keeping her alive.
Buck stepped into the room and felt the rest of the world drop away.
She looked so small in the bed. Tubes and wires tangled in her arms, tape at her mouth, bruises blooming purple and red across her temple and shoulder. Her skin was pale, almost waxy. The kind of stillness that didn’t belong to someone like her—someone who laughed with her whole chest, someone who kissed him with all her soul.
The nurse gave him a nod, quietly closed the door behind him.
He took one step, then another. His boots felt too loud against the floor.
“I—” Buck started, then stopped.
His throat was too tight.
“I didn’t think it was real,” he said softly, sinking into the chair by her bedside. “I saw the car, and I—I thought you were gone. I thought I lost you.”
His hand hovered near hers for a second before he finally took it. It was cool, limp, fingers slack.
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “God, I’m so sorry.”
His other hand came up, dragging across his face like he could rub the shame out of his skin.
“You were trying to talk to me, and I shut you down. You made dinner—you made my favorite, and I just… I stayed at the station because I didn’t want to face you. Because I was afraid I’d say something that made you walk away.”
He let out a weak, bitter laugh. “And I said nothing. And you still walked out the door.”
His thumb brushed over her knuckles.
“I never wanted you to think I didn’t love you. That you weren’t enough.” His voice trembled. “You’re everything.”
The machines kept beeping. She didn’t stir.
He leaned closer.
“Please wake up. Just… please. I’ll do anything. I’ll say everything I never said. I’ll tell you every day for the rest of your life how sorry I am, how much I love you, how—how I don’t know how to breathe without you.”
His forehead dropped to the edge of the bed, hand still wrapped around hers.
“I didn’t come home, and now you might never come back to me.”
There was silence for a long moment.
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Barely there.
The ventilator hissed. A monitor blipped.
And then—a twitch.
Her fingers.
They moved.
Buck’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “Hey. Hey—are you—?”
But before he could call for the nurse, the heart monitor spiked.
Buck looks at you, bewildered. You can't blame the guy, really. The two of you had argued this morning over some menial thing and had spent the past few hours giving each other the silent treatment. So you showing up in front of him on the couch saying that, was definitely not expected.
"Sorry?" Buck asks, thinking that maybe the water from his shower was still stuck in his ears.
"It's peak ovulation according to my app. We have to have sex."
"We're mad at each other, though."
"Doesn't matter." You say, walking into the bedroom, shedding your clothes off on your way there.
And well, Buck is just a man, alright? A man who is hopelessly attracted to his wife despite any irritation. So, in a haste to follow behind you, he nearly trips over his own two feet.
"You're impossible." You hiss, in between moans, swivelling your hips and clutching onto Buck's biceps.
"Me?" Buck grunts, gripping your hips as he thrusts up into you. "You're the one who refuses to listen to reason."
"Nothing that comes out of you is reasonable."
None of your words are taken to heart, because the two of you come practically simultaneously just then, Buck's head tipped back and your legs shaking from where they were wrapped around his waist.
You drop onto the mattress next to him, and the two of you are silent for a beat.
"Nothing that comes out of me is reasonable, huh?" Buck asks, with a quirked eyebrow while two of his fingers touch your inner thigh, catching some of your mixed releases before pushing it back into you.
Your lips fight the urge to smile, while your body lights up like a factory fire at Buck's touch. "I said what I said."
As the two of you burst out laughing, Buck notes, "I can't believe we might have made a baby while we were arguing."
"At least he or she will be born out of passion." You joke, but you don't miss the way Buck's gaze softens at your words.
"You've got that right." He says, leaning in to catch your lips with his, before initiating the second out of many, many rounds of the night.
Hiii! I'm obsessed with your fics! Can you write something about Joel and reader being intimate for the first time after reader gives birth to their baby girl? Some sweet and soft love making with lots of praise please! Reader is a little insecure about how her body looks now but Joel reassures her and shows her how much he loves her and missed having her like this
Always yours
Pairing: dad!Joel Miller x wife!reader
Summary: You doubt your changed body after birth, but Joel’s love and praise bring comfort during a quiet, tender night.
Warnings: established relationship, insecurities, postpartum body, soft smut, explicit sexual content (+18), unprotected sex, p in v sex, Joel reassuring reader, softness
The house is quiet — the kind of quiet that only comes in that sacred window after the baby’s been fed and rocked to sleep, her little body curled up in the crib just a room away. You’re still surprised by how tender that silence feels now, how different the world seems in these slow, dim hours. Joel had insisted on taking over the late-night rocking tonight, letting you rest your back and hips, still aching with the memory of what they’d done weeks ago to bring your little girl into the world. But now, he's standing in the bedroom doorway, watching you with that gaze that you’ve known for years — a gaze that once held hunger, then reverence, then the stunned awe of watching you become a mother. And now… now it’s something else. Something softer. Something deeper.
You’re wearing one of his old t-shirts, stretched a little over your chest now, the hem grazing the tops of your thighs. It’s nothing new, not really — you’ve always stolen his clothes. But you tug at the hem like you’re trying to disappear into it. Your body doesn’t feel like your own these days. It’s not just the way you look, but how foreign it still feels under your skin. Joel’s seen all of it — the stretch marks that snake across your belly, the way your hips have widened, the curve of your breasts heavy and full — but even now, even with all the love in his eyes, you feel raw. Fragile. Not quite beautiful.
He steps closer.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, voice low and rough with that worn tenderness he’s only ever used with you.
You nod, even though you're not sure what to say. Your hands are folded in your lap, and you don’t meet his eyes.
Joel doesn’t push. He kneels in front of you instead, warm palms sliding up your thighs, coaxing them apart so he can fit between them. His fingers squeeze just a little at your soft flesh, as if to remind you how much he’s missed touching you like this — not carefully, not clinically, but lovingly. He leans forward and kisses the inside of your knee. Then the other. Then a slow, reverent path up your thigh.
Your breath stutters.
“I missed you,” he says quietly. “Missed this. Missed us.”
A part of you wants to cry — not from sadness, not exactly, but because of the overwhelming way he looks at you. Like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. Like nothing has changed. Like you’re still everything to him.
“I don’t…” You swallow hard. “I don’t look the same. I feel like a stranger in my skin, Joel.”
His brow furrows, hands cupping your hips now, thumbs pressing into the soft curve of your waist.
“You look like the woman who gave me our daughter,” he murmurs. “You look like the woman I love. Always have, always will.”
When he leans in and kisses your belly — stretch marks and all — you shiver. Not from discomfort. From how gentle it is. From how right it feels to be touched like that again.
“Can I show you?” he asks, lips brushing your skin. “Can I remind you how fuckin’ beautiful you are?”
You nod — not because you’re suddenly confident, but because the way he’s looking at you makes you want to believe it. Because Joel’s hands, his mouth, his words — they’ve always been a place of safety.
He helps you onto your back, slowly, carefully. His hands are warm as they glide under your shirt, lifting the fabric inch by inch until it’s over your head. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t rush. He takes his time admiring every curve, every mark, every change.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes. “Look at you, sweetheart…”
You try to cover your stomach instinctively, but he catches your wrists, bringing them to his mouth, kissing the insides slowly.
“No hidin’ from me,” he says. “Not after what your body did. Not when you carried our baby, gave her to me. I’ve never loved you more.”
When he leans down and kisses your breasts — not hurried, not greedy, just aching with love — you exhale a shaky breath. He strokes your sides, your hips, your thighs, pausing to press kisses to each one. It’s not lust, not entirely. It’s devotion. Worship. The quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken to be felt.
Joel undresses slowly, watching your eyes the entire time, as if giving you space to decide if you still want this. Still want him. And of course you do. He’s your home. Your heart.
When he finally settles over you, bare skin to bare skin, the weight of him feels grounding, safe. His forehead touches yours. His nose brushes against your cheek. His hand cups the side of your face, thumb sweeping just under your eye.
“You sure?” he whispers.
“Yes,” you breathe, and you mean it.
He kisses you then — long, slow, deep. Like he’s been waiting months for this kiss. Like he’s trying to pour every word he couldn’t say into it. His body presses into yours gently, and you feel how hard he is already, how much he’s been aching for this too.
When he finally sinks into you, you both gasp.
He goes slow — painfully slow — eyes locked on yours the entire time. He watches every reaction, every breath, every flutter of your lashes. He’s being so careful, so present, as if afraid to overwhelm you. His hand is at your waist, fingers spread wide over your soft skin, anchoring himself to you.
“You feel so good,” he groans. “So goddamn good, baby…”
You arch toward him instinctively, the stretch just enough to make you feel full, claimed, wanted.
His pace is slow and tender, every movement a whisper of love against your body. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your temple. He tells you how beautiful you are, how proud he is, how he’s never wanted anything more than to be inside you again.
“I missed this. Missed you,” he murmurs into your skin. “You’re so soft, so fuckin’ warm… you feel like home, baby.”
You let out a soft whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing all of him — not just physically, but emotionally. You need to feel that he still wants you like this. That he still loves you like this.
Joel reads you easily, always has. He shifts his weight to one elbow, his free hand cupping your cheek again, thumb brushing tenderly over your lips.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, barely audible. “Every inch of you. This body… this heart… all of it’s mine. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showin’ you how much I love it.”
Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Not from pain. From joy. From the slow, patient rhythm of his body moving with yours, from the way he’s holding you like you might shatter, even while he’s putting you back together.
When he finally brings you to the edge, it’s with a quiet intensity — his voice low in your ear, telling you how perfect you feel, how proud he is of you, how beautiful you are like this. He follows soon after, holding your face as he spills inside you with a groan that sounds like relief. Like worship.
Afterward, he doesn’t move for a long time. He stays inside you, his body covering yours, lips pressed to your hair. His hand strokes your side gently, palm wide and warm over the stretch of skin that once held your daughter.
“I love you,” he whispers. “More than I’ve ever loved anything.”
The last ripple of your shared breath fades, and the room holds the warmth of Joel’s body still pressed gently against yours. His heartbeat thunders a steady, grounding rhythm beneath your cheek, syncing with your own as if to remind you that you’re not alone. For a few precious minutes, the world outside this room ceases to exist — there’s only the two of you, tangled in skin and soft whispers, the unspoken truth of your love wrapping around you like a shield.
Your fingers find his, curling around the rough planes of his hand, holding tight to that solid reassurance. You want to freeze this moment forever: his tired eyes filled with nothing but love and wonder, the way his breath catches softly when he traces the scars on your skin with his thumb, the gentle way his lips keep finding yours, slow and reverent.
Then, just as the silence begins to settle, a small, fragile cry pierces the air — a sound so tender it makes your heart twist in an ache you didn’t know you still had. It’s the unmistakable call of your daughter waking, her voice small but urgent.
Joel stirs immediately. His eyes open wide, alert and fierce with protectiveness. He shifts carefully, pulling his body away from yours but never losing contact completely — his hand sliding down your waist to brush your skin one last time, a silent promise that he’s still here, still yours.
“I got her,” he says softly, his voice low but steady, a quiet anchor in the night.
You watch as he rises from the bed, pulling back up his jeans, moving with the practiced ease of a man who’s been through this before but still cherishes every moment. The dim light catches the lines of his face — the softness in his eyes that only you have ever truly seen, the way his jaw tightens slightly as he prepares to soothe your baby back to sleep.
Your body still aches from the recent hours, the tender bruising of childbirth and sleepless nights, but you push yourself up onto your elbows, wanting to be near, to be part of this quiet ritual. The soft rustle of blankets follows him out of the bedroom as he walks to the nursery just down the hall.
You hear the faint creak of the rocking chair, the soothing cadence of his voice as he croons gentle nonsense to your daughter — a melody only the two of them share. Your heart swells watching from the doorway in his shirt, the sight of Joel’s strong arms cradling your tiny girl like she weighs nothing but everything to him.
He glances back at you over his shoulder, a small smile curving his lips, eyes still shimmering with that same fierce love. “She’s okay, baby. I’ve got her.”
The sound of your daughter settling back into peaceful sleep wraps around you like a balm. You step forward, your legs still shaky, and Joel meets you halfway, pulling you into his arms again. This time, his embrace is gentle but grounding, the kind of hold that says, You’re safe. We’re safe.
He kisses the top of your head, slow and deliberate, pressing his cheek against yours as if memorizing the softness there. You close your eyes, the ache in your body momentarily forgotten beneath the weight of his presence.
“You did amazing,” Joel whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Goddamn amazing.”
You want to believe him. You want to believe that these stretch marks, this softness in your curves, the way your body feels unfamiliar—are all still part of the woman he loves so fiercely. But sometimes the insecurities slip in, quiet and sharp.
“I’m scared,” you admit, voice trembling just enough that he pulls back to look at you properly.
“About what?” he asks, brows knitting in concern.
“About… this,” you say, motioning to your body, the one that carried your daughter. “I’m scared you don’t want me like this.”
Joel’s hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking slowly as if erasing doubt with each movement.
“You’re still you,” he says simply, and it’s enough to make your breath catch. “More than that—you’re the woman who gave me everything I’ve ever wanted. This body—every line, every mark—it tells the story of us. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss just below your temple, then trailing down to your neck, his lips hot and slow. You feel him smile against your skin, the roughness of his beard sending a shiver through you.
“I missed this,” he murmurs between kisses. “Missed how you feel. How you smell. How your skin tastes. You’re beautiful, baby. You always have been.”
His hands glide down your sides, gathering you close again. You sigh, melting into the comfort of him, the undeniable truth in his words easing the knot of anxiety in your chest.
Joel’s lips find yours once more, slower now, deeper — a quiet affirmation that you’re still the centre of his world. His body presses against yours with a gentle hunger, a need tempered by patience. He moves with such care, as if worshiping the new contours of you, reminding you with every touch and every kiss that your worth has only grown.
When he slides inside you again, the warmth of him fills you, grounding you in the moment — in the love that’s still so fierce, so raw, so beautifully unbreakable. His hands never leave you, never once making you doubt that this is where you belong: wrapped in his arms, cherished beyond words.
The night stretches on, and though your daughter sleeps just a room away, the quiet intimacy you share with Joel feels like a secret haven—one where your fears can fall away and only love remains.
A/N: i'm so sorry his took a while to write, i got really into bridgeton and binged the whole thing so my mind was on that. also, i felt like lady whistledown while finishing this LOL. anyway, enjoy<3
warnings: none, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
He likes some PDA, but will tone it down most of the time, opting to have his arm around you or steal quick kisses when attention isn't on you. At home, however, he is ON YOU, as touch is the easiest way for him to show affection. He wants to have you as close to him as possible, with his hands all over you. I think words of affirmation are also important for him to receive, so he loves hearing you tell him how much you love and appreciate him.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
He can become friends with anyone at any time. He is a yapper. And with all his random facts in the back of his brain I think he can find common ground with just about anyone. If on the odd chance he doesn't, he's more than happy to listen and learn. As a friend, there is nothing he wouldn't do to keep you safe and happy. He would make sure to check in all the time and would be happy to do favours, anytime you need. I think in a best friend he needs someone to have serious conversations with, but also have fun with. He loves to have a friend he can truly open up to about his childhood or anything he's feeling, and of course will listen to you in return.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
CUDDLER ALERT!!! BIG MAN BABY ALERT!!!!! He loves physical touch, so cuddling is one of his favourite ways of showing affection. He would cuddle with you in any place and any position but there's something about being little spoon that hits so hard, especially after a long day at work. He also loves laying on his back with your head on his chest and vice versa so he can lay on your tits<3
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
This man owns a fucking APRON!! He is in his element in a domestic little scenario. He wants nothing more than to start a loving family and create a safe place with his partner. He definitely likes cooking more than cleaning, but he's fair, and will divide cooking and household chores pretty evenly.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
He's been to therapy, and we've all seen how his other relationships have ended. He now knows the importance of communication, so I think there would be a lead up to a break up. He wants nothing more than to work it out with you, trying to talk out the issues, but if there was no plausible solution, he would sit you down and have an honest, but respectful conversation about it.
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
He wants to be married so bad!!! He can't wait to find the right person to settle down with. He loves seeing all the happy couples he works with, and he can't wait to add someone to the 118 fam. I think the timeline could go two ways, he's pretty impulsive, so I could definitely see him proposing within a year of dating (if everything is going exceptionally smoothly). The other way it could go is him waiting like, a weirdly long time. He's a bit nervous about you saying no, so he holds off (even though he imagines you with a ring on your finger very often), but one day just kinda blurts it out. Maybe you're laying in bed, talking and giggling and he's just filled with an uncontrollable joy, and he just has to speak his mind. After he says it he kinda freezes, looking at you nervously before you of course say yes and he's basically jumping for joy, hugging you and kissing all over your face and pulling the ring out of his closet that he bought but was too nervous to present to you in the traditional way lol.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
He's pretty gentle overall, both physically and emotionally. He's seen how he who shall not be named has affected Maddie and would never do anything to make someone afraid of him in that way (either a partner or a friend). He loves giving you soft touches, loving how you shiver as his fingers trail down your arms, your chest, your soft stomach, your plush thighs. He's also a man who has been to therapy, so he might be a little impulsive, but he has a lot of emotional intelligence, and always tries to ground himself and be as gentle as possible in any situation when it comes to people he cares about.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
King of hugs, truly. He LOVES them. It's a nice way for him to show how much he cares, and how much he loves you, so expect them often. If you're not one for physical touch, he understands, but sometimes he just can't help himself. Sometimes he needs a good hug to calm him down, or during the odd time that he has no words, he tries to put all his emotions into a hug. He's a bear hugger, he loves feeling your arms around him, your chest and soft belly pressing against him. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you in as close as you can possibly get, resting his cheek on the top of your head. When he's really happy, his arms are going around your waist, lifting you up off the ground as you protest, fighting out a "put me down" through giggles, but still hugging him back. He will hear none of your protests, of course. Have you seen his arms? He works out. "Of course I can lift you, pretty girl"
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
I think he waits a while to say it. He's been in his fair share of relationships and is a little weary of people leaving, so I think saying I love you could be something that he's a little hesitant to say early. Once he does, however, it's coming out of his mouth about 30 more times before the day ends. Before he says it, there's plenty of other ways he says it without actually saying the words. "Text me when you get home." "Did you eat today?" "Here, let me help you with that." That sort of thing. To him, words of affirmation are important, he likes to hear how things are going, so him saying I love you is just his way of ensuring that he's in it all the way.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
Ok, I know what you're going to say, "but what about 7x04???" I know, but I think those were slightly different circumstances. I think before he gets into a relationship, and he knows that you only want him, he can get very jealous. If he sees someone getting a little too close to you, it takes everything in him not to physically get in between you and the person you're talking to (even though he sometimes will discreetly, brushing it off as him wanting to tell you something or show you something). He's scared that you'll choose someone else instead and leave him. He'll hang out with you more, asking more and more about this new person in your life, making sure that they don't have a better chance to get with you than he does.
If you are dating, however, I think he really tones it down on the jealousy. Instead of worrying about other people, he shows you how much he cares about you. If he really feels jealous, I think he may bring it up to you, as he's learned the importance of communication, and will try to come up with a fair way to solve this problem. He doesn't expect you to not talk to this person anymore, he more just needs to hear that you want him, not the other person, and that you are happy in your relationship.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
I could actually write 100,000 words about this I think, but I'll keep it short(ish). This man THRIVES on kisses, if you think he loves hugging, good lord you're in for it. He puts so much emotion into his kisses, if it's not just a peck, and you're not expecting it, it'll leave your head spinning. He'll give you quick pecks all the time, but sometimes he can't help but wrap his arms around you and give you a long passionate kiss. Once he pulls away he'll kiss your face all over, loving how you laugh softly. He also loves giving you kisses on the top of your head when he hugs you, just letting you know that he's there and he loves you. His favourite, however, are neck and jaw kisses, both giving and receiving. He loves how you tilt your head back, sighing softly as he kisses you, melting against his touch. He also loves feeling your lips on him, squeezing your waist tighter as you kiss him, feeling so loved and cared for in that moment. Be warned though, if you kiss that man's jaw, he has no choice but to jump on you.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
Dear god he loves kids so much, we've all seen how he is with Jee, the baby from episode one, and that little girl stuck in the claw machine. He's full of energy anyway, so he loves running around with them, colouring with them, watching their silly little shows and singing with them. I also believe this man is a girl dad, and you WILL catch him wearing a tutu and a little princess crown on his head, looking comically large with a little teacup in his hand (with freshly painted bright pink nails, his pinky out, obviously) and sitting uncomfortably at his daughters teeny little table.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
If neither of you work, you take the opportunity to spend some extra time in bed, slowly waking up together as Buck has practically wrapped himself around you. When you finally drag yourselves out of bed, you go downstairs to make some coffee. If you're feeling fancy you'll make some waffles with strawberries and blueberries, but most of the time it's eggs or frozen waffles lol. You spend the morning quietly, just enjoying each other's company before getting on with your day, using it as a time of relaxing and being close to each other.
On days where one or both of you works, you'll still stay in bed for a few minutes, happily pressed against each other before you finally have to get ready for the day. You'll mostly spend your time separately as you get ready, whoever has more time that morning will brew the coffee and bring up that and something quick for breakfast to the other, with a soft kiss as a thank you. While you spend your mornings doing your own things to get ready, they're still full of touching and kissing as either of you pass each other, still wanting to spend some time together before you leave for the day.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
Buck loves cooking, so on nights where you both are home he'll cook a nice meal for you, sometimes letting you help. After dinner you'll both get into your comfy clothes, ready to spend the night winding down. We all know Buck loves learning new things, and has an unending amount of fun facts up his sleeve, so he loves to curl up on the couch with you and watch shows about his current hyper fixation.
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
I think he'll reveal things slowly to you. He's not necessarily hiding it, he just brings it up as it comes up naturally in conversation. I think he also tends to reveal the more traumatic things about himself randomly, leaving you looking at him with your jaw dropped, unsure of what to say. He looks at you sheepishly, shrugging softly as you regain your composure, pulling him in for a hug/kiss before you let him explain, if he wishes to.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
I think with you he has a lot of patience, but it also depends on what exactly it's about. If it's about your wellbeing he would definitely get upset quickly if you were brushing off your wellbeing in favour of work/other people/etc, but I think a lot of the time he tries not to get too worked up. Communication is very important to him, so rather than getting upset over small things, he chooses to have an in depth conversation about anything you may disagree about.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
He remembers a lot about you. It's like memorizing the silly topics he researches. He wants to know everything there is to know about you. He remembers a lot of little things, like your favourite flowers, or how you hate when people chew with their mouth open. He also knows you though, so a lot of the time, if he can't really remember something, he knows you well enough to take a guess and be mostly right. Your favourite snack slips his mind when he's getting groceries? He knows if you usually reach for sweet or salty, and he knows generally what you like, so if he had to guess, it would be one of your favourite snacks, at least.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
His favourite memory is the first time you spent the night at his place. When you woke up in his arms you looked so happy, eyes still full of sleep and hair a bit of a mess, but he thought you looked so pretty. You stayed in bed for a while, content in just being close to each other, exchanging soft kisses and giggles, before you got up. He wanted to show off his cooking skills, so he made your favourite breakfast, and you looked so happy at his kitchen table, like you belonged. He also noticed how you were a little bit surprised by his actions, not used to this treatment from other men from your past, and he vowed that he was gonna treat you so well that you would forget all about the way you've been treated by your exes.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
He is extremely protective of everyone in his life. If he had to choose to put himself into a dangerous situation versus you, he would choose himself in a heartbeat. I think in situations that are less life or death, he'd still be very protective, not wanting anything to happen to you. I don't think he'd be protective in an overbearing way, but he would want to make sure that you weren't in any kind of danger that he could've prevented.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
He puts in SO MUCH EFFORT!!! I don't think he puts in a ton of effort for every single date, sometimes just opting for a nice night in or something more lowkey, but if he wants to, he will do anything to make you feel special. I think he puts in a lot of effort into most aspects of a relationship: gift giving, communication, etc.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
Sometimes, when he's trying to get one of Bobby's recipes right, and he's feeling a little frustrated about it, he'll flop down on the couch instead of cleaning up the kitchen. You walk into the house, eyes falling on the dishes and food all over the counters, looking over at Buck, who smiles innocently. He comes over to you, wrapping his arms around you as he kisses you softly, which works in trying to get your mind off of it. He knows the disastrous kitchen drives you crazy, and he will get to it eventually, but sometimes he doesn't wanna get to it right away.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
He puts in a fair amount of effort. He clearly works out, and enjoys being in as good a shape as he can be, but he also takes the time to look put together when he's in public. At home he cares less about looking perfect, but he still cares.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
This man YEARNS for a partner that he can experience life with. I think when he meets the right person he will definitely feel like a weight is lifted off his shoulders, realizing how good sharing a life with you is. While he does think it's important for you two to have lives outside of the relationship (your own friends and hobbies), he loves to have someone to come home to at the end of the day and know that he has someone rooting for him and vice versa. While he doesn’t necessarily feel incomplete without a relationship, he definitely thinks you bring out a side of him that he likes.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
HEAR ME OUT!
This man LOVES to be pampered!!! If you ever wanna have a little spa night with him, he is agreeing so fast. He'll let you wash his hair while you take a shower, he'll sit there while you put a face mask on him, and then he'll lay there while you massage his back, and he'll of course return the favour. He eats up all the attention you give him, and he loves how refreshed he feels after your little spa night. He'll feel so relaxed and would have the best sleep of his life with you wrapped in his arms after.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
I feel like he hates it when people are late. The odd time, fine. He can’t blame you if you lose track of time or run into traffic. But if someone is consistently late, he can’t help but get that feeling that it’s because they don’t wanna be there, or that they don’t care about him. In his words, he is always the one that watches others leave, and being late makes him feel a little bit like someone leaving him.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
We all know this man SNORES, which you were surprised about at first. How can this peaceful looking little guy be so goddamn loud?? It takes a while to get used to, but after a while, it becomes a little comforting. On nights that he's not sleeping beside you, it feels a little too quiet. He's also a big cuddle bug, he loves feeling you pressed up against him when he goes to sleep, knowing you're so close to him. If he woke up in the middle of the night and had somehow gotten out of his grip he'd be moving over beside you, draping an arm over your soft tummy before passing back out again.
notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33
characters: evan 'buck' buckley, nash!reader, bobby nash, athena grant
warnings: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR 8.15, mentions of religion, blood, panic attack, nightmare, major character death, xreader (this is how i'm coping okay?), i'm delulu and gonna feed my fellow fandom siblings delusions, if i missed any please let me know!
word count: ~2.1k
a/n: as mentioned in the warnings, this contains spoilers for episode 15 so please if you don't want spoilers don't read. i wrote this simply because is how i'm choosing to cope until the next episode airs. i hope everyone out there is doing okay (in a general sense, i know so many of us are fucking mad). i hope this can help feed delusions or just maybe bring comfort.
summary: being separated from your team, your family, is hard enough... add in a deadly super virus and cctv cameras to give you a perfect view of them, and it's going to haunt you in ways you may never expect
Your fingers dug into Buck’s turn out. Your shaking and gasping cries merged with his screams, desperate prayers vibrating against his arm.
His throat hurt. It was raw and felt like it was bleeding, a metallic taste building up on his tongue. But he couldn’t bring himself to care.
This couldn’t be it. This can’t be happening. Bobby’s not supposed to die.
No! No… Bobby was fine. He had been right behind Buck as they were leaving. He made it out.
He was walking and talking, barking out orders like it was breathing.
Bobby was breathing.
Now… Now he was what?
Now he was pacing around a room, alone. Professing his love to Athena and pleading with her to believe he didn’t want this. He was using every ounce of his strength to fight away any doubt in her heart. He was apologizing. Buck could still hear how he apologized to you as you were drug away from your attempts to pry the door open.
Now he was crawling on the floor, his organs beginning to fail as he coughed up blood – red splatters decorating the ash covered floor. He was sweating, body feverish as his immune system kept trying to save him.
But nothing can save him…
Now he’s dying. Praying on his knees until blood filled his mouth like a fatal elixir, a final communion. Blood was coating his tongue and teeth, staining his lips crimson as his head fell to the table and his chest slowed to a stop.
Now he was in a body bag… and Buck-
– jolted awake, a raw cry straining his vocal cords as he gripped the duvet in his lap.
“Buck? Buck! Evan!” He knew that voice – that soft, gentle voice. “Hey, hey, baby it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe.”
Gentle and warm hands cradled his face, tilting it up as thumbs wiped the tears away. He can barely make out anything through the tears and the panic scrambling his brain.
But those eyes… He knows those eyes. They’re safe. They’re home.
They’re you.
His entire body was shaking. Sweat dripped down his back, leaving goosebumps as the AC cooled his hot skin. Tears shone on his face in the dim lamplight, more spilling over his lash line to pool on your thumbs. His chest ached, it felt like he was trying suck in air from an empty oxygen tank.
“Breathe, Ev’. Breathe for me.”
He hit his chest to communicate that he was trying. Each gulp of air wheezed into his windpipe, barely giving him enough to speak. “I-I can’t…”
You nodded, moving his arms around you and pressing his hands flat against your back. “You can. You just gotta follow me, baby.”
He tried, he really tried. But his chest felt too tight, air snagged in his throat, scraping along what felt like open wounds lining his esophagus. All before getting forced out in broken, strangled sobs.
You only smiled softly at him, the expression warm and encouraging. Your thumbs brushed his cheeks gently, being careful not to rub his cheeks raw as your exhales cooled them. His hands were desperate and hard on your back, gripping at your sleep shirt as he tried to follow your breathing.
Neither of you knew how long it took before his chest expanded fully again. A full breath of air, accented by the scent of your shampoo, filled his lungs. He swallowed, nodding against you as he began to calm down.
You tilted your head, the movement small as you pushed his curl back from his damp forehead. There was no doubt this panic attack was the result of a nightmare. They weren’t uncommon in this line of work, but only a few brought on panic attacks.
Your hand rested at the back of his head, the other gently resting on the side of his neck. “What happened, Buck? What did you see?”
The question made his throat cinch up again, fresh waves of tears falling down his cheeks. He opened his mouth and the words tumbled out in broken, sob-ridden babbles.
You gently shushed him after a few moments, soothing the ache with the tender caress of your hands carding through his hair. His tears are hot against your skin as you tilted his chin up with your thumb. “Sweetheart, I need you to slow down.”
You weren’t upset with him, or frustrated in the slightest. If anything… you were scared and just wanted to help.
Buck swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to control himself. You pressed your lips to his head and gently rocked you both. It was a little awkward in this position, but all you cared about was making sure he was okay.
You pulled back to look at him, your hand moving back to his cheek to brush away the tears.
His eyes remained downcast, staring at where your knees pressed into his thighs. He gripped your shirt again as a soft cry fell from his lips.
“The lab…”
He felt you tense at the words. Your hands paused in their movements just long enough for him to catch it before you went right back to soothing him.
A pang of guilt hit deep in his heart.
“We-we had just got Hen and Chimney out, and everything was fine. But as I turned to Cap… he-” Buck bit his quivering lip, his eyes remaining fixated on your point of contact, not wanting to see the heartbreak in your eyes as he told you again what had happened in the damned lab. He hated to make you relive it, relive probably the worst day of your life. He wanted to take it back, take all of it back… but he kept going, knowing you wouldn’t just let him go back to sleep.
“He locked himself in… the hose line to his tank was torn in the explosion, he had been sick the whole time and no one knew. He sacrificed himself for Chimney… he’s gone.”
His voice cracked, sobs sending his trembling frame into your lap. Apologies tumbled past his lips and rumbled against your sternum.
Your heart broke, frame rattling with the devastating cries of your boyfriend. You planted kisses on his head and rubbed his back. “Oh Evan, honey… it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! He’s gone!” He pulled back swiftly, nearly headbutting you in the process. “Nothing is okay! How will it ever be okay?”
You held his face, fingers gently curling around his jaw to get him to look at you. “Baby, that was just a nightmare. He’s okay. He’s with Athena at their temporary apartment.”
Buck’s eyes met yours, his crystal blue eyes surrounded by red as his brow furrowed in confusion. “W-what? That-that’s impossible there was only one cure and we used that on Chimney. Bobby couldn’t have…” He trailed off, his voice giving way as he looked at you with pure desperation to understand.
Your thumbs rubbed under his eyes, tracing comforting crescents there. You couldn’t help the tears that stung your own eyes or how your lip quivered as you shook your head. “Baby, dad’s line was never compromised. His equipment was intact. He’s okay, I promise you.”
“But-”
You shushed him gently, adjusting how you were sitting to hold him. “I know… I know it felt real. Dreams like that always do. And it’s wild how, despite knowing the truth, your brain can twist reality so intricately that you wake up wondering which is which. Scared that the good life was the dream and the nightmare is your life…”
Buck sniffled, a small sound escaping his lips. His head was throbbing, pulsing alongside his heart as it crossed wires and memories. He was half-awake trying to make it all make sense.
“C’mon,” you said softly, sniffling as you kissed his damp forehead. You slipped out of the bed, grabbing Buck’s zip-up hoodie before pulling him to his feet. “Put this on and find your shoes.”
“Honey-”
“We’re going over there, right now.”
Your words held a sense of authority, leaving no room for argument or questioning. Not that Buck needed to question you, he trusted you more than he trusted anyone.
The drive across town was a blur. Street lights and business signs merged together, nothing but bright neon streaks that went by too fast for anyone to process properly.
Buck was fighting to stay awake, to pull himself out of his dream fog and focus. He felt stuck, constantly trying to decipher dream from reality.
A gentle squeeze to his hand felt like he was sucked back into his body. Everything around him clears, all becoming separate entities rather than a multi-colored blob. He could hear the low hum of the radio, the ambient sounds filling the space of the car in substitute of his voice.
Your lips brushed his knuckles as you reached across your body to put the car in park. “We’re here.” You could feel his hand trembling in yours just before you let go to exit the car.
He quickly got out after you, rounding the car and reaching for your hand again.
He needed it. He needed to be grounded.
You both walked in, nodding to the doorman as you walked right past him to the elevator.
After you got in and pressed the button you turned to Buck. He was bouncing on his toes, his unoccupied hand restless at his side.
“Baby, c’mere,” you said softly, tugging on his hand before wrapping your arms around him in a proper hug.
He immediately returned it, his arms pinning you to his chest desperately.
His voice was raspy as he spoke. “I’m so scared…”
“I know, Ev’... I know. But I promise, he’s okay. You’ll see for yourself soon, I swear it.”
The elevator slowed to a stop and you pulled apart as the doors opened. You took his hand again, gripping it tightly as you walked down the hall to your parents door.
Your knuckles rapped on the door in a rhythm that would signal to whoever was awake that it was you. Buck brought the concept up to Bobby back when you both began dating. It was just a silly little thing you did as a family, nothing serious.
But the sound of it made Buck’s stomach sink with anxiety.
What if Bobby would never hear that again? What if Buck would never hear Bobby knock like that again?
What if-
“Y/n? Buck?”
You smiled at Athena softly, a hint of an apology in it. “Hi, Athena…”
She wrapped her robe around her, yawning as she ushered you both inside. “It’s two in the morning, baby, what’re you doing here? Is everything okay?”
Her voice was laced with sleep and you almost felt bad for waking her up but there was a glass of water on the counter. She had been awake for a few minutes when you knocked.
Buck wiped at his eyes with his free hand as he squeezed yours.
You returned the gesture, rubbing your own eyes as you spoke.
“We umm… we need-”
“Bobby…” Buck’s frayed voice rattled through the kitchen, his shoulders dropping as if the strings keeping him so tense had been cut.
You and Athena looked up to see your dad walk out of the bedroom, stretching as he walked into the kitchen.
“Buck? Y/n? What’s going on? Everything okay?” He was slowly coming around to the idea of being awake at such an ungodly hour as he noticed the look on Buck’s face.
“Buck? What’s wrong?”
Without saying anything, Buck launched his 6’2” frame at your dad, curling into him like a child. He pressed his face into Bobby’s shoulder, crying in relief.
You noticed Athena glance at you from the corner of your eye as Bobby looked at you, hoping for an explanation.
You swallowed, arms wrapping around yourself as you leaned against the counter. “A nightmare… about the lab incident.”
Bobby gripped Buck tighter, realizing that being the only one not stuck in there must have taken a bigger toll on Buck than he thought.
Athena rubbed your arm, extending a comforting hand to you. Seeing Buck reacting so viscerally like this had to be affecting you too, she wanted you to know that you weren’t alone.
You smiled at her appreciatively, resting your head on her shoulder as Buck pulled back from the hug.
“It-it felt so real… you died, Bobby. I-I thought we lost you.”
A deep frown pulled at your dad’s lips, his brow creasing as he gripped Buck’s shoulders.
“It was just a dream, son,” he said, pulling Buck back into a hug. “Everyone made it out. Everyone’s okay. I’m okay, and I don’t plan on changing that anytime soon.”
a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope this could bring some comfort in, it was a huge comfort to write, and that it can hold you over until may 1...
and thank you to @startrekfangirl2233 for giving this a look over for me a giving some feedback!
also, happy easter to those who celebrate! i hope you're all having a great day!
tags (you can also follow @vinnys-recordcollection and turn on notifications ;p): @lovinglyeternal @bradleybeachbabe @achilles-rage @kmc1989 (tagged a few i thought might like it - apologies for anyone i missed, i gotta sort out taglists 😅)
