You and Buck had a fight, one where Buck was most definitely in the wrong.
Your body didn't get the memo that you were mad at your boyfriend though.
Because Buck had come home, still wearing his LAFD uniform, and since he's been bulking up for the past few months, the clothes sat nice and tight across his entire body. Your resolve to not touch or talk to him until he grovelled for forgiveness was crumbling with every second that passed. You were metaphorically drooling - but you had to stay strong.
"Hey." He says casually, plopping down onto the couch next to you. He unbuttons his shirt and shucks it off, leaving him with just a black t-shirt and his work slacks. You were definitely not noticing his bulging arms, and thinking about how your nails sink into his biceps as he pounds into you -
No. Focus. We're mad at him.
You don't acknowledge him, and simply turn the page on the book you were reading.
"So you're still mad, huh." Buck notes, amused.
You look up blankly at him, at his infuriatingly pink pillowy lips, and turn back to the book.
"Okay, how about I get on my knees and beg for forgiveness then?" Buck asks, gently prying your book away.
"Sure. Do that." You challenge, only half-joking. Buck doesn't hesitate though, getting on his knees in front of you, settling between your legs. His fingers slowly peel off your shorts, and lets out a blissful groan when he notices that you aren't wearing any underwear.
He starts pressing kisses from one hipbone to the other, avoiding touching your core directly.
"Still mad at me?" Buck asks, before sucking your clit into his mouth, while his finger prods at your entrance.
"Y-yes." You moan out, absolutely no conviction in your voice, tugging on his curls.
"'M sorry, baby. I'll just have to beg better then." Buck chuckles darkly, before inserting another finger into you.
You've come to the conclusion that every fight between the two of you should be resolved in this way.
a/n: i have finally done it!! thank you anon that asked, i really needed that nudge lol. hope y’all enjoy<3 eddie texts coming next!!
warnings: a hint of nsfw(??), no use of y/n, fem!reader, body type/race of reader not mentioned
part one // part two
notes: likes/comments/reblogs would be much appreciated if you liked this<33
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Notes: The ending of this fic is brought to you by my best friend Molly. Who, at 13 wrote a 300 page One Direction fanfic and then got tired of it and legitimately just quit. This one’s for you babe.
“We’re here!!” You squeal while throwing the door open to Buck’s loft, and he nearly jumps five feet in the air and drops the popcorn when you burst through the door with Eddie.
Eddie comes around the corner and rolls his eyes while setting the snacks out on the counter.
“I literally told her not to do that.”
“Hey, I’ve got a key now. I can do what I want.” You wiggle Buck’s apartment key in front of Eddie’s face, and Buck starts unpacking the plastic bags.
“You realize that was for emergencies, right?”
“And this was an emergency! I had to let Eddie in; his arms were full.” You hop up on the barstools and start to help unpack, and Eddie shakes his head.
“You know if you’d helped me carry them…”
“Princesses don’t carry grocery bags, Eddie.”
“How do you turn into the most spoiled brat the second you leave the station every day??” He smacks his hand on the counter, and you reach over and pat his shoulder.
“It’s called being professional, Edmundo.”
Buck watched how you two interacted while setting up your snack plates. He wished he could be more like Eddie, teasing you and having you lying all over him when you’d die laughing.
But it just didn’t work for him.
You guys were easy friends; you laughed, you joked, and he gave you a key to his loft. But he just didn’t feel smooth enough to take it a step further. He watched you throwing little punches at Eddie and Eddie lifting you up and running you to the couch to throw you while you screamed.
Why couldn’t he be fun like that?
Eddie comes back over while you’re setting up the movie and stands next to Buck, giving him a little hip bump.
“You’re quiet, man. What’s going on?”
“Huh?” He starts, and Eddie snorts at the little heart shape he’d made out of marshmallows.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing, nothing! Just in my head. I’ll be okay.” He brushes it off, and Eddie blinks at him because he knows his best friend, knows that man like the back of his hand… and he also knows his other best friend. Because the three of you were a trio, much to everyone’s dismay at work. Where you went, they went, and vice versa. So when Eddie first noticed the way Buck would stare at you when you weren’t looking?
Oh, he needed to do something about that.
So one night, before bed. Eddie turned to face you while you fought to get comfy on the cots and asked what you really thought of Buck… and after several minutes of swearing he’d never tell him, you pushed the beds together and spent half the time you were supposed to be sleeping whispering back and forth about how into him you were.
Eddie could tell you were relieved to finally tell someone.
If only you two idiots could see it.
“So what did you decide on?” Buck brings your plate over, and Eddie carries the other two. His eyes stayed rolling apparently when he saw Buck set it down carefully for you and make sure you had the most pillows next to you, just like you liked.
“Transformers! I haven’t watched that in forever!” You stand up from the floor, and Buck looks down at you. Eddie gags at the way you two stop for a second; he can hear your breath hitch and you suddenly turn away and grab your pink duffle from the floor.
“I’m gonna go change real quick! You guys don’t start without me!!”
You hurry off to the downstairs bathroom, and Buck visibly deflates when you run.
“You should just talk to her,” Eddie sighs and puts his hands on his hips.
“About what?” Buck spins around, and Eddie has to keep from shaking him.
“About how you feel.”
Buck had spilled his guts on more than one occasion about how into you he was and how nervous you made him.
“I can’t do that! Do you know how embarrassing it’s gonna be when she tells me off?? But you know she’s too freaking nice. So she’ll probably give me a pity date and say she wasn’t feeling it.”
He flops hopelessly on the couch, and Eddie falls next to him and propped his feet up on the coffee table.
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“It could! You don’t know!”
He did know.
“Make sure you sit between us this time because if I sit next to her, I swear I’m gonna bust in my-“
You come out of the bathroom with your hair up in your bonnet and the tiniest little tank top he’d ever seen. It was a matching pajama set, one Hen had gotten you for Christmas in an accidental size too small, but you wore it regardless.
It was a white set with little red hearts all over it and the softest, most comfy pajamas you’d ever owned. There was just one issue that you weren’t exactly aware of yet.
Buck liked his apartment cold.
You toss your bag down by the couch and step over Eddie’s legs to wiggle yourself in between them like you did every week.
“Thanks for waiting!” You put a blanket over your lap and turn your body just slightly into Buck’s. “Are you guys ready?”
He tries so damn hard not to stare down your top because at this angle he can see right down it. Not to mention it was white, and your pretty skin was very much so not white. Which meant another part of you was darker… a part that most definitely showed through the thin fabric of your tank top.
“Yeah, we’re ready.”
How the fuck is Eddie so nonchalant about this. He just sits back on the couch again and hits play. Buck, on the other hand, is sweating bullets and fighting not to stare at your pert nipples. You have a whole ass blanket and don’t want to cover up your chest, not that you need to or that he even wants you to but man would it be nice to breathe again.
Eddie’s phone starts ringing about 10 minutes into the movie, and you groan and shove at him.
“You know the rules! No phones!”
“Yeah, no phones! Loser.”
Buck has finally settled down somewhat, he’s even begun to enjoy you snuggled into his side with your legs across Eddie’s lap.
“I have a kid. Those rules down apply to me.”
You pause the movie, and he walks off to answer Carla’s call. When he comes back with a sour face, you both sit up quickly.
“Is everything okay?” Buck asks, and Eddie sighs.
“Eh, Chris is having kind of a bad night, and since I’m just hanging with friends and not doing something important, not that you two aren’t important!”
“It would be better if you went home.” You finish for him, and he rubs the back of his head.
“Yeah, I need to be there for him. Are you guys cool if I duck out?”
No. No, absolutely not. We are not cool.
“Of course, man, you have priorities”, Buck answers smoothly, but Eddie can see the internal panic flowing through his body. He grabs his duffle from the floor and nods at Buck.
“Walk me out?”
As soon as the front door closes, Eddie seems to mellow out.
“I’m so sorry, man. I know how nervous you get with her.”
“It’s okay, Eddie, really. We all love Chris, and if he needs you, he needs you. My petty problems aren’t anywhere near as important as that kid.”
“Buck, you are important to me. You both are, and I’m thrilled you can understand what’s happening. But don’t diminish your problems, you know? To you… being alone with her all night is the worst-case scenario for you.”
“I- I wouldn’t say worst case.” He tosses the bag in the back seat for Eddie while he climbs into the driver's seat.
“Probably best case, really. It’s how all my dirty fantasies start off anyway.”
Eddie snorts and puts the window down to look at Buck.
“Be yourself. Be the best you that you can be, and it’s gonna be okay. You can text me all you want.”
“What if I light her hair on fire?”
“There’s a fire extinguisher on the wall and another in the kitchen cabinet under the sink.”
Buck watches him leave with a little wave. He watches until he can’t see Eddie’s truck anymore, and then he heads back inside.
The apartment is so quiet when he gets back. Not that it should be a wild party… but he thought you’d at least play the movie. He comes around the counter, and you’re sitting in front of the oven, staring intently.
“Hey?”
“Oh! You’re back!” You look up at him, and every single movement seems to shake your breasts, and he has to fight to look into your eyes. You look back into the oven intensely, and he leans against the counter.
“Do I even want to know?”
“I’m making s’mores. And the second I look away, I swear to god they’re gonna burn.”
You pat the floor next to you, and he eases down and rests his back against the island. He’s watching the oven with you in surprisingly not awkward silence when his eyes begin to wander.
Everything about you was so curvy and perfect. He liked the way you filled out those pajamas, and he liked the way they rode down with how you were sitting.
Yup, he could stare at you for hours.
He looks back at the oven door, and you’re staring at him. He lets his head fall back against the island with a thud, and you snort and smack your hand over your mouth.
“Were you just checking out my ass?”
He groans loudly and slumps over on his side, and you start giggling and slapping his thigh.
“You were!!”
“Watch your damn s’mores!”
“Oh, I’ll watch them, alright.”
You get on your hands and knees and wiggle your hips in his face. You spread your knees and arch your back while scooting a little closer to the oven.
“I think they’re almost done!”
“I have to use the bathroom.” Buck scrambles from the floor and runs to the bathroom, and you crumple into a little pile on the floor, laughing at him.
It turns out the most embarrassing thing in the world to happen to him is also one of the best. Because now things are a lot easier with you, your teasing doesn’t fluster him as much, and he can actually joke with you.
“You know, you’re actually pretty comfy.” You look up at him, and he blushes and puts his arm around your waist.
“I try.”
You pull your knees up closer and lean into him fully, with your head resting on his chest, and he hesitantly leans forward before kissing your hair.
Like friends do!
You look up at him, kiss his jaw with a sultry little smile, and go back to the movie.
Okay, what the hell was that response? And why did it make him want to jump your bones immediately?
You finish the Transformers movie, destroy the s’mores, and move on to Cinderella next. Buck had never seen the third one, and you nearly had an aneurysm when he told you.
“Are you kidding?! It’s amazing.” You shook his shoulders, and he rolled his eyes and yanked you across his lap.
See? It was easier!
He gave your butt a whack and you rolled off of him dying with laughter. Oh, if only Eddie could see him now. It was all a joke to you… but the way your ass rippled nearly had him busting from his pants.
He didn’t expect you to get right back up and tackle him back onto the couch or for you two to start fighting. You’re laughing, and he’s laughing, and he’s not even thinking about your body pressed to his or the way you sound breathless when he knocks you onto the couch and he’s panting over you and you’re staring into each other's eyes.
Nooo, he’s not thinking about any of that.
“Fine god! We can watch it!” Buck gets off you and pulls you close to him again. He can still feel your short breaths against his body, and he has to think about Bobby in the shower just to calm down. You reach over, grab the remote from the table, and get comfy up against him again.
“It’s funny you think you even had a choice.”
Halfway through the movie, Buck is absolutely enamored. He’s traded you for a pillow, and he’s hugging it tightly. He’s not sure when that happened because when he looks down to ask you to pause the movie, your eyes aren’t even open. He reaches over and takes the remote from your lap and hits pause, trying his hardest not to wake you. He’d stay like that all night if you wanted.
You start to stir a little anyway, and your eyes flutter open. You look at the screen and then at him and sigh.
“What time is it?”
He feels that loss of warmth as you get up to stretch but ignores it to lift his wrist to check his watch lazily.
“Uhh, 2:45.”
“Oh!” You stumble a little sleepily to collect your blanket from the floor, and he grabs your arm to keep you steady
“You wanna turn in? I think I blacked out for like the last half hour.”
“Yeah, probably. this movie deserves your full attention.” You lean against him when he stands up, and his heart skips a beat. He awkwardly puts his arms around you before settling them, and you put your chin on his chest.
“Hurry up so I can make up my bed and pass out already.”
“Make up your bed?”
“Yeah.” You gesture to the couch, and he scoffs.
“I think we can share a bed Y/N. I’m not gonna put you on the couch. Hell, you can even have my bed, and I’ll take the couch.”
“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. If you don’t mind sharing, I’m up for it!”
He takes your duffel bag from the floor, and you follow him up the stairs. He tosses it down next to his bed and yanks the covers back before flopping down on one side.
It’s a little embarrassing the way he bites his lip when you crawl up the bed, and he hopes you didn’t notice. You don’t say anything as you get under the covers and pull them up around you, though, so he thinks he’s safe.
“Nighty night, Buck.” You yawn and scoot your body just a little closer to his, and he looks over at you.
“Night Y/N”
An hour later, and Buck is starting to think this was the dumbest thing he’d ever suggested in his life.
Every time his eyes wander to your sleeping form, he yanks them right back. He was able to ignore your shirt situation when there was a movie to watch; hell, he’d even forgotten about it! But now, in the moonlight and the quietness of the middle of the night?… He can see perfectly through your shirt.
He didn’t even realize he was staring at first until you stirred a little, and he snapped his eyes shut. You’d gotten hot at some point and shoved the covers down a bit, and now he had the most perfect view of your chest. Your nipples pebbled under the cool air of his apartment, and they stick out of the tight fabric of your shirt so clearly. He can even make out the gorgeous dark circles surrounding them.
And he just knows they’d fit so nicely in his mouth. He can just see it now, rolling his tongue over those cute little nubs and sucking until you’re a whining mess underneath him.
Oh, that would be the dream.
You stir again and roll over onto your back, and Buck rolls onto his other side to stare at the wall. This was going to be a long night.
At some point, he must have finally dozed off because he woke up exhausted. He didn’t get much sleep, which wasn’t really a surprise, but the sleep he did get was good. Solely because of the dreams. Maybe it was because you were so close or maybe because he was just happy you were there; either way, he isn’t mad, he’s exhausted.
He stretches out and lazily rolls over to wake you up, and he freezes in place, with his arms still up and everything.
He blinks and slowly lets his arms fall, and he’s not sure if he’s losing his mind or if he’s actually seeing what he’s seeing.
You’re laid on your side, sleeping peacefully and snoring softly-
And one of your boobs popped out of your tank top.
It’s like someone just hates him. Someone is just messing with him at this point, and he doesn’t even know why. He’s a good guy! He pays his taxes! He donates to humane societies.
He doesn’t even notice your eyes have opened or that you’re staring right at him with that soft, sleepy expression. He doesn’t notice the warmth blooming between your thighs, and he doesn’t notice you lick your lips when your eyes flick down to the aching tent in his pants.
It’s not until he rolls his eyes at himself and finally looks up at you that he turns into a whole-ass tomato. He just stares like a deer caught in the headlights, and you look right back at him.
Because teehee he was caught before looking at your ass, but this? There is nothing subtle about the way his mouth is watering… and there’s certainly nothing subtle about the way you wag your finger at him, and he pounces.
He pushes you on your back and latches onto your breast immediately. His eyes roll back in his head as he captures that little nub between his lips and swirls his tongue around it, enjoying the way it grows into a hard peak. He bites down gently, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure down your spine.
“O-oh god, Buck,” You moan softly and bury your head in the pillows. He groans around your nipple and looks up at you, watching you pant softly. He’d been dying to see you like that for ages, and every image he dreamed up was never as good as this was. None of the filthy, depraved dreams he had about you came close to how good you really looked.
He settles down between your legs, and you can feel him. Your hips start to move against his, begging for friction, and he gives it to you so easily. He reaches down and pushes his boxers messily around his thighs and drags his cock against your panties.
“Do you want this as much as I do?”
He seems a little hesitant when he looks down at you like he’s not literally rubbing his cock on you. You cup his cheek and reach down, moving your panties to the side and biting your lip.
“This answer your question?” You guide his cock between your folds, smearing the tip through your wetness. You sigh together and Buck takes over for you, rubbing his cock against your clit.
“I don’t think I can be gentle.”
He’s straining to control himself. The tip keeps getting caught at your hole, and now he’s just lightly pushing the tip in and out, testing just how wet you are for him and if he needs that bottle of lube in his top drawer.
“I don’t want you to be.”
Your back arches, pushing your tits forward purposely and he’s putty in your hands. He wraps his hands around them and squeezes them together. He buries his face between your tits and you laugh and run your fingers through his hair and tug.
“You’re being ridiculous,” You tell him and he scoffs and sucks your nipples into his mouth, rolling his tongue over them and biting down. You gasp, making your hips grind down on his cock and he slips inside you.
He groans loudly and lets go of your breasts and instead holds your hips. The way you clench around him almost sends him to an early freaking grave. He lets his head fall forward, letting out a puff of air, and slowly thrusts into you. You wrap one arm around his neck and splay the other across his back to pull him toward you.
“That’s my girl” He pants in your ear, watching your face contort in pleasure “Take my cock bunny”
You arch your back further into his chest, and he hooks his arm under you. It feels like he’s splitting you in half with the way he pounds into you, chasing a high that you’ve both been craving for too long.
“I’ve dreamt about this so many times.” He nips at your neck, leaving little marks in his wake.
“Imagining what you’d sound like falling apart on my cock” He accentuates his words with a sharp thrust and you moan his name, your nails digging into his back and spurring him on
“Gonna fuck this pretty little pussy until you’re screaming my name. I want my neighbors to know who you belong to.”
You whack his chest with a squeak, and he laughs into your shoulder
“Buck! That’s emba-“
You yelp when he pulls out and easily flips you over onto your stomach. He thrusts back into you with one smooth stroke and leans over you, making you moan at the angle he’s stretching you.
His hands grip you so tightly that he knows he’s leaving bruises, but he doesn’t care. He needs to mark you, remind you who you finally belong to, and you take every mark he leaves, eagerly leaving a few of your own.
“Thats it bunny, cum on my cock. Please, please, I need to feel you come undone.” The way his voice cracks sends another wave of pleasure crashing over your body, and you’re seeing stars. He reaches around your hips and the second his fingers find your clit you feel your body explode.
You shriek his name, raising your hips to meet each of his erratic thrusts that become more and more messy the closer he is to cumming inside you, the closer he is to breeding you to the brim and claiming you.
He flips you over with his cock still buried deep inside you and swallows your broken moans. He crashes his lips to yours, and he lets out a strangled groan. He hardly gets three more strokes before he empties himself inside you. He pushes his cock in as hard as he can, splitting you open on him and you sob his name, your nails leaving angry red lines on his chest.
He collapses on top of you, panting wildly and crushing your body with his. You gingerly wrap your arms around his neck, more like awkwardly letting them hang there, and he buries his face into your shoulder.
“Jesus Christ,” He mutters in your ear, and you nod, wordlessly agreeing with him.
He pulls back a little to look at you and smiles, nuzzling your nose with his. You blink blearily at him with a blissed-out smile on your face and peck his lips.
“I can’t feel my body.”
“Is that my fault? Or the sex.”
“I’m pretty sure both those things are your fault.” You poke his nose, and he nips at your finger, making you giggle.
“Do you want me to get off?”
“Not yet.”
He cuddles into you, keeping you there and blissfully falling asleep to the sound of your heart beating.
Buck wakes up alone. Which is super weird considering he thought you were there. Maybe it had been some elaborate sex dream. He rolls out of bed, still naked, and walks downstairs to go see if there’s any evidence of you actually having been at his place.
Coming down the stairs, he sees you sitting at the island in one of his T-shirts.
Ohhoho, so it was very much so not a dream.
“Hello, Gor-“
He freezes in his tracks, and his jaw drops. Eddie is sitting on the chair next to you and spins around.
“Good morn- Jesus- Buck!! Put some clothes on! What the hell?!” Eddie slaps his hands over his face, and you burst out laughing.
“What are you doing here?!” Buck slaps his hands over his dick and runs around the corner.
“I just came to see if you guys fucked or not! Dude! Why would you come down here without clothes?”
“You came to what?! And it’s my house! If I wanna be naked, I’m gonna be naked!!!”
“Can you-“ Eddie takes his shirt off and throws it somewhere, and Buck runs over and takes it. He pulls it on over his head and ties one of his jackets around his waist. He stomps over to the other side of the island and crosses his arms.
“I’m dressed…ish.”
Eddie lets his hands slide down his face and glares at Buck. You’re just wiping the tears from your eyes and trying to keep yourself up on the chair without toppling over.
“Why are you here?” Buck narrows his eyes and turns to get a cup of coffee.
“Jesus-“ Eddie looks away from the eyeful of Buck’s ass and glares at you while you openly stare at it.
“I came to see if you two slept together.”
“Yeah, he lied,” You chime in, taking a sip of your iced coffee, and Buck spins around, hissing when a drop falls on his skin.
“You what?!”
“Chris was at a sleepover! He had a nice night with Marisol… He left to try and give us time together alone.”
“Eddie! How dare you!! It was movie night!!”
“That’s what she said.”
“That’s what I said!!!” You throw your hands in the air, and Buck flicks the coffee creamer lid at Eddie.
“Well, it worked, didn’t it!” Eddie picks it up and throws it back at him. Buck snatches it from the floor and slaps it back onto the bottle.
“Maybe…”
“Uh-huh, that’s what I freaking thought. God, I’ve been waiting months for you two idiots to just get together!”
“Well, we did.” You shrug around a bite of muffin. “Oh boy, did we get togethe.r”
“My favorite part was cupping you to keep it all in.”
Eddie nearly loses his breakfast.
And just like any other fairy tale, no matter how real or imaginary, they all lived happily ever after.
summary: Pathological People Pleaser- capital P. That’s you. Life is a helluva lot easier when no one can hurt you- not if you never give anyone substantial pieces of yourself. Too bad Evan “Buck” Buckley takes issue with this.
cw: reader is a grade A pathological people pleaser so all the angst and issues that come with that, canon-typical gore/violence (they are firefighters/paramedics)
tags/tropes: coworkers to lovers (hr HATES these two) bobby knowing everything about these two but letting them work it out anyway, team as a family, BUCK IS BOBBY’S KID IDC WHAT ANYONE SAYS, also Buck being really sweet and nice (and reader having no idea what to do with this)
a/n: tbh this reader is really just a girl. this fic is extremely inspired by Love Theoretically by Ali Hazelwood, which, my dear followers, if you'll recall, is my favorite romance book ever (!!!!!) also no one say reader isn't realistic bc i based her internal dialogue and worries off of my real life experiences as a recovered people pleaser (there is hope for us)
credit to @bookshelf-dust for the in house arson investigator idea !! super brilliant and perfect !! go read their stuff !!
title taken from Goddess from Laufey!
──────────────────────
‘Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay?
Cause they see right through me//Can you see right through me?
-The Archer, Taylor Swift
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₊˚⊹♡
Firefighter Evan “Buck” Buckley confuses you.
You’ve only been with the 118 for about two months. You’d be lying if you said the action and excitement of actually working with the firefighters on calls didn’t excite you to come to work— something you thought you’d never say.
And the team is great. You were nervous as hell at first. Suddenly being out on calls is exciting now, but scary as shit at first. You were much too used to your boring desk job. Plus, the firefighters were all intimidating in their own ways- Hen and Bobby the most.
Hen, because you totally look up to her and admire her ability to just… do whatever and say whatever and not worry what other people think. She holds her head high, and you’re more than a little envious.
Bobby, because he’s your captain, and you need to prove your worth as an addition to the team.
Slowly but surely, you began to solidify your presence as a team member. You aren’t sensitive to the blood and gore they see on calls which definitely won you points with Hen and Chimney, and you aren’t a pushover- you’re willing to put your foot down when push comes to shove. Plus, not to brag, but you’re damn good at your job.
After a month, you’d gotten everything down pat. What’s the right thing to say, what isn’t the right thing to say. What to do so the team trusts you, what to do so they don’t ask too many questions, how to correctly come across to them as a capable person. How to seem normal and well-adjusted and fine. What normal looks like to them.
With the exception of Evan Buckley.
You just… can’t get a read on him. Ever. He’s nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive, like seriously, it’s not even fair) but no one is that nice and smart and funny (and ridiculously attractive.)
You don’t like talking to him because he’s been more than a little sweet on you since day one. And obviously it's not serious and he doesn't mean it, just friendly camaraderie, but. But but but but but. It catches you off guard without fail every single time. Because every single time you talk to him, you get the very distinct sense that he’s looking right though you. That when you’re talking to the rest of the team, perfect smile in place, he can see through you.
It’s more than a little unnerving. It leaves you unsteady and wrong-footed. Like you’re never sure what exactly to say or how to act.
So you mostly just avoid him. You’re thankful that you’re only the arson investigator, because if you’d actually been a real firefighter, avoiding him would be a million times harder. As it stands, it’s fairly easy to do it without being obvious.
Or so you think.
“Is something wrong Captain Nash?” You ask, shutting the door behind you in his office.
Bobby rolls his eyes. “I’ve told you to just call me Bobby.”
“I think the second I do, my parents will appear in the room and lecture me about respect and manners.”
You sit as he gestures, watching with almost perfectly concealed apprehension as he laces his fingers.
“Did Buck say something to you?”
What.
“What?”
“Firefighter Buckley,” Bobby clarifies, as if that was the part of the question that needed specification. “I’ve noticed that you tend to avoid him when possible. You’re good at it, I’ll give you that. No one else has noticed.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at the admission of being caught.
“How could you tell?” You ask instead of answering his question.
Bobby just shrugs. “I have three kids. This isn’t my first rodeo. Now, you mind telling me what exactly is going on here?”
You’re not really sure you can explain this to him without one, sounding like a crazy person, and two, having him lose all the respect you’ve worked hard to build with him.
You settle for the super abridged version.
“Buck… makes me nervous. I’ve had some bad experiences with men that acted like him before, so. I’m over it, of course, I’m fine he just… sets me on edge a little. I’m not like, afraid of him or anything.”
You are actually afraid of him a little. Because if he really does see through you then what’s stopping him from ripping the current back? Giving everyone a good look into your ugly and raw? What’s stopping him from leaving you exposed?
Bobby hums, contemplating.
“You don’t trust him.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” You rush to amend, heart starting to race. Fix it fix it fix it fix it— “I do trust him. I know he’d never hurt me, or anyone else for that matter, he’s a great guy—“
Bobby leans back in his seat. “He’s a genuinely nice guy, and you don’t know how to deal with that, so you avoid him. You don’t trust that he’s genuine.”
Too close too close too close too close—
Smile. Laugh. Look down for a few seconds. Raise head, hold eye-contact. Speak.
“Nothing like that,” Smile. “Just takes some time for a girl to get used to all the facts that tend to come with him. I could’ve done without the one about heart worms before lunch.”
Laugh.
“Oh, you have no idea. Imagine being present when he actually got to assist on a tapeworm removal. I was put off noodles entirely for months.”
Now Bobby laughs, a real one, so you laugh with him, and you feel a little safer, the conversation back in your control.
“I promise, there’s nothing between me and Buck. Just new-girl nerves.”
Flash a smile, appease the man.
“If that’s all, then you’re free to go. Keep up the good work.”
You stand, one hand on the edge of the armrest of the chair to hide the minute tremors in your hand. You hold your breath as you leave Bobby’s office, breathing tiny, quick breaths through your nose until you make it to the safety of your office, closing the door behind you and all but collapsing into your chair.
That was… close. You must’ve let your guard down around Bobby. His personality and dad-aura are so disarming. You hadn’t even realized he’d been watching you that close. He read you a little too easily and a little too quickly. That was too close. What if he had—
A knock on your door snaps you ramrod straight, posture perfect and easy expression snapped into place in seconds.
It takes everything in you not to deflate when you see who walks through the door.
“Buck?”
“Sorry, sorry,” He raises his hands in mock surrender, “I know you don’t like me in here, I’ll be quick. I just need that file from that warehouse fire case?”
You frown as you search your filing cabinet for the case file. “I’ve never said I didn’t like you in here.”
“Yeah, not as much as said as implied.”
“I don’t mind you in here. It’s just an office.”
You’re not sure what he wants you to say. Does he want you to agree with him, tell him you don’t want him in here, make him right? Does he want you to tell him that he’s welcome in your office?
What does he want?
He shrugs in the corner of your eye, hands in his pockets, and you honestly have to physically restrain yourself from staring at the muscles of his arms as they move and tense with the motion. It’s very conflicting: him being the unending source of the late-night fantasies you pretend not to indulge in to fall asleep, hugging a pillow, and the fact that he’s the reason you’ve considered going on anxiety medication.
“…Are you okay?”
You’re abruptly reminded that he’s still in your office and you’re still having a conversation and your grip has at some point turned crushing on the case file.
“Oh, yeah,” Smile, look down, laugh. Look up(?) “Long night last night. Didn’t get much sleep.”
He cocks his head, the action reminiscent of a dog. He really is a golden retriever. You should really stop thinking about Buck so much.
“I thought you went home early last night?”
Your smile wavers.
Laugh(?) put the case file down. Take a sip of coffee, smile(?)
“You know how it is. Work never quite ends at work.”
He doesn’t skip a beat before speaking.
“Why do you do that?”
Something cold starts to drip down your neck. An icy chill of dread.
“Do what?”
“That lying thing.”
Smile? Laugh? Sit down?
Your other hand comes up to cup your coffee. “As far as I know, I don’t have a lying thing.” You huff a breathy laugh, but it comes out wrong. More wheezing and choked than a laugh.
He leans back against the wall of your office, crossing his arms. “Yeah you do. Like, sure, maybe you did have a late night, but none of those expressions or smiles were real. You like, lie with your face.”
You feel cold and hot at the same time. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you want this case file?”
“No, you know what I’m talking about. Is it conscious? Is it like code-switching? Nah, this is too—“
“Buck!” You snap, skin crawling, “Would you please just take this file and go?”
He snaps his fingers, pointing at you. “There! That’s real. That was a real expression.”
You forcibly smooth your face out, trying to project the calm you don’t feel. “Me getting annoyed with you?”
“Yeah,” He chuckles a little, a small smile on his face. “Just for a second, you looked real.”
You blink. Pause. Turn his words over in your head.
“You don’t really need this case file, do you?”
“Nope.”
You set the mug down, ignoring the way your tremors increased at your little outburst. “So you just came to what? Get under my skin? Disturb me while I’m working?”
He taps a boot on the floor. “Kind of. It’s my turn to be the man behind, and this beats mopping.”
This time, the flat glare you send him is intentional. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”
“I don’t know. You don’t seem as rigid as you did a few minutes ago.”
You stiffen your posture on instinct. “It’s called posture.”
“That’s not posture. That’s fear.”
His tone is light and joking, but his words hit their mark. Or maybe there isn’t a mark, and he just stabs your metaphorical bullseye anyway.
You shuffle in place, skin prickling under his gaze. “Is there a reason we’re having this conversation?”
“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”
You stare at your shoes, face hot. This is uncharted territory. The end-all-be-all of terrible conversations.
“Well for one, it’s terribly awkward, and two, I don’t see why you felt the need to call me a liar to my face.”
Buck pushes off the wall. “Okay, that’s not what I meant by that—“
“No, I think you meant what you said.”
He sighs. “Can we start over?”
“Why?”
“Because I feel like you have this misconception about me, and it would really suck if a pretty girl didn’t like me just because we got off on the wrong foot.”
PRETTY?
“You think I’m pretty?”
You slap a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”
He smirks, a mischievous thing pulling at his lips. “No, I think you meant what you said.” He says, mimicking your earlier words.
You press your hands into your face, exhaling hard.
“Well, if your goal was to make me uncomfortable, you’ve definitely succeeded.”
“Aw, that’s no good. That’s the opposite of what I wanted.”
The gears in your brain turn.
“You came here… because you wanted me to be more comfortable around you?”
He snaps his fingers. “Ding ding ding!”
You frown. “So your plan to make me more comfortable around you was to call me a liar and purposefully get under my skin?”
Your words hang in silence for a moment.
“Well when you put it like that—“
“Is there another way to put it?”
“The plan was to get you to see that nothing bad is gonna happen if you stop doing that face-lying-thing. I mean, you haven’t been doing it for the duration of this conversation and the world hasn’t ended, right?”
You look away. “That’s because I can’t pretend with you. It always falls apart. You freak me out.”
His brows furrow. “I freak you out?”
“Yes!” You snap whipping your head back to face him, “Other people put out, like, signals, you know. What kind of people they like and dislike, and I pick up on them, and avoid the parts they don’t like and play up the parts they do like. But you don’t put out anything! I don’t know what you want.”
Buck is silent for several moments. It’s unnerving.
“Have you ever considered that maybe I just like you?”
You blink. Look away. Cross your arms.
“You know,” He continues, voice a little softer, “I have a habit of liking people just as they are. Bobby tells me it’s one of my better qualities.”
“Is planning difficult conversations one of your lesser qualities?”
“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“No.”
It’s easier to focus and talk about the less serious parts of this entire situation than even think about what he just said.
“How about this,” He says after you don’t speak again. “If you’re gonna fake something, or pretend you feel one way about something, you have to come tell me the truth about how you really feel.”
“Well that sounds terrible. What do you get out of it?”
He smiles, folding his hands behind his back. “You agree to let me take you on a date.”
Your face is practically on fire. Evan Buckley is asking you on a date. Buck is asking you on a date.
“Oh.”
That’s all you manage to get out. Oh.
He frowns. “Are you oka—“
You smash your face into your hands, hiding your flushed and flustered face from view. “Just— just give me a second.”
You attempt to slow your racing heart, all to aware of the fact that Buck is still in the room, still looking at you.
“…Can you turn around?”
You hear a quiet little huff, then the shuffling of footsteps, signifying he is in fact no longer looking at you.
“If I’d known you’d be this excited at the idea—“
“Shut up or I’ll say no.”
He just hums, voice teasing. “I don’t think you will.”
“I might.”
“Mm. Nope.”
“I could.”
“You won’t.”
“I won’t,” You grumble, dropping your hands. “Okay fine, I’ll do it, but when I tell you… stuff, you don’t get to make fun of me for whatever it is.”
“I really think you have the wrong idea of who I am as a person.”
“I’ve seen how you make fun of Eddie.”
“Well, that’s Eddie. It’s like, bro code.”
“Ew.”
“Having friends is gross?”
“Yes. Get out of my office.”
He turns around, grabbing his chest, feigning pain. “Oh the hurt. The pain.”
“You’ll survive, I’m sure. You’re a big boy.”
Okay what the fuck are you saying right now. Can’t god just strike you down? Can’t some old water damage cause the ceiling to come down on you?
Buck takes it in stride, laughing loudly, though if you look close, you can see a pink tinge to his cheeks.
“So when are you free for our date?”
He waggles his eyebrows suggestively over the word date, and you despise the flush it brings to your face. And ears. And neck.
“Um. Saturday?”
“Cool. You have my number, right?”
You nod.
“I’ll text you the details later this week. And hey, look at me.”
He waits until you look up. “You aren’t allowed to spend the rest of this week stressing about it, okay? It’s gonna be fun, and nice."
He opens the door to your office, ducking half out before turning around. “Remember: fun and nice.”
And then he’s gone. Then you’re just an idiot standing in your office, face hot and tingling.
He called you pretty.
—
Buck's request is difficult to follow through on. Like, sure, you agreed to it, but you still don't really understand why he wants to know this. The things that go on in your head that you don't tell anyone about. He said he got a date out of (a date, you're going on a date with Evan Buckley--) but is that really... anything?
Is it a real date? Or just some little fling? And why, exactly, is the date something he considers a fair trade? Like sure, he's hot -incredibly so- and every time you think about the date your heart speeds up and million questions run through your head, like will he pick you up, is he the type to bring flowers, where are you going for the date, all of those things.
You wince from your spot on the couch upstairs, papers strewn across the table in front of you.
"Dammit," You mutter, holding a finger up to the lip that you've chewed to shreds, now bleeding steadily, blood beginning to trickle down your chin.
A napkin appears in your line of sight, and you take it from Hen gratefully.
"Thanks."
She just nods. "Something on your mind?"
You blink, a little questioning.
"Your lip," She gestures to it. "You always chew it when you're thinking about something troubling. Is this about that new case?"
"Ah," You breathe, a small shiver running down your spine at her words. Being perceived is weird. "No actually. It's..."
You decide to be honest. News will get out anyway, and Hen appreciates truthfullness. "It's about Buck."
She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
You shuffle the papers in front of you, hands itching for something to do, "We're going on a date on Saturday."
"Oh!" She exclaims, settling on the couch across from you. "That's... surprising. I was under the impression you didn't really care for him."
Your face heats. "That's kind of why we're going on the date. He wants to... make me more comfortable. Those were his words."
"Interesting method."
You shrug. "It's Buck."
Hen nods, a chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm guessing you're not so sure about it?"
"It's not that. I just," you debate your next words carefully, weighing the options, wondering if you should even say them, but Hen's face is open and non-judgmental, and she knows when not to gossip.
"I haven't been on a date in awhile," You admit, "Or many at all, really. I don't know what to expect."
Your hands still on the papers. "I... don't do well when I don't know what to expect."
Hen nods. "I get it. But I can tell you with absolute certainty that Buck will do everything in his power to make the date as 'comfortable'," She does finger quotes around the word, "As possible. It took him a couple tries to get here, but. He's got a good heart."
You can't help the small frown at her words. "I know."
Hen tilts her head, squinting. "Do you? Cause it seems like you aren't so sure."
Smile. Laugh.
"Well," You laugh a small, breathy thing. "In my experience, no one is that nice."
Hen snorts. "Okay, true. But Buck's been through a lot. What he may lack in tact he makes up for in earnest effort."
She stands, and levels you with a look you try hard not to whither behind. "Give him a chance. And try not to break his heart."
You smile, hoping it doesn't look as brittle as it feels. "I'll try not to."
Though I'm not sure he'll be the one getting his heart broken.
--
Buck is careful not to bother you too much at work. He still sets you on edge in that "I see through you" way of his, but he's right- nothing terrible has happened since your conversation. If anything, he's almost... gentler, in his good natured ribbing and such. He's actually rather attentive.
"Okay," He murmurs next to you at the table, most of the others finished with their food , plates cleared and being washed. "You've got your fake smile on, so spill."
You elbow him. "Cool it, Buckley."
"Great meal, Cap!" You call out to the Captain, who sends you a quick smile from the sink.
You spear a stem of asparagus prepared honestly perfectly by Bobby, and lean over to Buck. "Fine. You really wanna know?"
"Uh, yeah."
You take a huge bite, smiling as you swallow. "I hate asparagus."
Buck's eyebrows shoot up. "Are you serious? That's such a small thing to care about."
You glance up to ensure nobody's eavesdropping. "Bobby works really hard on everything he makes! I don't want any of it to go to waste or to seem unappreciative."
"Okay, we're really going to have to have a talk about your perception of everyone," He elbows you back, "Come on. Bobby would not be offended if you don't eat the vegetables because you don't like asparagus period. It's not like you're even saying you don't like his cooking!"
You take another bite. Only A few left. "Better safe than sorry."
"Stop eating them--"
"I have to finish them!"
"Something wrong over there?" Bobby's voice rings out over the kitchen.
"Nope!" You call back.
"Actually," Buck starts, ignoring your furious elbowing, "Our little investigator over here doesn't like asparagus."
Bobby tilts his head with a smile. "Why didn't you say something?"
Your stomach lurches. Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god-- "I... didn't want you to be offended?"
"Why would I be offended that you don't like asparagus?"
"Because you cooked it?"
He shakes his head. "Not how things work around here. If you don't like something, you don't have to eat it."
Your face feels like it's on fire and your palms are sweating and you kind of feel a little nauseous. But that might be the asparagus. "Right. Okay. Thanks."
Bobby goes back to loading the dishwasher, and the others are no longer paying attention, so you lower your forehead to the table, grateful that Buck moves your plate away before your head can meet your now unfinished vegetables.
"Why did you do that?"
"Because asparagus is a dumb thing to be worried about," He says, voice light and cheery.
"It was a valid concern," You mumble.
"Maybe in your head. But not quite in reality," He rubs your back consolingly a few times, though all the action does is rile you up more. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you're still sitting here and you actually can't see if the others are still looking and oh god maybe Bobby is upset because you're an adult, you should've known that and--
"I can physically feel how tense you just got."
Oh. Right. His hand is still on your back.
"Relax," He drags out the word, his voice low and deep, "No one is going to spontaneously hate you. I sure don't."
"You don't count."
"Mm, how come?"
You're glad your face is currently hidden by the table, because you flush when you mumble the next words.
"Cause you think I'm pretty."
"I do," He amends, "But I'm not sure that discounts my opinion. IF anything, it doubles it."
"That's not how that works."
"It's not?"
"No."
He leans in, his breath tickling your ear. "Prove me wrong, then."
--
Saturday approaches and your anxiety increases. Buck had in deed texted you the details -which did, actually, make you feel better, knowing a bit of what to expect and having it in writing.
When Saturday arrives and the clock inches closer to the time he said he'd pick you up, you start to question if any of this was a good idea.
Everything collapses when you have to pick an outfit. Nothing seems right- everything is either too much or not enough. You blink the tears out of your eyes because you spent too long on your makeup to ruin it, and Buck's gonna be here soon and you need to just pick something--
A knock sounds at your door and you gasp. Shit.
You rush to the front door, and wrench it open.
"Hi I'm so sorry I'm not ready yet- oh my god are those flowers?"
Buck takes the rush of words in stride, smiling and holding the bouquet out to you. "They are."
You take the flowers with reverence, the gentle, floral aroma soothing your senses.
"Are... you okay?"
You blink, not realizing that tears had begun to well up in your eyes again. "What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. I'm a little... frazzled."
His gaze darts down. "Is that why you don't have pants on?"
You're almost one hundred percent sure you burst into flames right then and there. And if you don't, you seriously hope you do.
"Oh my god- don't look, I'll be right back, uh, please come inside and close the door!"
You race back into your room and shut the door, throwing on the closest pair of pants- which happen to be the fuzzy, old, candy heart-print pajama pants you took on three hours ago when you started getting ready.
You step back out, now sporting a wonderful outfit consisting of your black, rather nicely fitting going out top and fluffy pajama pants.
"I'll be ready in about fifteen minutes, sorry about the," You pause, swallowing your embarrassment, "Lack of pants."
He chuckles, laughing that nice little Buck laugh that settles your nerves a bit. "Hey, I wasn't complaining. I asked for the real you and this has all been very real."
Your never-ending flush revives itself as he speaks. "I"m really sorry, I'm usually more put together than this, I promise."
He takes a step toward you. "Remember why we're going on this date?"
A beat passes.
Buck takes another step. "To make you more comfortable with me. And the team, but mostly me."
You laugh a little, a nervous thing.
"But you don't seem very comfortable right now." His hands rise to the your waist, sliding down to your hips.
"Sorry," You say on instinct.
He huffs. "Still don't think you're getting the point of this. Okay, what was the big stressor of tonight, besides the actual date part?"
You look down at your feet. "My outfit."
"Well," He says, squeezing your waist and very clearly enjoying the little squeak you let out at the action, "Then why don't we sollve that by..."
Your heart siezes. Oh god, you're not ready to sleep with him, you haven't had your everything shower because it was only the first date and you didn't think--
"...Staying in tonight? I can order some takeout and we can watch a movie."
Oh.
"But your reservation--"
"Can be called and cancelled," He soothes. "I only want to do things you're comfortable with. That was the whole point of this date."
Later, after you both stuffed your faces with takeout graciously ordered by Buck, and both of you cuddled up on the couch (!) you let yourself speak.
"Buck?"
"Hmm?"
"Sorry for freaking out earlier," You curl your arm around his bicep, face smashed into the side of it while you (pretend) to watch the movie. "Thanks for... this. And the flowers."
"You really like those flowers, huh?"
"Mhm. They're really pretty. No one's ever gotten me flowers before."
"What? No way."
"Well. I haven't ever gotten flowers from a date or boyfriend," You stumble over the word boyfriend, "But like, you know. Graduations and stuff."
"Guess we're going to have to fix that, then."
"We are?"
He raises a brow. "You didn't think I was gonna stop at one date, did you?"
"Well it was kind of a mess."
He shrugs. "On one of my first dates, I choked on bread and my date at the time had to perform a tracheotomy with a ballpoint pen."
You gape at him. "Those are real?"
He traces a finger over the thin, silver scar on his throat. "Yep. So trust me, this date turned out fine. I actually uh,"
He flushes a little, a dusting of red on his cheeks. "I actually really enjoyed tonight."
You chew your lip, nervous and scared but all the sudden deciding that you're going to get over yourself and do something. No matter how small.
You stare at the end credits. "You wanna watch another movie?"
"Absolutely. More takeout?"
"I don't know how you can even think about eating more. But I do have popcorn in the pantry."
He presses a quick, soft little kiss to your cheek. "Perfect."
warning: golden retriever Buck (real dog); ridiculous fluffy; hold the pup too close; reader had a tough day and a lot of comfort from puppy Buck!
word count: 2k
same old stuff: not native English speaker, use translation
it's the comfort part I mentioned (mostly, ignore the drama at night), check the vote solution so I wrote some certain things once happened to me, some common suck stuff, hope puppy Buck's comfort can warm you day<3
this series expected to end in five part, six top
Previous: Part 2
masterlist
☔︎Enjoy!❀
The night dragged on, and Buck was still a dog. A golden retriever, tired from a bath he didn't ask for, sprawled across your couch like he belonged there.
He kept waiting for this to end—some cosmic reset button to zap him back to his human body, his loft, his life. But nothing happened. Just the hum of your apartment and the faint scent of shampoo clinging to his fur. He was done fighting it, at least for now. The vet, the bath, the belly rubs—it'd been a hell of a day, and his energy was shot.
You appeared in the doorway,with the tried but soft smile. "Come on, bud," you said, patting your thigh. "Bedtime."
He lifted his head, expecting you to point to a dog bed or the floor—something normal.
But no. You turned toward your bedroom, glancing back with that soft smile.
"You can sleep with me tonight. You've earned it."
Sleep with you? On the bed?
Buck's brain stuttered. He should've protested—barked, bolted, anything to keep some shred of dignity. But his paws didn't move. He was too damn tired, his limbs heavy like he'd just pulled a double shift at the station.
"Whatever," he thought, dragging himself up. "Today's been enough. I'll figure this out tomorrow—"
The thought cut off sharp as you scooped him up again, carrying him like a kid hauling a stuffed animal.
You plopped him onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and climbed in beside him. He froze, every muscle tensing as you pulled the blanket over both of you.
This was fine. Weird, but fine.
He could handle sleeping on the edge, keeping his distance, staying sane.
Then you reached for him.
Your arms wrapped around him, tugging him close like he was a damn pillow. His furry body pressed against you, warm and solid, and he tried to squirm—really, he did—but exhaustion won. He went limp, letting you hold him, figuring it couldn't get worse.
Until it did.
You shifted, adjusting your grip, and his head—his stupid, fluffy dog head—slid right into your chest. Pressed against your breasts. Firmly. Unmistakably.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Buck’s mind exploded. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to break free. He was Evan Buckley, a grown man, a firefighter who’d faced burning buildings without flinching, and now he was a dog with his face buried in your—oh God. He couldn’t even think the word without overheating.
Abort mission. Run. Do something.
He should’ve barked, leapt off the bed, sacrificed his last shred of dignity and sprinted out the door. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Your arms tightened around him, warm and steady, and you sighed like this was the coziest thing in the world.
To you, he was just a big, cuddly stray.
To him, this was a crisis. A full-on, red-alert, I’m gonna expose myself disaster. If he so much as twitched wrong—a growl, a yelp, anything—you’d know something was up. Or worse, you wouldn’t, and he’d be stuck here, silently losing his mind.
"Get it together, Buckley," he scolded himself. "She doesn’t know. She can’t know."
His tail—God, he hated that thing—betrayed him with the tiniest wag. He prayed you didn’t notice. Your breathing evened out, slow and calm. You were drifting off. Holding him like this was normal.
Buck didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. He spent the whole night just existing, trying not to combust.
Morning arrived in golden streaks through the bedroom window.
Buck barely noticed. He was too tired to function. If he’d been human, he’d have two giant dark circles under his eyes. Instead, he squeezed them shut, pretending to be asleep when you stirred.
How did dogs snore? Did he need to fake that?
Luckily, you didn’t seem to care. You yawned, climbed out of bed, and padded around the apartment. He cracked one eye open, tracking your movements—bathroom, kitchen, back to the bedroom for your bag. Then the front door opened.
And closed.
You were gone.
Buck exhaled sharply. He should’ve been using this time to figure out how to signal he wasn’t a damn dog, how to break whatever curse had turned his life into a furry fever dream. But exhaustion won.
Five minutes. Just a quick nap.
But maybe dog time worked differently because five minutes turned into hours, and he slept hard, sprawled across your sheets like he owned the place.
When he woke up by the voice of door opened, it's already noon. And you came back.
He lifted his head, blinking groggily, and that's when he sensed it. Something was wrong. Really wrong. You didn't call out to him like you usually did, no cheerful "Hey, bud" or rustle of that paper bag. Your steps were heavy, dragging, and when you came into view, he saw it all over you—shoulders slumped, eyes red-rimmed, like the world had chewed you up and spit you out.
Buck sat up on the bed, his golden fur mussed from sleep, and watched you drop your bag by the door. Your shoulders slumped, your usual brightness dimmed like a bulb flickering out. You didn't look at him right away—just stood there, staring at the floor, your hands curling into loose fists. He'd seen that look before, on victims pulled from wrecks, even on himself after a rough call. You were down. Really, really down.
"Hey, bud," you said finally, your voice flat as you crossed the room. You sank onto the couch, kicking off your shoes, and he hopped down from the bed, paws padding silently over to you. Up close, it was worse. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips pressed tight like you were holding something back
You glanced at him, and he tilted his head, ears perking despite himself. He wanted to ask—What happened? Who do I need to yell at?—but all he could do was stare, those big dog eyes locked on you. You reached out, running your fingers through his fur, and forced a bitter smile.
He let you. Normally, he'd have pulled away, stubborn about keeping some shred of his human pride, but not now. Not when you looked like this.
You leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and started talking, your words spilling out in a quiet, broken stream. "Everything just… sucked today. Work was a mess—someone yelled at me for something I didn't even do, and then I spilled coffee all over my desk trying to fix it, all the paper were wet, and then I found my laptop didn't work, and I just—" You stopped, swallowing hard."Why am I even talking to you? You won't understand."
Buck's chest tightened. He wanted to say something—"I get it, I've had days like that, you're not alone"—but all he could do was sit there, his big brown eyes locked on you. You sighed, a bitter little sound, and ran a hand through your hair. "Being a dog must be pretty happy, right? No job, no family drama, no need to think about so many things. Just… eat, sleep, wag your tail." Your voice cracked on the last word, and then silence swallowed the room. Buck watched, helpless, as your face crumpled. He hated this. Hated that he couldn't fix it, couldn't be the guy he was supposed to be. You sat there, crumbling under some invisible weight, and all he had were paws and fur.
A sob broke free, small at first, then louder, your shoulders shaking under the weight of whatever had crushed you today. You pressed your hands to your eyes, trying to stifle it, but the tears kept coming, raw and unstoppable.
He couldn't stand it—couldn't stand seeing you like this, so small and defeated. He wanted to pull you into a hug, tell you it'd be okay, promise he'd figure out a way to make it right. But he was a dog. A golden retriever with paws instead of hands, a bark instead of words. He couldn't talk, couldn't fix it the way he wanted. But he could do something. He had to.
He moved before he could overthink it, pressing his body against your legs. For a second, you froze, like you didn't know what to do. but he didn't stop. He nudged your knee with his nose, a gentle push, and when you lowered your hands, he rested his head in your lap. Then your arms came around him, tentative at first, then tight, like he was the only thing holding you together. He felt your tears dampen his fur, your breath hitching against his neck, and he stayed still, letting you hold him.
"Oh, bud," you whispered, tears streaking your cheeks. "You're too good to me."
Good? He wasn't good—he was useless, stuck like this.
But he couldn't let you sit there alone, drowning in whatever had broken you today. He shifted closer, his warm weight leaning into you, and let out a low, soft whine—not a bark, nothing loud, just enough to say I'm here.
You stroked his head, your touch shaky, and he pressed harder, resting his chin on your thigh. It wasn't much. It wasn't words or a hug or the thousand things he'd do if he were human. But it was what he had. Your grip tightened, and you buried your face in his fur, the sobs slowing, softening, until they were just quiet sniffles.
"You're warm," you said after a while, voice muffled against him.
"Like a big, fuzzy heater." He huffed, almost a laugh if he could've managed it, and you pulled back, wiping your eyes. Your smile was shaky but real, and it hit him hard—how much he hated seeing you hurt, how much he wanted to keep that smile there. You ran your hand along his back, slow and steady, and he let his tail wag—just a little, because why not? It made you laugh, a small, broken sound, but a laugh all the same. You scratched his chin, and he leaned into it, tail thumping against the couch. "You're the best," you said, nodding like you'd decided something. “My good boy.”
Buck didn't cringe at that this time. He didn't care about the dog label or the absurdity of it all. If being your good boy meant pulling you out of that dark place, even for a minute, he'd take it. He settled back down, letting you rest against him, your head dipping until it rested on his shoulder—well, his dog shoulder. The room grew quiet again, just the sound of your breathing and the occasional rustle of the blanket.
Your breathing evened out, slow and deep, and he realized you were drifting off, exhaustion taking over. He stayed still, listening to the quiet, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against him. He should've been plotting his escape from this dog body, brainstorming ways to signal the team, but his mind was blank. For once, it didn't matter. You needed this—needed him—and that was enough.
"Tomorrow," he thought, eyes half-closed. "I'll figure it out tomorrow." But as your hand rested on his fur, your warmth seeping into him, he wasn't so sure he was in a rush. Being a dog sucked—God, did it suck—but being here, with you like this? Maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world.
Just for today, he'd let it be. He'd be your fuzzy heater, your quiet comfort, and deal with the rest when the sun came up.
warning: golden retriever Buck (real dog); ridiculous fluffy; mentioned Buck been taken to vet; reader undress (strip to underwear) and unknowing be seen by Buck.
word count: 1,193
Same stuff: Not native English speaker I used translation for help, any problem let me know<3
Okay so that's all the ridiculous and fun cute stuff in my mind. I hadn't raise a dog so I don't know if people really did that (I mean only wear few clothes to give their pets a bath).
if you you have any interesting idea about what happened next pls comment or request!
I adjusted the article's structure to make it look less crowded. More line breaks. Hope it would look better to read. Or if the former better pls let me know
previous part: part 1 - Man's Best Friend
masterlist
❣ Enjoy!☺
Buck couldn't believe this was his life now. One minute, he's a six-foot-two firefighter hauling people out of burning buildings, the next, he's sprawled on a stranger's couch, trapped in the body of a golden retriever. A dog. The same scruffy stray he'd watched you feed outside Station 118.
Lying there, head on his paws, he stared at the worn fabric beneath him, trying to wrap his head around it. This wasn't some freaky dream—he'd pinched himself (or tried to, with paws) enough to know that.
This was real, and it was insane.
He should've been making a scene. Barking, jumping, knocking over furniture—anything to clue you in that he wasn't just some mutt who'd lost his marbles. He needed help, not a leash. But after the vet fiasco—needles, thermometers up places he didn't want to think about, and that smug vet saying he was "fine"—Buck was wiped. His energy was gone, sapped by the sheer absurdity of it all. Bone-tired in a way that didn't even make sense for a firefighter used to 24-hour shifts.
You, of course, had no idea. How could you? People didn't just turn into dogs in real life. This wasn't some cheesy sci-fi movie with a budget of five bucks and a green screen.
You knelt beside him, your soft voice breaking through his haze. "Poor thing," you said, brushing a hand through his fur. "You've had a rough day, huh? Maybe it's all in your head."
He almost laughed—well, woofed—at the irony. If only you knew.
So he stayed put, chest rising and falling, letting the quiet of your apartment settle over him. Just for a minute. He'd figure this out after a breather.
Then you started spoiling him.
First, it was a belly rub. Slow, gentle fingers kneading into his fur, and Buck's brain short-circuited. He didn't mean to lean into it. He didn't. He was a grown man, not a lapdog begging for scritches. But holy hell, it felt good. Too good. His tail thumped against the couch—against his will, he swore—and a low rumble escaped his throat.
Was this the dog's instincts taking over? Or did belly rubs just transcend species? He couldn't tell, and it was driving him nuts.
"Okay, you're liking that," you said with a little laugh, oblivious to the war in his head. "How about a treat?"
You pulled out that crinkly paper bag, offering something crumbly and sweet-smelling. Buck's stomach growled—he hadn't eaten since… well, last dinner, as a human—but he clamped his jaws shut. No way. He wasn't eating dog food, even if it was human-grade. He had standards.
You frowned, tilting your head. "Not hungry? You're really off today."
Off? Girl, you have no idea, he thought, glaring at the treat like it'd personally offended him.
But you didn't push, just set it aside and kept fussing over him—more rubs, soft words, a blanket you draped over his back. It was torture. Sweet, unbearable torture. He was losing his mind, torn between wanting to bolt and sinking deeper into the couch. How was he supposed to fight this when his own body was betraying him?
You went back to rubbing his belly. "Okay, no treats. Just rest, then."
Rest. Right. Like he could relax when his entire identity was crumbling.
But your voice, all soothing and sweet, lulled him into a haze, and he let his eyes drift shut. Just for a minute. He'd figure this out later.
Later came too soon. You stood up, said the words that made his blood run cold.
"You need a bath, bud. You're a mess."
Buck's eyes snapped open. A bath? No. Hell no.
He'd survived the vet; he wasn't about to let you dunk him in a tub. He scrambled to his paws, barking sharp and loud, but you were already halfway to the bathroom, calling over your shoulder, "Come on, it'll be quick!"
Quick? He doubted that.
Planting himself firmly on the couch, he let out a low growl. You turned back, a knowing look in your eyes. "Oh, no you don't."
And just like that, he was airborne.
You scooped him up like he weighed nothing—was he really that much smaller?—and carried him into the bathroom. The tub was already filling, steam curling into the air.
Panic set in.
He thrashed, paws slipping on the tile, and water sloshed everywhere—over the floor, onto your legs. You yelped, laughing through the chaos. "Hey, calm down! It's just a bath!"
But he couldn't calm down. This was humiliation on a cosmic level.
He lunged again, more splashing, more soaking, and by the time you got a proper grip on him, your cardigan and skirt were drenched, clinging to your skin.
You sighed, setting him back in the tub—half-full now, thanks to his tantrum—and stepped back.
"Okay, fine, you win," you said,
Then you peeled off your soaked cardigan.
Buck froze.
Then you grabbed the hem of your skirt, tugging it off too, and his brain flatlined.
You were down to your underwear—simple, practical stuff, nothing scandalous—but to him, it was a five-alarm fire.
He was a man.
A man. Trapped in a dog’s body, sure, but still a guy with a pulse, and you were standing there, completely oblivious, like he was just some harmless pup.
He whipped his head away, staring at the wall, heart pounding.
This wasn't his fault. He wasn't a perv—he swore to God, to Bobby, to anyone who'd listen if he ever got out of this.
But you didn't know. You couldn't know. And that made it worse.
"Gotta dry off too," you muttered, grabbing a towel for yourself.
He caught a glimpse in his peripheral—your damp hair, the way you moved so casually. He squeezed his eyes shut, tail tucked tight.
If he survived this, no one would believe him.
You turned back to him, towel around your shoulders, and sighed. "You're lucky you're cute, you little terror."
Cute? He was mortified.
You reached for the shampoo, undeterred, and Buck... gave up.
The water was warm, your hands gentle as you worked the suds into his fur, and he stopped fighting. Not because he wanted to. Because he couldn't. He was too tired, too freaked, and—okay, maybe it felt a little nice. Just a little.
When you lifted him out, still dripping, he didn’t resist. You dried him off, humming softly, and set him back on the couch.
"There. Better," you said, sitting beside him in your towel, oblivious to the war raging in his head.
Better?
He was a firefighter, not some golden retriever getting belly rubs and baths.
But as you scratched behind his ears, he felt that damn tail wag again, and he groaned inwardly. He had to get out of this.
Tomorrow. He'd make a scene, get back to the station, something—anything—to fix this.
For now... he slumped against the cushion, defeated, and let your fingers work their magic.
If he was stuck like this, he might as well enjoy the perks.
You lie on your side of the bed, muscles tense, worried that you’ll cross into Buck’s side of the bed if you relax. While you struggle, Buck lies on his stomach, out cold.
Sleep sounds frightening. What if you had another nightmare? Or wake Buck up?
You’re envious of how quick he fell asleep. Of course, his job was physically demanding- crashing as soon as his head hit the pillow made sense. But it didn’t make lying awake next to him any less frustrating.
His jaw is soft, lips slightly parted, cheek pressed against the pillow. There is a slight crease in his forehead, and you want to smooth it out with the pad of your thumb, brush against the birthmark above his eye.
You shift carefully, trying to get comfortable. Most sleepless nights, you’d toss and turn until exhaustion took over. But tonight, with Buck beside you, that wasn’t an option.
It’d been easy to crawl into bed, no real fuss about sharing the oversized comforter. You agreed that Buck could take his shirt off and he stayed in his grey sweats despite the warm temperature outside.
Then he stepped out of the bathroom, sweatpants hung low on his hips, muscles defining his V line and abdomen. You swore the room got hotter.
When you used the bathroom to brush your teeth after him, you took the opportunity to gather your thoughts and cool down. You ran cold water and put your wrists under to calm down, but the lingering smell of Buck made it even harder to chill out.
You kept your bra on to make things less awkward. But now, it feels restrictive. You can’t relax.
You immediately apologized to Buck for not shaving your legs the past few days before you climbed into bed. Buck just smiled with a light chuckle, which actually made you feel a little more confident in sharing a bed.
“You think that bothers me? It’s natural. Besides, I regularly see blood and gore. Body hair isn’t anything to worry about.”
Slowly you realized Buck wouldn’t care if you took it off. Buck wanted you to be comfortable in your own bed, in fact, his words in the kitchen were meant to be reaffirming.
He was such a gentleman, prioritizing your own needs before his.
You finally cave in, needing to fall asleep eventually. You sit up to take the fabric off, pulling it over your head before tossing it to the floor. You were relieved, nothing digging into your skin.
You lay your head back down on the pillow, spreading out. You barely graze Buck’s leg but you pull back quickly, wanting to respect his space.
Practicing your breathing exercises, you are so close to falling over the edge into sleep when the bed shifts. Your eyes flutter open to see he has rolled over slightly, putting his body closer to yours. In fact, he has positioned his body so close to yours, that you expect heat to be radiating heat off of him. Instead he’s cool, back rising and falling with each breath.
You hold your breath, waiting for him to shift again. With no quick movement, you ignore it. You let out a breath, closing your eyes again as you snuggle your head back into the crook of your neck.
You nearly jump when his arm flings across your torso. You stiffen, eyes flicking to his face. You search for any signs of him being awake. But his eyes stay closed, breaths the same.
Your mind goes blank. His arm tightens around you, fingers brushing against you with each breath. A reassurance that he’s there, even in his sleep. You feel his heart against your side. The rhythm of his heart is soft, breathing hushed.
You should feel awkward. A line has been crossed. You should wake him up. Roll over.
You’re not sure that he would cuddle you if he were awake. But if he wasn’t comfortable with you, why would he be lying next to you?
Your mind should be racing. Instead, you yawn, melting under his touch, mirroring his slow, even breaths as your body gives in.
You wrap your hand around his forearm, holding onto him. Afraid that if you let go, he’ll roll over, leaving you cold.
You’re grounded. Safe. Warm. At peace.
Not alone.
His hair is a slight mess, and even though his hair is shorter, hints of curls pop up. You instinctively raise your hand to smooth it down. You stop yourself mid air. It’s hard to ignore the urge to run your fingers through it. And if you smooth his hair down, it’d make this even more complicated. As if your mind isn’t already struggling to process all of this. So you put your hand down.
How are you going to be able to sleep alone after tonight?
The question lingers in your mind, but the answer doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you’ve found comfort in Buck. That despite not knowing him for more than a culmination of a few hours, you feel protected. Bonded.
His steady breaths and grip around your waist drowns out the looming threat of another nightmare, keeping you warm in the best way possible.
For the first time in a week, you feel yourself sinking further into the bed, skin melting against his. You aren’t in fight or flight mode.
You bask in the moment, finally drifting into the best sleep you’ve had in a long time. Scratch that, it was more than sleep. You felt like you could finally rest.
With a smile gracing your face, too.
*********
You come out of sleep briefly, a small moment in your sleep cycle that has you awake without registering it. You feel warm, the same weight from earlier is still wrapped around you, and steady breathing lulls you back to sleep.
At some point in the night, you must have turned onto your side, half-stretched out on your stomach. And Buck, well he adjusted, too.
His arm is underneath your pillow, your hair splayed out across the skin of his upper bicep. His other arm is heavy on your waist, hand holding onto your upper abdomen firmly, holding you close to his chest. His leg is slotted in the middle of yours, securely anchoring your whole body down. As if he returns the sentiment of not wanting to be left alone, even in his sleep.
It could be pure instinct. The body’s natural desire to gravitate towards warmth and to feel close to someone, something. But this doesn’t feel like that.
It’s too domestic, too intimate.
This isn’t just some coincidence. This is something more.
Any outsider would assume you were a couple. The way your bodies fit together, as if you had done this many times before. A testament to how well you responded to each other.
Maybe Buck was right.
Maybe you were always meant to cross paths.
Maybe you already had, in a past life.
Maybe that’s why this felt so instinctive.
It felt like you had naturally found your way back home.
Like you had found your person.
*********
The sound of an alarm wakes you up abruptly, causing you to jump awake with a gasp.
The alarm is higher pitched than you’re used to.
Instead of slowly waking you up, you jolted, causing a damn near heart attack.
It’s similar to the feeling of falling off the edge of a cliff, only to jolt back to life.
You’re irrationally mad at the offending device. First, it woke you up from the best sleep you’ve had in what feels like months. Second, you know it means that Buck has to leave your bed. He has to leave you.
You hear him before he moves. He lets out an annoyed grunt, his breath warm against the back of your neck, where he has tucked his chin rests on your exposed shoulder. A chill runs up your spine.
“‘M sorry,” he murmurs, removing his body from yours to reach for the phone on the bedside table. The bed shifts as he reaches blindly behind him. He grabs the phone, turning the alarm off before letting it drop to the side of his head. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“5 more minutes.”
You exhale. You expect him to remove himself from your backside as you both adjust to waking up. It’s certainly way earlier than you normally awake, but you don’t mind it. Not if you get to keep Buck’s warm body against yours. Besides, you know as soon as he leaves, you can get a few more hours.
But he doesn’t move. In fact, his face returns to your shoulder, lips barely grazing your skin. It’s almost like he went to press a kiss to your shoulder, but quickly stopped himself.
“Your bed is comfy.”
You hum in response to him, nuzzling your head back into the pillow. You want to tell him that he’s comfy, but you decide against it- for now.
You could easily fall right back asleep in his arms. You tug the blanket back up over yourself, further isolating Buck from the world. Selfishly holding him in your bed for a few more minutes.
“Didn't mean to wake you, sleeping beauty.”
A soft nod and your curl your feet in, one resting against his calf. He lets out a low groan, vibrating against your skin. You let out a sleepy giggle as it tickles you. He’s so close, you can feel a hint of stubble on his face.
“Hmm, ticklish.”
He nuzzles your neck with his nose, making you squirm with breathy protests.
“Your hair smells good.”
You’re still in the state between half asleep and awake, muttering a soft response.
“Mhmm, you too.”
It’s silent after that. Not a bad quiet, though.
Neither of you move. You’re too comfortable.
You want to turn around and bury your face in his chest. To feel his warm torso against your cheek, listen to his heartbeat in your ear.
But you don’t because you know he has to get up. You know he has to leave for work. And if you move, it’ll ruin the opportunity for you to fully soak up the bliss of the moment.
So you don’t move. Not yet.
You feel like you’re dreaming.
You groan when the loud sound of the second alarm pierces through the air. This time, the alarm is turned off much quicker.
He digs his forehead into the crook of your neck, sighing against your neck. You shiver slightly, sliding your arm up outside of the blanket. You lightly bring your hand up against the side of his head, caressing him softly. He breathes in deep, tugging you closer to him. He lingers for at least a few minutes, causing you to drift back into sleep.
The muscles in his hand flex as he pulls back, waking you up from dozing off. His hand rests on the side of your waist, fingers digging into the curve, nose nuzzling your neck once more.
Then slowly, he unwinds himself from you. The moment he pulls away, you miss the pressure of his warm body against yours.
You want to protest as he tugs away. To trap him there. To pretend he doesn’t have a job to attend to. That neither of you have adult responsibilities you have to fulfill.
You roll onto your back with a large sigh. You know he has to get out of bed. The only thing that makes you feel better is that it seems that he, too, doesn't want to get up.
But would it be the worst thing ever if you pulled him back down to lay next to you for a few more minutes?
You glance up to watch him groggily run a hand over his face. He’s also struggling to keep his eyes open, evident by the way they’re half shut. A yawn forces itself out of his throat and he forces himself to wake up by stretching his muscles. Buck rolls his shoulders back, groaning again as he wakes up his joints.
You prop yourself up on your hand, watching as he smooths his hair. The same locks that you wanted to smooth a few hours ago. The blanket shifts as he moves towards the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over. A slight rush of air goes underneath the blanket, but he seems to be careful in not letting too much cold air get to you.
“Morning.”
You hum in response at the way he looks over his shoulder, blue eyes meeting yours, his voice still thick with sleep. You lazily smile back at him. You could get used to hearing that groggy voice of his.
You watch as he moves around, his back muscles flexing as he stretches. You bite your lip, rolling onto your side and propping your head up on your hand.
He moves around the bedroom effortlessly, comfortable in this space. Like he has been here before. Like he belongs in this apartment.
You should be shocked at how fast things have changed between the two of you. In under 24 hours, you have moved from sharing coffee to sharing a bed. 0It should feel like you jumped the gun way too soon.
But it doesn’t. It feels like a scene straight out of a movie. One in which everything instantly clicks together.
“You have plans today?” Buck asks as he reaches down into his duffel. The muscles in his forearm flex, and you think about how firm his arm felt around you.
It’s one of those moments where you hear the words but it takes a moment to register. You look at him, sleepily blinking before you process his question.
You want to provide a sarcastic remark about how you plan to go back to bed until at least 9 am. But you bite your lip, both to prevent the obvious answer from slipping out and to curtail the urge to pout.
“No, just homework and reviewing the lesson plan and notes for tomorrow.”
He tugs a shirt on, working on the buttons. You expect the conversation to be over for now, for him to grab his toiletries and freshen up. But he stops halfway through the buttons to look up. Like he has come upon a revelation that is going to change the world.
“You should come to the station for lunch.”
He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
It’s casual, easy, and you feel like everything is moving so fast.
But it’s not forced. It feels right.
Something changed last night, but he acts like there’s no need to talk about it.
That this is simply the new normal.
“It’s my day to cook, and I’m making sliders and fries,” he follows up as he throws a causal tee on. “Oh, and my sister Maddie will be there. She has the day off.”
You’re all sleepy smiles. How can you say no when he’s looking at you like that. When he’s talking about people most important in his life. You know you can’t.
But then the panic about meeting them sets in. He wants you to meet his sister? You’re unclear on what this relationship even is right now. How are you supposed to face his sister? You don’t even know much about her.
“You should bring your laptop, because I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to eat on time. With duty calling and everything.”
“Damn LA,” you tease him, giggling slightly when he shakes his head in amusement “Always having to go save the day.”
“What am I going to do with you?”
You want to tell him all of the things running through your mind- all of the things you wouldn’t mind doing with him.
You wouldn’t mind sharing your bed again, cuddling up on the couch and watching TV. Cooking and baking together.
Sharing a few kisses or…
Yeah no. Quit. He has to leave and you’re just going to work yourself up.
“If I say yes to going to the station for lunch, will you keep me around?”
It’s supposed to be funny, lighthearted, and even teasing. But when a pause follows, it lingers in the air a bit too long for your comfort.
This time it feels different, and your anxieties start to creep in.
What if you were reading way further into this than you needed to.
Maybe this was a one time thing, cuddling to keep away nightmares, to feel less alone.
“You think you can get rid of me that easily? No take-backs.”
Again, his voice is soft, so casual. There is no time for him to think about an answer, just the truth. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“But really, you should come, if you want to. I think Maddie would be super happy to meet you.”
Meeting a partner’s family had never been in the cards for you. You never let it get this far- always too focused on school, your future, protecting yourself. But Buck? He wasn’t just breaking these rules. He was making you forget why you had them.
You were excited at the prospect of meeting someone’s family. To be that important to be introduced to someone important in their life- Buck’s life. He seemed excited for you to meet his sister. What would it hurt to put yourself out there?
“I guess I’ll have to come, it’s not like you’re giving me a choice. But I’m going to warn you that I’m not exactly the most extroverted person when it comes to meeting new people.”
“No one will bite, promise. And if they do? Guess I’ll have to be your knight in shining turnout gear.”
You giggle, dropping your head onto the pillow. Buck grins, eyes glancing between you and his shirt before disappearing into the bathroom.
When the door shuts, you shift to the middle of your bed, pulling his pillow towards you. You’re warm again, his scent still in the fabric. You dig your face into it, inhaling and closing your eyes.
Excitement bubbles up in your chest, a squeal muffled into the pillow- one that could rival a schoolgirl’s
There is no way in hell your friends will believe this. You’re not even sure you believe it
You tell yourself not to get ahead of yourself, not to have high hopes. But Buck keeps being Buck, and with every smile, reassuring word, and soft touch, each layer of brick around your heart comes crumbling down, quicker than the last.
warning: golden retriever Buck (real dog); ridiculous fluffy; supernatural; Buck being taken to veterinarian
word count: 855
The first serious part of this series! Not native English speaker so I used translating app for help.
This part is a bit short because I had never raised a real dog so all content was imaginary, some ridiculous stuff in my mind, all for fun and cuteness.
Comments are very welcomed! Let me know if there's any problem.
previous part is here: Part 0 - two strike
enjoy!
Buck woke up to the smell of dirt and the itch of grass against his face. Not the usual wake-up call for a guy who slept on a king-sized mattress in a loft with blackout curtains. He blinked, groggy, expecting the familiar hum of his apartment, but instead, he got sunlight stabbing his eyes and a weird weight to his limbs. He tried to sit up, only to realize something was very wrong. His hands weren’t hands.
They were paws. Big, fluffy, golden paws.
“What the—” he started to say, but it came out as a sharp woof. His heart slammed against his ribs. He twisted his head, catching a glimpse of a wagging tail—his tail—and a coat of scruffy golden fur. No. No way. This wasn’t happening. He was Evan Buckley, LAFD firefighter, not some stray dog. Specifically, not that stray dog. The golden retriever he’d been watching her feed for weeks.
Panic set in fast. He scrambled to his feet—paws slipping on the pavement—and barked again, louder this time, hoping someone would hear him. “Eddie! Bobby! Anyone!” he tried to shout, but it was just a string of frantic woofs. He bolted toward Station 118, its bay doors looming ahead, his mind racing. Was this a curse? A jinx? He’d joked about the universe screwing with him after those two missed chances with her, but this? This was next-level insane.
Before he could figure out how he’d even gotten here, a familiar figure appeared on the sidewalk. Her. The girl with the soft smile and the paper bag of treats. You. His ears—God, he had ears now—perked up despite himself as you crouched down, your cardigan slipping off one shoulder. “Hey, buddy,” you said, your voice as gentle as ever. “Hungry today?”
You held out a treat, something crumbly and human-edible—Buck could smell it wasn’t cheap dog kibble—but he wasn’t about to eat it. He was a man, not a damn dog, no matter what his body was saying. He barked, sharp and insistent, backing away. Your brow furrowed, confused, and he felt a pang of guilt. But he didn’t have time for guilt. He had to get to the station, make someone notice him.
“Help! It’s me!” he tried to yell, lunging toward the bay. The barks echoed, wild and chaotic, and he charged forward, paws skidding. You gasped behind him, caught off guard. He didn’t mean to scare you—he just needed Eddie or Chim to see him, to figure this out. But he’d barely made it halfway across the street when a pair of strong hands scooped him up like he weighed nothing.
“Whoa, easy there!” It was Chimney, grinning as he held Buck—the dog—aloft. “This guy’s feisty today.”
Buck thrashed, barking louder, but Chim’s grip was iron. You ran up, breathless, your skirt swishing. “I’m so sorry,” you said, hands clasped together. “He’s never like this. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
Chim shrugged, setting Buck down but keeping a hand on his scruff. “Maybe he’s just having a bad day. Happens to the best of us.”
Buck glared up at him—couldn’t they tell?—but Chim just chuckled and walked back inside. You knelt beside him, worry creasing your face.
“Are you okay, bud?” you murmured, reaching to stroke his head. He froze. Your touch was soft, hesitant, and for a second, he almost leaned into it. Almost. Then he remembered he was a grown man trapped in a dog’s body, and this was a nightmare.
You stood, biting your lip. “Maybe you’re sick. We should get you checked out.” Before he could protest—woof—you scooped him up, surprisingly strong for someone so soft-looking, and headed down the street. Buck’s stomach sank. A vet? No. Absolutely not. He squirmed, but his energy was fading fast, the panic burning him out.
The vet’s office was a blur of cold tables and prodding hands. Buck endured it, too exhausted to fight as the veterinarian poked and prodded, muttering about hydration and stress.
“He’s fine,” the vet finally said, peering over his glasses. “Not sick, just worked up. Keep an eye on him.”
You nodded, relieved, and thanked the vet as you lifted Buck again. He didn’t resist this time. The exam had drained him—needles, thermometers, the works—and he let his head flop against your arm. You carried him out, murmuring reassurances he couldn’t answer, and soon he felt the sway of your steps as you took him somewhere else. Home, he realized, when the air shifted from city noise to the quiet of an apartment.
You set him on a couch, soft and worn, and sat beside him. “What’s going on with you today?” you asked, half to yourself, brushing a hand through his fur.
He met your eyes, warm and worried, and felt a strange mix of frustration and calm. He was still a dog. Still trapped. But at least he was here, with you. For now, he’d rest. Later, he’d figure out how to fix this—
because Evan Buckley wasn’t staying a golden retriever forever.
Warning: superstitious Buck, then only fluff I guess, no real move or being interrupted
hi it's my first time post fanfic here, English is not my first language so I used translating app to help. Let me know if there's any problem! If you are willing to comment to help me improve I'd be very grateful! <3
I wrote two version, one was Buck's POV and one was Reader's, I'm not sure which one is better. This one is Buck's POV.
It's a series actually but the first chapter is so different from the following so I post this one alone, you can take it as a separate short story.
Enjoy!
Evan "Buck" Buckley wasn’t looking for anything special that morning. It was a quiet shift at Station 118, the kind where you could actually hear the hum of the city outside the bay doors instead of the usual chaos. He was halfway through wiping down the engine, the cloth in his hand streaked with grime, when something caught his eye. Not you, not at first. It was the dog.
A golden retriever, big and scruffy with a tail that wagged like it was powered by pure joy, stood just beyond the station’s open doors. Buck squinted, pausing mid-swipe, and watched as the dog nosed at a little brown paper bag on the sidewalk. Its ears flopped as it scarfed down whatever was inside, clearly delighted. That’s when he saw you.
You were crouched low, knees tucked under a flowy skirt that brushed the pavement. A soft gray cardigan hung loose on your frame, the sleeves slipping past your wrists as you reached out to scratch the dog’s ears. Your voice drifted over, gentle and warm, though Buck couldn’t quite make out the words. Something about the way you smiled at the dog, like it was the only thing in the world that mattered, made him stop altogether. He leaned against the rig, cloth forgotten, and just watched.
You weren’t loud or flashy. You didn’t demand attention like the women who usually turned his head. You were… soft. Kind. The kind of cute that sneaks up on him, unassuming and real. Your hair caught the morning light as you stood, brushing your hands on your skirt, and Buck realized he was smiling. He didn’t even know why.
Eddie’s voice jolted him out of it. “What’s with the grin?” He stepped up beside Buck, following his gaze across the street. “Oh. Stray dog girl?”
Buck straightened up, tossing the rag over his shoulder. “She’s feeding it again. She’s always feeding it.”
Eddie smirked, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe she’s why that dog keeps hanging around. You gonna say hi, or just keep staring like a creep?”
“I’m not staring,” Buck said, a little too quickly. “I’m observing.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
But Eddie’s teasing hit a nerve, and Buck made up his mind right then. Why not? She was just a girl feeding a dog. He could say hi, maybe crack a joke about the retriever getting spoiled. He took two steps toward the sidewalk, rehearsing something casual in his head: “Hey, that dog’s gonna get too fat to run with you around.” Simple. Easy. He could do this.
The alarm chose that exact moment to blare. Sharp, shrill, and perfectly timed to ruin everything. Chimney shouted something incoherent from upstairs, and Buck groaned, his momentum faltering. He turned back, grabbing his gear as the team spilled into the bay. By the time the truck rolled out, lights flashing, You were gone. Just you and the golden retriever, vanished like a mirage.
...
He couldn’t stop thinking about it all week. It wasn’t even a big deal—she was just some girl, right? But every time he walked past the bay doors, he found himself glancing at the sidewalk, half-expecting to see you there. He kicked himself for not moving faster, for letting the call steal his shot. So when he saw you again a few days later, he didn’t hesitate.
It was late afternoon, the sun dipping low and casting long shadows across the station. You were back, same spot, same dog. That little paper bag crinkled as you pulled out a treat, and the golden retriever’s tail went wild. Buck watched you laugh, soft and unguarded, and something flipped in his chest. This time, he wasn’t waiting. He jogged out of the bay, ignoring Eddie’s raised eyebrow from the kitchen window, and made it halfway across the pavement before the universe intervened again.
The alarm screeched, cutting through the quiet like a knife. A car wreck on Wilshire, three injured, Bobby’s voice already barking orders over the radio. Buck froze, one foot on the curb, and cursed under his breath. You looked up, startled by the noise, and for half a second, your eyes met. Yours were wide, curious, framed by that soft hair he couldn’t stop noticing. His stomach did a ridiculous little flip, but then Bobby’s voice crackled again.
“Buck, you coming or what?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself to turn back. He stole one last glance over his shoulder as he reached the truck, but you were already walking away, the dog trotting happily at your heels. Two chances, two interruptions. That wasn’t a coincidence—it was a pattern.
That night, Buck sprawled across his couch, a beer balanced on his knee that he barely touched. The TV flickered in the background, some mindless reality show he wasn’t really watching. He kept replaying those moments—the smile you gave the dog, the way you’d looked up at him just before he’d had to run. Two swings, two misses. He wasn’t that superstitious. Not too much, at least he wouldn't admit. But come on. The universe was practically screaming at him.
Maybe it was a sign. Maybe chasing this, whatever it was, was a bad idea. He’d seen enough weird calls—freak accidents, impossible odds—to know better than to tempt fate a third time. “Better off leaving it alone,” he told himself, flipping the channel to drown out the thought. But even as the TV blared, he couldn’t shake the image of your smile or the golden retriever’s wagging tail. Two strikes. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself from stepping up to the plate again.
Hi!! I love your writing a lot and I'm so glad to have found your account 🩷🩷 This is my first time ever making a request so please let me know if I was being to vague, but can you write a buck x F/GN reader where buck and reader comes home late at night and they do sort of a cleansing night routine? I don't know if that makes sense or if it's too plain, but thank you if you do!! 🩷
LONG DAY — E.BUCKLEY
there’s nothing you enjoy more after a long day than unwinding with your doting boyfriend.
evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.4k | fluff | masterlist.
a/n — enjoy some wholesomeness :)
The apartment door swings open with a quiet creak, and you step inside, your body heavy with exhaustion.
The shift at the firehouse had been relentless—one call after another, barely enough time to catch your breath between emergencies. Your muscles ache, and the scent of smoke clings to you like a second skin, embedding itself deep into your clothes, your hair, your pores.
Behind you, Buck follows, just as worn down, though he still manages to wear a small, weary grin. You hear the dull thud of his boots as he toes them off near the door, a sigh slipping past his lips.
“Finally home,” he murmurs, his voice rough from hours of shouting over sirens and inhaling ash.
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let your gear bag drop from your shoulder with a heavy thump, wincing as your stiff muscles protest the sudden movement.
Lifting your arms to stretch, you feel the pull in your shoulders and the deep-seated tension in your lower back.
Buck watches you with quiet amusement, his eyes soft despite the exhaustion weighing him down. Then, as if drawn to you by some invisible force, he steps forward and wraps his arms around your waist from behind.
His embrace is warm, grounding, the heat of his body radiating through the fabric of your sweat-dampened shirt.
He presses a kiss to the curve of your neck, the scratch of his stubble sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper.
You exhale, leaning into him. “Yeah. Just—long day,”
“I know,” he says, tightening his hold on you for a moment before loosening it just enough to guide you forward. “Come on. Let’s wash this day off,”
You let him take your hand and lead you down the dimly lit hallway, past the framed photos on the walls, past the warmth of the living room where the couch seems to beckon you to collapse into it. But the shower is calling louder.
Buck steps into the bathroom first, reaching out to turn on the shower. The pipes groan in protest before the water sputters to life, quickly filling the small space with a comforting warmth.
The steam rises, curling around the edges of the glass door, and you already feel lighter just knowing that soon the grime and stress of the day will be washed away.
You move sluggishly, exhaustion making your limbs heavy as you pull your sweat-sticky shirt over your head. It clings stubbornly to your skin, and you grunt in frustration.
Buck turns at the sound, his gaze dropping to your struggle. Without a word, he steps forward, gently grasping the hem of your shirt and peeling it off for you.
His touch is careful, his fingers brushing against your ribs as he lifts the fabric over your head. When you’re free of it, he tosses it aside, his hands lingering at your waist. His thumbs skim over your skin in slow, absentminded strokes, his eyes scanning your face.
“You look dead on your feet,” he murmurs.
“Feel like it, too,” you admit, giving him a tired smile.
He huffs out a soft chuckle before dropping to his knees to help you out of your pants. The gesture is intimate but not rushed, just another part of your shared routine after grueling shifts.
He tugs your pants down with gentle hands, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs as he guides them down. You step out of them, and as he rises back up, he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
When both of you are stripped bare, he laces his fingers through yours and pulls you into the shower.
The first touch of hot water against your skin makes you sigh in relief, your body instinctively relaxing as the warmth seeps into your muscles.
Buck moves behind you, his large hands settling on your hips before sliding up to your shoulders, kneading gently. “You’re so tense,” he murmurs, thumbs working circles into the knots in your muscles.
You hum in agreement, letting your head drop forward slightly, allowing him better access. His touch is firm yet soothing, his fingers finding each tight spot and easing the tension away with practiced precision.
Then, without a word, he reaches for the shampoo.
“Turn around,” he says softly, and you obey, facing him as he lathers the shampoo between his hands. The scent of eucalyptus fills the air as his fingers weave into your hair, massaging your scalp with slow, deliberate movements.
Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “That feels amazing,”
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the steady stream of water. “You deserve it,”
He takes his time, his fingers working through the strands of your hair, making sure to wash away every trace of sweat, soot, and fatigue. When he tilts your head back under the spray to rinse out the suds, his hands cradle the back of your neck, holding you steady as the warm water cascades down your skin.
You return the favor, lathering body wash between your palms before running your hands over his broad shoulders, across his chest, down his arms. His muscles are taut beneath your fingertips, his body familiar in a way that makes your heart ache with love.
By the time you’re both fully rinsed, the water has started to cool. Buck turns it off before stepping out first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you before drying himself off. He doesn’t rush—everything about tonight is slow, intentional, meant to be savored.
The two of you move seamlessly through the next part of your routine, making your way to the sink where your collection of skincare products waits.
Buck had never been into skincare before meeting you. At first, he’d only joined in for fun, teasingly smearing cleanser onto his face while making exaggerated expressions in the mirror.
But over time, he’d grown to enjoy it, relishing in the small, grounding ritual of taking care of himself after the chaos of the job.
You hand him his designated cleanser, watching as he carefully dispenses the right amount onto his palm before rubbing it into his skin. His expression is comically serious as he stares at his reflection, making sure to get every inch.
You stifle a laugh. “You always look like you’re solving a mystery when you do this,”
“This is serious business,” he replies, rinsing off the cleanser with methodical precision. “Gotta keep my skin as flawless as yours,”
Shaking your head fondly, you finish your own routine before turning to him with a small dollop of moisturizer on your fingertips. “Here, let me,”
He leans in without hesitation, letting you smooth the cream over his face. Your fingers trace the curve of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw.
His skin is warm, soft beneath your touch, and when you finish, he doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice laced with affection.
“Anytime,”
Once the final touches of your routine are complete, you both make your way to bed, the exhaustion settling in fully now that the weight of the day has been washed away.
The mattress is cool and inviting as you slip beneath the covers, and the moment you do, Buck pulls you close, his arms wrapping securely around you.
His body is warm against yours, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek as you rest your head against his chest.
“Long day,” he mutters sleepily, his lips pressing a drowsy kiss to your forehead.
You hum in agreement, nuzzling closer. “But at least we’re home now,”
“Yeah,” he sighs, tightening his hold on you. “Home,”
