CATEGORIES ⠆fluff, secret-family!au, i have a butt load of fics like this in my drafts (if you can’t tell already i love dad!buck and eddie)
buck is usually an open book, he talked about everything and anything- the 118 practically knew his whole life story but then you came along. when things got serious with you he didn’t want to jinx it. being a man of superstition, he just didn’t want to ruin something good. so he never really told anyone. then a year of dating became two, you got engaged and not soon after had maisie. he didn’t mean to keep you away from his family (except maddie, he cannot keep anything from her) it just never came up. they just knew about the vague ‘im seeing someone’ stick that never was pushed because, knowing bucks past dating history, they thought the relationship wouldn’t last long especially when he stopped mentioning anything about it.
you hadn’t planned on coming by, buck had been texting you all day– it’d been a slow morning for them. maisie had just woken up from her nap with the sleepiest gummy smile and an arm stretched toward the door, babbling for him and you couldn’t resist, a surprise visit wouldn’t hurt, right? plus you missed him and you knew maisie did too.
it’s around 3PM, the team was getting ready for family dinner at the 118 when chim catches someone walking into the station. stood at the loft he sees a women with a child on her hip, tucked into her shoulder. the women looks around like she’s searching for something.
“can we help you?” chim asks from above, leaning against the railing of the loft, brows raised in curiosity.
you look up, spotting him. nerves growing in your stomach, one of many colleagues buck has told you about. you clear your throat, nerves betraying you as your voice comes out small and meek. “uh hi… i’m looking for evan.”
evan? no one ever calls him evan.
chims head tilts, turning back to buck who’s lathering on way to much butter on his biscuit. he calls out to buck, mid bite giving chim an unsatisfied look for stealing his attention from the delicious food.
“evan buckley?” hen asks from besides chim, gathered in curiosity looking down at you with a daughter suspiciously looking a lot like buck. eddie coming out from the locker room nearly does a double take, his eyes falling to maisie. “and… who’s this little one?”
buck, who’s now abandoned lunch, joins chim and hen ever the noisiest. comes to see you and your daughter with eddie, behind your shoulder softly speaking to maisie. his heart nearly stops and grows at the same time. his expression went from furrowed brows to a wide gleaming smile, excited to see you both. he practically bolts down the stairs, hen and chim watching him “sweetheart?” his familiar voice calls out, taking long, fluid steps to you. you watch the way the room freezes. hen’s eyes widen. chims jaw already dropped, bobby who’s joined at the railing as well at the sudden commotion. eddie blinks like he’s not sure he heard right.
“what are you two doing here?” a soft grin already forming—one that stretches into a full-blown smile the moment he sees you.
maisie squeals and kicks her feet in your arms, reaching out for him. buck doesn’t hesitate—he scoops her up with practiced ease, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek. “she missed you,” you say softly, watching the way she burrows into his neck.
“i missed you too, sweet pea,” buck murmurs into her hair, before bending down a bit of give you a chaste kiss on your lips, everyone else in the station forgotten in the moment. the team looks at each other bewildered, what is going on? hen clears her throat, hands on her hips like a mother catching her child doing something bad. buck turns, maisie babbling, pointing at hens glasses. “oh! uhm guys, this is my fiancée.” wrapping his arm around you pulling you close. “and our daughter, maisie.”
you wave albeit a bit awkwardly, telling them your name. you’ve heard about them so much and seen pictures but they all look different in person– more welcoming, like home.
“wait, wait,” chim gasps, holding his hands in front of you “you’re his wife.” he points to you, then maisie “and that’s your daughter who looks basically like a mini version of you!” grasping the concept that buck has his own little family without anyone knowing. then a look of realization hits his face. “does maddie know? you’ve been withholding a little niece and best friend from jee-yun!”
you and buck exchange a look, eyes narrowing– his mouth faltering to a nervous grin “yeah about that… maddie knows”
chimney practically freezes “she’s met jee-yun?” you nod, biting your lip anxiously, buck looks at you the same. you were surprised chim hasn’t caught on, they’ve meet quite a lot since maisie was six months old. maddie even telling you once jee-yun wouldn’t stop saying ‘mai-mai’ the day after they went to your house and chim chalked it up to jee-yun being in her ‘imaginary friends’ phase. the rest of the 118 look at him– unsure how’d he react, then wordlessly he pulls his phone out of his pocket before heading to the locker room, probably calling maddie.
“guess the cats out of the bag.” hen remarks, the rest of the group nodding along. the moment is quick to pass as they turn their attention to your and your daughter, their newest revelation.
“how old is she?” eddie asks, already drifting closer brushing a finger over her small, chubby knuckles. her hand soon enveloping his finger in a tiny fist, he gives the group ‘are you seeing this? someone take a picture!’ look
“just turned one,” you say, shifting into buck’s side. “she’s been crawling but has yet to take her first steps.”
“i—wow,” bobby says with a slow shake of his head. “buck, you’ve been holding out on us.” looking to wear hen and eddie are now clamoring around her trying to make her laugh, making silly faces and playing peek-a-boo.
“i wasn’t trying to hide them,” buck says quickly, eyes flicking to you. “i just… it felt nice, keeping something just for me for a little while, you know?”
you squeeze gently his bicep. you understood. he’d lived so much of his life in the open, under watchful eyes and immense expectations put on himself and his job. but this your little family was something he got to build quietly.
“so this is why you started turning down overtime,” hen says with a knowing smile.
“and showing up to shift early with coffee, black and this aura… should’ve known as a father myself, how did i not notice earlier?” eddie says with a smirk.
buck laughs, bouncing maisie gently as she clutches at his shirt. “yeah. turns out being a dad makes you… grow up a little.”
“a lot,” you tease under your breath.
the 118 gather around slowly, the initial shock fading into curiosity and warmth. chim back after giving maddie a earful and promising a play date with maisie soon. maisie charms them all within five minutes, everyone having a turn carrying her and taking quite a liking to bobby, which who wouldn’t? even sharing her star shaped puffs with the team after they invited you to stay for lunch
you lean into buck’s side as he watches his team interact with your daughter, around the table. maisie in eddies lap as they coo and giggle at her, gnawing on a piece of bread. this was it, this is what he’s wished for all his life, his daughter and you with the people he loves the most. you catch the way his eyes shine a little.
“you okay?” you ask quietly.
he nods, his arm tightening around your waist.
“yeah,” he murmurs. “i think… i think i finally get what home feels like.”
ownership of starrvsn. please do not repost, modify or translate.
(This is the first fic I have ever written, and I am super nervous to post it so please be kind)
summary: Evan Buckley falls in love with you, and that helps him fall in love with his birthmark as well.
Evan Buckley had never thought people payed attention to what really made him, him. He had quirks, interests, distinctive features but others didn’t notice, not really. Not how he wanted them to. Buck wanted the people he met to notice the way his eyes lit up when talking about what he loved, to pay attention to how he tended to fidget when he was nervous, or to the countless fun facts he knew. He wanted others to notice his smile, his tattoos, his birthmark.
Buck had always had a love-hate relationship with his birthmark. He went from being insecure about it as a kid, to basically forgetting it was even there except from when people he met asked “What is that? Did you get punched in the face?”. And that question never failed to annoy him. It was a birthmark for god’s sake, was it so hard to just understand and no task about it? Apparently it was, until he noticed that it wasn’t.
-----
The 118 had hired you as a new recruit, you were around Buck’s age and had just begun your probation period. You carried yourself with a particular cheerfulness that immediately caught Buck’s attention.
When you introduced yourself to him, you spoke your name gently, then your eyes fell on his birthmark, and you, like many others before couldn’t help but comment on it, but there was something different in the way you aknowledged the small bruise shaped mark.
“Is that a birthmark? It’s so pretty”
Buck’s heart skipped a beat, instinctively fidgeting with his fingers
“I- uhm… yes, it is. You’re actually the first person who doesn’t think I’ve been punched in the face”
He sheepishly smiled, and you laughed at his words.
His heart stuttered in his chest again. He knew he was already smitten. What he didn’t know was how much his birthmark would have grown to mean to you.
-----
As months went by, you and Buck grew very close. He was there for you everytime you doubted that this was the right job. He gave you a gentle hug after your first bad call, after the first person you couldn’t save. And you had completely stolen his heart.
It had been a hectic day, the calls seemed to never end. It was a heavy day for you, who were still relatively new to the job, so Bobby told you to go home early and rest.
It was in that moment that you understood that bad calls were hard, but knowing Buck was on a call alone without you was harder. You knew how reckless he could be, you had read him like a book, and recognized how he never put himself first. The thought of not being able to see him, to not be able to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid filled your heart with worry, so before you went home, you rushed to Buck and gave him a hug.
His breath hitched at the unexpected contact, as he wrapped his arms around you like he had done probably too many times already.
“What is this for?”
His voice, just above a whisper, made you shiver.
“Don’t do anyhting reckless”.
He could hear the genuine worry in your voice.
“When am I ever reckless?”
He joked to lighten up the mood, but he knew you were serious. He held you tighter.
“I promise… I’ll come back in one piece”
“You better”
You whispered, then without thinking you gently cupped his cheeks and lowered his head so you could press your lips to his birthmark. Buck felt heat rising to his cheeks, his heart beating out of his chest. No one had ever done anything like this.
“A-and what was this for?”
He whispered.
“For good luck”
You smiled brigthly at him, and that’s when he realized you were his light.
-----
A year had passed, and you now were an official member of the 118. Buck had sat in the first row during your cerimony, and had rushed to hug you as soon as Bobby had finished his shift. You two were closer than ever, everyone knew that what Buck felt for you wasn’t simple friendship, but you seemed to be the most oblivious person on the entire planet.
You two were always hugging, always sitting too close to one another, yet no one seemed to want to talk about it. Not only that, the birthmark kiss happened again as well, they seemed to be your special thing.
----
There was an awful call one day. A house fire, a family with young kids involved. Everyone had made it out alive, but those kind of calls stuck to a person, especially to such a kind soul like Buck.
You had seen it, you had begun to notice when he couldn’t detach himself enough from the job to not be affected. He had grown quiet, not commenting with you on the way back to the station. You knew he was still carrying the screams, the pleads of those parents to save those children with him.
Once back at the station, you wordlessly tugged on his sleeve and pulled him aside.
“Hey”
You whispered.
“If I remember correctly it was you who told me to not pretend to be okay”
He shook his head then spoke, his glassy eyes refusing to meet yours.
“It’s stupid. They made it out, everyone’s okay. I shouldn’t feel like this”
You cupped his cheeks again, and gently tilted his face to make him look at you. His teary eyes broke your heart, he always showed so much emotion with his gaze alone.
“It’s not stupid. It’s true, everyone’s okay and that’s also thanks to you”
You spoke gently.
“But that doesn’t mean you have to be”
A tear fell down his cheek.
“I-I don’t think I’m okay”
You nodded and then tilted his head down. You pressed another gentle kiss to his birthmark, his heart rate increasing like everytime you did that. And Buck just let his head drop onto your shouder and wrapped his arm aorund you. This hug felt different, it felt like Buck was allowing himself to not be okay for once.
-----
It was probably after that moment, after he had felt okay again and had returned to being lucid, that Buck had decided he was going to tell you how he felt. Of course that wasn’t easy, and it was just an excuse for his stupid insecurities to rear their ugly head again. All the times he had been left behind, all the friendships he had ruined by sleeping with them came back to mind.
He couldn’t lose you, he couldn’t lose what he had with you, he couldn’t make this awkward. But he also couldn’t keep his feelings hidden anymore, because they were stopping him from having normal conversations with you.
So he decided to tell you. He didn’t plan anything too fancy, he knew he wasn’t your style. You had told him about how you cringed every time your past partners had been too extra. He just invited you over and cooked dinner. You loved his cooking.
After eating, when you were both sitting on the couch he finally decided to get this over with before his courage failed him.
“I have something I have to tell you”
You turned arund, your eyes soft as you looked at him.
“You can tell me everything, Buck”
“I know but this is complicated”
He took a deep breath.
“I-I thought I maybe shouldn’t be saying anything. That I shouldn’t be… spoiling what we have, but I can’t. I can’t keep pretending I see you just as a friend. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as a friend and I know you probably don’t feel the same because you’re so cool and I’m just me and I-“
You cut him off. For the first time you hadn’t listened to his rambling you otherwise loved so much. And you had cut him off by pressing a soft kiss to his birthmark, again. His breath hitched again, his eyes looking into yours with so much love. He couldn’t speak for a moment, so you spoke instead.
“I love you too, Buck”
He was completely starstruck, his heart beating wildly, until he let out a soft laugh.
“You… You kissed my birthmark before you kissed my lips”
You smiled at that.
“Of course. No one else has this little thing but you. It’s special”
Your finger traced the shape of his birthmark softly.
He allowed himself to get lost in your eyes for a moment, then he asked with a playful smirk.
“Can you kiss my lips too, though?”
You smiled and rolled your eyes playfully.
“I guess we can make that work”
And you two kissed. Your lips met his and Buck had to say, your kisses on his birthmark did feel even more special than this.
-----
You and Buck had been dating for months and you couldn’t be happier. You two basically lived together, spending every night at his place.
You two were cuddling. Buck’s head was on your lap and your fingers were tracing the shape of his birthmark. He spoke in a gentle voice, almost afraid to break the comfortable silence.
“You know… before you came along, I never appreciated my birthmark. I went from hating it to forgetting about it. But now I love it”
He trailed off, then continued.
“I love it because you love it. Because it feels like something only you can have”
“I love it too. I loved it since the day I met you”
You pressed another gentle kiss to his birthmark, and his heartbeat sped up again.
“Your heart still races when I do that”
You smiled.
“You notice that?”
He asked gently.
“I always noticed that, since the first time I did it. It’s cute”
“Good. Because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to keep my heart from beating out my chest with you”
You kissed him again, on the lips this time and Buck was finally sure. Someone had payed attention to him, really payed attention.
“You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had. And the most real person I know.” ˚ ༘ 🦕
Synopsis: You’ve come a long way from the girl your parents tried to mold. LA gave you a second chance, and the 118 gave you a reason to stay. But when your estranged parents return, suddenly everything you’ve fought for — your healing, your self-worth — starts slipping through your fingers. And Buck, who knows what it's like to be made to feel like you’re never enough, refuses to let you spiral alone.
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff
AU: None
Pairing: Evan Buckley x Paramedic!Afab!Reader
Warnings: Emotionally unavailable parents, mentions of familial and childhood trauma, body image issues.
Note: This is based on an actual realization I had with my own parents, because they always try to mold me into someone I’m not. If you’re going through something similar, please know that your self worth is not tied to these people and their opinions do not matter. Lots of hugs! Don’t forget to like + reblog as well because they are very much appreciated.
You were never enough — not for the parents who raised you, not for the version of success they carved out long before you had a say.
They wanted you in a white coat or behind a desk in a pristine office with your name etched in gold on the door.
Doctor. CEO.
Something to brag about at parties, something that didn’t involve dirt-stained boots or adrenaline-fueled sirens screaming through the city.
But that was never you.
You were the one who ran headfirst into chaos, hands steady, heart louder than logic.
You were the paramedic on the front lines — saving people, stitching lives back together in the middle of a street, on the floor of someone’s living room, beneath flickering streetlamps at 3AM. You were the kind of woman who found herself in the mess, not behind a polished title.
And when you weren’t holding someone’s pulse in your palm, you were sketching out the day on the back of call sheets, painting the quiet between shifts, listening to music the way some people listened for meaning.
Your mother never liked that either.
“You’re hiding behind your hobbies,” she used to say. “You could be someone if you just tried harder. You look like someone.”
She always said that like it was a curse — like beauty meant you owed the world something performative. Like being seen was more important than being whole.
But you had built yourself up — brick by stubborn brick — from the ache of being overlooked. And in the firehouse, with the roar of engines and the quiet camaraderie of those who understood, you had finally found peace.
Especially in him.
Buck wasn’t just a fellow firefighter.
He was your calm in the storm. He was the one who didn’t flinch when you unraveled, the one who saw past the version of you shaped by pressure and criticism. He never tried to change you — only reminded you of who you already were.
The girl your parents tried to remake… she didn’t survive the shift.
But the woman standing in her place? She carried trauma, yes — but she also carried purpose. Family. The kind that came with turnout coats, inside jokes, and a seat saved at the station table.
And most days, that was more than enough.
Until they came back.
The sun hadn’t fully broken over Los Angeles yet, but the city was already humming — slow and sleepy in some corners, chaotic in others.
Buck had his usual iced coffee in one hand, his keys in the other, and your favorite breakfast sandwich tucked into a brown bag he pretended not to make a big deal about.
You teased him for it every time, but the way he shrugged and smiled like it was second nature made it harder and harder not to fall for him again each morning.
“You still deny I’m your favorite,” he grinned, handing you the bag as you slid into the passenger seat of his truck.
“You’re not my favorite,” you said, already biting into the sandwich. “You just bring good food.”
Buck smirked. “That’s basically the same thing.”
It had been a slow, quiet thing between the two of you. Not the blazing, dramatic romance people wrote songs about — but something softer.
Healed.
It came after the long nights, after the therapy sessions, after the breakdowns and the breakthrough that came after.
You weren’t looking to be rescued anymore. Neither was he.
Instead, you’d built something steady — like muscle memory, like breath.
You woke up, met him outside of your apartment, showed up to work, made fun of each other in the locker room, rolled your eyes when Hen caught you smiling too wide.
It was comfort. It was ease.
And lately, it felt like the kind of thing you could build a life around.
At the station, the team had already claimed their seats in the kitchen — Hen nursing her coffee like a lifeline, Chim flipping through a magazine he probably had no intention of reading, Eddie snorting at something Ravi said under his breath, and Buck sliding into the seat beside you.
“You gonna eat both of those pieces or are you feeling generous today?”
“Generous, with you? Never,” you shot back, pushing your half-finished plate toward him anyway. He beamed like you’d just handed him gold.
Bobby walked in mid-laugh, muttering something about the last shift’s messy truck logs, before giving you both a nod.
You felt a flicker of gratitude settle under your ribs — like maybe this was your real beginning. Like the ghosts from your childhood didn’t have a place at this table anymore.
Then your phone buzzed.
It was a simple vibration at first. One you ignored.
Then another.
Then a third.
You reached into your hoodie pocket without thinking, glancing at the screen as Buck leaned over to grab the creamer behind you.
Mom.
Dad.
No message. Just the names lighting up your screen in tandem, like they were waiting to be let in again.
You froze for a second too long.
“You okay?” Buck asked, catching the shift in your posture.
You nodded quickly, sliding the phone screen-down onto the table. “Yeah. Just spam.”
“Spam with your last name?” Hen raised a brow, sipping her coffee. You shot her a subtle glare that only made her grin.
Buck didn't press, but his eyes lingered a second longer than usual, quietly clocking the change in your mood.
You forced yourself to laugh along with the team as Chim started mocking something Ravi said, but your head was miles away.
You hadn’t seen your parents in a little over a year and a half. Not since the last screaming match that ended in a slammed door and a one way plane ticket back to LA without looking back.
They’d always wanted you to be someone else — and for a long time, you thought if you just tried hard enough, you'd become that person. But you had come a long way since then.
You weren’t a project anymore. You weren’t unfinished.
You were someone now.
And yet, all it took was one notification to make your stomach twist like you were seventeen and living under their roof again.
Buck gently nudged your knee under the table.
“You sure you’re good?”
You looked at him — really looked — and for a moment, you wanted to tell him everything.
How scared you were to open that message. How tired you were of being molded into someone else’s dream. How the life you had now felt fragile suddenly, like it could be taken away the second you let the past back in.
But the moment passed.
“Yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”
Buck watched you carefully, like he didn’t believe you — but also didn’t want to push you before you were ready. Instead, he smiled softly and handed you the last bite of your sandwich.
“Well, wake up. You’ve got another twelve hours with my charming self.”
You laughed — because it was easier than crying — and took the food from his hand.
“Lucky me.”
But in the back of your mind, the messages waited.
And you knew it was only a matter of time before you’d have to decide whether to open the door… or finally close it for good.
The call wasn’t heavy, not in the way that stuck to your skin for days. A minor traffic collision, a few broken bones, a scared kid who wouldn’t stop clinging to Chimney until his mom arrived.
It was the kind of run that made your heart squeeze in a different way — the kind that reminded you of everything fragile about the world.
You were quiet on the way back. Buck noticed.
You knew he did because his eyes found you in the rearview mirror more than once, flickering between the road and the crease between your brows.
Back at the firehouse, everyone scattered.
Hen went to check inventory in the rig, her clipboard in hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Eddie was helping Ravi clean out the squad, their laughter drifting faintly through the open bay doors.
Bobby had vanished into his office, probably knee-deep in the usual mountain of paperwork. Chim was in the kitchen, half-singing under his breath as he prepped dinner for the shift.
And Buck?
Buck waited.
He always waited — not in a way that hovered, but in a way that reminded you he’d be there when you were ready.
“Wanna go up?” he asked gently, nudging your elbow.
You didn’t need to ask what he meant.
The rooftop had become your shared place. A quiet, liminal space above the chaos — where the world slowed down just long enough for you both to breathe.
You nodded.
The city stretched around you, a sea of lights blinking to life against the late afternoon haze. Traffic buzzed below like static, and the sky was turning the soft kind of orange that only LA could pull off.
You sat beside Buck, your shoulders brushing, your knees tucked to your chest. For a while, neither of you spoke.
You just leaned into his side, and he draped an arm around you with practiced ease, his hand rubbing small, absent-minded circles into your back.
“I promised,” you finally murmured.
Buck tilted his head, watching you from the corner of his eye.
“Promised what?”
“No secrets. That I’d talk to you.” You swallowed thickly, staring at your fingers. “They texted again. My parents.”
His hand stilled on your back.
You didn’t look at him yet. You weren’t ready for the weight of that gaze.
“They… they’re here. In LA.”
Buck stayed quiet, which somehow gave you the space to keep going.
“I thought they were just passing through. I didn’t want to make it a big deal. I told myself I’d just ignore it. But then they sent this message and said they wanted to talk. That they’d been thinking about me. About everything.”
You laughed — a short, bitter sound.
“And part of me wants to believe it. That maybe people really can change. I mean… look at you. Look at Maddie. Even your parents. They’re trying. The Hans too. And it made me think — if they can change, why can’t mine?”
Buck’s arm pulled you a little closer, his voice quiet.
“Because yours hurt you. Not just once. Not just in passing. But over and over again.”
You turned your face into his chest, the soft fabric of his hoodie muffling your thoughts.
“They hated who I was,” you said.
“Not just what I did — not being a paramedic, not choosing a job where I get to help people every day — but who I was. I liked art. I liked movement. I liked not needing their permission to be myself. And they said it made me selfish. Undisciplined. Unlovable.”
Buck’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing gently at your temple.
“You’re not any of those things,” he whispered.
“You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had. And the most real person I know.”
You breathed in, grounding yourself in his scent — laundry detergent and smoke and something unshakably him.
“But it still hurts,” you admitted.
“Even after all this time. Even when I tell myself I’ve built a life. That I’m good. That I’m okay now. All it took was one message and suddenly I feel like I’m fifteen again and nothing I do will ever be enough.”
Buck exhaled slowly, resting his cheek against the top of your head.
“You’ve come too far to let them take that from you.”
“But what if they really mean it this time?” you whispered.
“What if they want to make amends? What if I don’t even give them the chance?”
Buck didn’t answer right away. He waited, thoughtful, like he was measuring his words carefully.
“I used to think that too,” he said.
“When I went back to my parents’ house that time… I wanted so badly for it to be different. I wanted them to see me. The version of me I worked so damn hard to become. But the thing is — it’s not about them. It never was.”
You looked up at him slowly, heart pounding in your chest.
“It’s about what you need to feel safe. To feel whole,” he continued. “And you already built that. You don’t need to let them back in to prove you’re healed.”
He brushed your hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your jaw.
“But if you do let them back in… do it for you. Not because they suddenly remembered how to be parents.”
That cracked something open in you.
For the first time in hours, you let the tears fall — quiet, cathartic, and honest. Buck didn’t flinch. He just held you tighter, kissed your forehead, and waited with you on that rooftop like he always did.
And in that moment, you knew something with perfect clarity:
You weren’t a teenager anymore.
You weren’t trying to earn love from people who only ever saw you as a reflection of their own regrets.
You had a home now — not in a place, but in people.
In Buck. In Hen. In Bobby. In Chim. In Ravi. In Eddie. In the family you chose at the 118.
And maybe — just maybe — that was more than enough.
At first, it was fine. Or at least, it looked fine.
The meeting with your parents was held in a neutral place — some polished brunch spot on the West Side with cold-pressed juices and overpriced eggs.
They hugged you like they meant it. They said they missed you. They even asked about your job, your friends, your life.
You let yourself hope. Just a little.
But it didn’t take long for the cracks to show.
“You look tired,” your mom said, peering across the table. “Are you still not using concealer?”
A laugh followed, as if she’d just made a joke. You forced a smile.
Later, your dad — swirling his coffee absentmindedly — asked, “So… are you really planning to stay a paramedic forever?”
Your heart dropped like a stone.
“Not that we don’t respect what you do,” he added quickly, as if softening the blow.
“It’s just… there’s more out there. You’re smart. You could still go back to school. Do something that really stretches you.”
You gripped your fork too tight.
“I like what I do,” you answered, steady and restrained. “I help people. Every single day.”
They didn’t argue. But their silence screamed louder than words.
That was the beginning.
The comments didn’t stop. They just evolved — small, needling remarks that made you second-guess the things you’d worked so hard to reclaim.
“You know, if you just dressed a little differently, you'd look even more put together.”
“This haircut is cute, but the last one made your face look slimmer.”
“I still think you’d do well in PR — you’ve always had a nice smile.”
They cloaked it all in faux concern, under the guise of caring. But what they were really doing was trying to remake you into something they could understand.
Someone more acceptable. More palatable. Less you.
You thought you could handle it.
You thought — after everything you’d survived, after years of therapy, after finding love and home in the 118 — that you were immune to their power.
But you weren’t.
Not entirely.
You didn’t tell anyone. Not even Buck.
You kept coming into work with a smile on your face, your uniform pressed, your voice steady. You carried your gear like it weighed nothing, even when your shoulders ached from the stress you weren’t admitting.
But the little things gave you away.
You started zoning out during debriefs — just for a second or two — like your mind had floated somewhere else.
Somewhere darker.
You’d stopped lingering at mirrors in the locker room, dressing quickly, avoiding the impulse to check your reflection.
Even compliments from Hen or Chim started to land wrong — twisting into something warped by the things your parents had said.
And worst of all: you skipped breakfast. Sometimes lunch, too.
You didn’t mean to. You just weren’t hungry. Or maybe you just didn’t want to hear that quiet voice in your head — your mother’s — telling you to be careful about portion sizes.
Buck noticed.
Of course he did.
He noticed how your uniform hung differently. How your laugh didn’t reach your eyes. How you hadn’t touched your smoothie after a call and shrugged it off with “I’m just tired.”
He watched you push food around your plate at dinner. Watched you duck out of team photos when Bobby tried to snap one for the wall. Watched you smile through gritted teeth like your jaw was wired shut.
And Buck — for all his light and warmth — knew darkness when he saw it.
One night, after a long shift, he waited until everyone had gone. You were packing your things in the locker room when he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You ever gonna tell me what’s really going on?”
You froze.
“Because I know you,” he continued softly. “And you’re slipping.”
You turned around slowly, blinking too fast.
“I’m fine, Buck.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, moving toward you.
“You haven’t been fine for weeks. You barely eat, you’re constantly somewhere else in your head, and you flinch when anyone compliments you. That’s not you. That’s not the you I know.”
You swallowed hard, looking at the floor.
“I didn’t want to make it real,” you admitted. “I thought… if I didn’t talk about it, it wouldn’t stick.”
Buck’s hands found your shoulders, gentle and grounding.
“Talk to me. Please.”
And that was when the dam broke.
You told him everything — about the comments, the small jabs, the way your parents had managed to reopen wounds you thought were healed.
You told him about the fear creeping in, how you’d started second-guessing the body you’d learned to love, the career you were proud of, the face you saw in the mirror.
“I fought so hard to feel okay again,” you whispered. “And now I feel like I’m back at square one.”
Buck shook his head and pulled you into his arms, cradling your head against his chest like he could shield you from it all.
“You’re not back at square one,” he said.
“You’re not that person anymore. You’re stronger now. But even strong people break a little when the right people push the wrong buttons.”
You let yourself sink into him, into the warmth, into the truth of his words.
“They don’t get to take this from you,” Buck said, voice low.
“Not your peace. Not your joy. Not the life you built for yourself. Because you built it with your own hands. You didn’t wait for anyone’s permission — not theirs, not mine, not anyone’s.”
You nodded into his chest, your tears soaking the fabric.
And he held you, quietly and completely, until the shaking stopped.
From up here, at the firehouse rooftop, the hum of L.A. traffic was just white noise — distant, forgettable.
You were wrapped in Buck’s arms, your head resting against his chest, his hoodie warm against your cheek.
The call earlier had shaken you a bit — not because of the trauma or the chaos, but because you'd caught your own reflection in the fire truck window, and for a second, all you saw was her.
Your mother’s voice echoing in your ears: you’d look so much prettier if you just fixed your posture.
You thought maybe saying it out loud would break the spell. So you did.
And Buck just… listened.
Now, he shifted, his hand gently stroking your back, voice low and steady.
“You know,” he began, “I spent a long time trying to be what my parents needed.”
You blinked up at him, and he was staring out at the skyline — not avoiding you, just thinking. Peeling open old scars.
“I was the ‘fix-it’ kid. If something was wrong, I’d jump in. Be the distraction, the helper, the good one.” He let out a short, mirthless laugh.
“Didn’t matter how much I gave. It was never enough.”
You watched him carefully, feeling your chest ache for the boy he once was.
“They didn’t see me, not really. Not until Maddie left, and even then… it was like I only existed through what I could do for them. Not who I actually was.”
His voice softened, eyes flicking back to yours.
“You’re not alone in this.”
Tears threatened again, but you bit them back.
“I thought they changed,” you whispered. “I thought maybe… maybe if I let them in, they’d see me now — the real me. Not the one they wanted me to be.”
Buck nodded.
“That hope? I know it too well. But Y/N… healing isn’t about letting the people who broke you walk back in just because they might be better now.”
He took your hand, threading his fingers through yours.
“You don’t owe them another piece of yourself. Not after everything you’ve done to become you.”
You looked at him, really looked — and saw not just the man who loved you, but the one who had clawed his way out of the same kind of shadow.
“The 118 — Hen, Chim, Bobby, Eddie… they see you,” he continued. “They respect you. They love you. Hell, I love you.”
You let out a shaky breath, and Buck cupped your cheek with his free hand.
“You built a life from the ground up. You stood in fire and didn’t flinch. If your parents can’t see that? That’s not on you.”
Silence settled around you again, the kind that didn’t need filling.
And for the first time in weeks, your shoulders relaxed.
Because Buck was right.
Your family wasn’t something you were born into. It was something you chose.
And the 118 — this loud, messy, brave, wonderful crew — had chosen you back.
Every single time.
It was their last night in L.A.
You sat across the dinner table from your parents in a sleek West Hollywood restaurant — the kind they would’ve approved of, with overpriced salads and polished silverware.
You’d even worn something nice, soft makeup, hair tucked back just the way your mother always said looked “less messy.”
And yet, nothing you did ever seemed to be enough.
They were smiling — that brittle, curated smile they wore in public. They made small talk about your “little job” and asked again if you'd considered going back to school, becoming a doctor like you “originally said you would” when you were fifteen.
You tried to laugh it off, to steer the conversation away.
But then came the line.
Your mother, wine glass in hand, leaned across the table with a too-sweet smile and said,
“You’re too beautiful to hide behind that uniform forever, sweetheart. You could be something more — if you just tried.”
That was the final crack.
Your chest tightened, your fingers clenched around your water glass, and all the work — all the healing, the therapy, the hours at Station 118 saving lives and rebuilding your confidence — it all teetered on a ledge.
“Do you even hear yourselves?” you said, quietly at first.
Your father looked up, startled. Your mother blinked, taken aback.
“I’ve been doing everything I can to build a life — my life — and all you see is who I’m not.”
Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop.
“You wanted me to be a doctor. Or a businesswoman. You hated that I loved art, that I found purpose in helping people. You hated the way I looked, dressed, existed. And now, you come to L.A. for three days and want to shape me all over again?”
Silence fell over the table.
“I’m not going to dinner with you again,” you said.
“This… is the last one.”
Your mother’s mouth opened to object, but you were already rising to your feet, grabbing your coat.
“I have a family. A real one. One that sees me. I’m not throwing that away just to be palatable to you.”
And then you called an Uber, knowing your parents would take your car anyway because that’s how much they disrespected you.
You didn’t cry until you reached Buck’s apartment.
He didn’t ask any questions. He just opened the door, took one look at your face, and pulled you into his arms.
You sobbed into his hoodie, fists clinging to the fabric, your knees nearly buckling with the weight of years of resentment and grief. He held you through it — no words, no pressure.
Just presence. Just Buck. Your Buck.
Eventually, you ended up outside — sitting in the back of his jeep at the beach, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, your head leaning on his shoulder as the night breeze swept around you.
Your voice was hoarse when you finally spoke.
“I’ve spent so long trying to be who they wanted. I didn’t realize I’ve already become someone I’m proud of.”
Buck turned his head toward you, his fingers lacing with yours.
“I’ve always been proud of you,” he said, with that soft kind of certainty only Buck had when it really mattered.
“Even when you didn’t see it. Even when you were still hiding parts of yourself.”
You sniffled, leaning into him more.
“They were supposed to love me unconditionally.”
“They didn’t,” Buck said gently. “But we do.”
The next morning at the firehouse, you told Bobby everything.
You expected a lecture, maybe a reminder to show grace — but instead, Bobby reached out and placed a steady hand on your shoulder.
“Family doesn’t come with conditions. You’re one of us. And we’re not going anywhere.”
Hen brought you coffee. Chim cracked a terrible joke that made you laugh through your puffy eyes. Eddie gave you that silent nod of solidarity he only reserved for moments that mattered. Ravi slipped you a cookie from the pantry with a wink.
Evan Buckley never thought he’d be good at this. He wanted it with all his heart but he was never too certain that he’d be good at it.
He stood in the cramped hospital room, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. He was processing everything that had happened in the past hour but his eyes were steady. He was still staring at the tiny human bundled up in the striped pink and blue outfit.
He had held the baby when she was first born, celebrating and thanking his wife for everything she dealt with to give him the gift of life.
“Are you gonna come see your kid up close again?” His wife asked exhausted, back against too many pillows for it to actually be comfortable.
Your kid was all he heard. It was his kid. The bundle in the girl's arms was his kid. The little baby was going home with him. He shuffled closer to the bed slowly, he didn’t want to take a chance at disrupting how peaceful the universe felt. The baby's face was scrunched up, non-existent eyebrows furrowed like this wasn’t her first time in the universe.
“She looks annoyed.” He said, staring at the bundle of love in the arms of the one he loves.
“She’s been dealing with our bad singing for 9 months.” He let out a little laugh at that. Hearing that sound the baby’s hand shot up, tiny fist curling into her cheek. His chest was already cracked open, but seeing that opened it more.
“This is-” He fumbled for his words. “She’s real.”
“Yeah, she’s been for a while now.”
“But she's mine.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “She's real and she’s mine.” He reached out and let a finger brush on her cheek. He went silent for a second, the bravado slipping, his confidence gone. All that was left was the scared version of him that wasn’t sure if he’d be a good father.
“You okay?” His wife asked after watching his face change.
“I want her to like me.” He met her eyes. “I don’t want to screw her up. I don’t want her to turn into what I was.”
“Oh baby.” Her tears welled instantly. “You are not your parents. But more importantly you said it yourself. Was. You no longer are, that’s in the past. That Buck gave me an amazing husband.”
“What if I’m not good at this?” The baby answered him this time. She made a small sound, like a sigh and her hand found his fingers.
“You already are.” She switched how she was holding the baby so Buck could hold her. He wanted to protest, fear of hurting her or ruining her but he also wanted to hold his baby girl. Almost immediately she relaxed into his chest, still grabbing his finger.
“She likes me.”
“Congrats. You are her father.” She laughed dryly.
The same way your kid stuck with him, her father got him even worse. It was his turn for the tears to come back to his eyes. Proud, terrified, grounded. Evan looked down at his daughter. At how her eyes were peacefully closed, her chest rising and falling.
“This is my daughter.” He said out loud. That found word sentence held so many emotions and promises, but to him the biggest promise was simple. She’d never have to worry about if she was loved like he had.
Paring: Don Hart x agegap!Reader + Ryan Hart x Crush!Reader
Summary: y/n Ryder is a paramedic for the 113. She's young and smart and finds herself stuck in an unexpected love triangle between her best friend and his father. Ryan Hart has been chasing her for months, hoping she loves him just as much as he does her. To his dismay she may have eyes for another - the captain.
Warnings: smut, reader is mentioned of be 35 later on(Don is 50), Blythe and Donnie are divorced, public sex, desk sex, unprotected sex, pull out methoded, fingering, covering her mouth, age gap.
❤️🔥MasterList ML2 ❤️🔥table of Contents
(not my gif)
The 113 cheered from the stands, the smell of dirt and horses blending with the scent of roasted corn and dust from the rodeo arena. Donnie and Ryan were out in the pen, adjusting saddles and giving last-minute instructions to their horses as the wind blew sharply.
Donnie’s cowboy hat caught the breeze and lifted, sailing toward the stands. Without thinking, y/n lunged, catching it midair. “Got it” she called, holding it out.
He smiled, walking up and carefully taking the hat from her. “Hang on to it” he said, placing it on her head of curls. His voice was low, calm, but carrying an undertone that made her stomach flip. He stepped closer and adjusted it on her head, the brim brushing slightly against her forehead, their eyes met, heavy with unspoken tension. He lingered there a moment, just close enough for her to feel it as he straightened it.
Y/n felt heat creep up her neck and cheeks as she nodded, her hands clutching the brim, almost afraid to move.
From behind, Ryan called out more sharper than he ment too. “Dad! You comin'? We gotta line up in two minutes”
Donnie's jaw tightened, not wanting to leave. He turned back to her and she smirked. “Good luck, Captain”
“Keep it warm for me” he murmured, lips curving into that easy grin of his. His thumb brushed the brim one last time before he turned back to the pen, whistling to Ryan like nothing happened.
Y/n stood frozen, the scent of leather and sage clinging to the hat now. Her pulse was loud in her ears as she returned to her seat next to Blue. The rodeo announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, calling out the first event. Donnie and Ryan lined up with their horses, ready to start. What made Ryan's jealousy boil even more was Donnie looking over his shoulder and catching her eye one last time before turning back and focusing on the task at hand.
Blue nudged her. “Cowboy hat rule” he said, grinning like an idiot as he nodded toward Donnie.
She raised an eyebrow, debating whether or not she wanted to get herself into this. “and what is that?”
“Any cowboy who puts his hat on a girl’s head is staking a claim” Blue teased, nudging her again.
Y/n shook her head, focusing back on Ryan and Donnie. “that's not a real thing”
“It absolutely is!” Blue insisted, not letting it go. He leaned back, smirking knowingly. “and Ryan's definitely sour about it” His nod went toward his brother, who was clumsily trying to impress y/n from across the arena, clearly forgetting the horse he was supposed to be guiding.
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The farmhouse was warm with string lights and country music drifting out over the fields. Laughter from the 113 spilled across the porch where Blythe was setting out drinks like she’d hosted this crew a hundred times before. Y/n had slipped away. The stables were quieter. Dim yellow bulbs hung from the rafters, casting soft halos of light over the stalls. The air smelled like hay and leather and clean earth. It felt steadier in here - simpler.
One of the horses shifted when she approached. Big. Dark-coated. He sniffed her outstretched hand, nostrils flaring. “Hey there, sweet boy,” she said softly, letting her fingers brush against his velvety muzzle. “You were such a good boy out there tonight”
The horse leaned into her touch, warm and heavy. “That's Duke” a voice said from the shadows, low and familiar.
Donnie stepped into the light, hat in hand, shirt still smelling faintly of dust and rodeo smoke. He didn’t move closer, just leaned against the stall door, watching her with that quiet intensity that made her pulse stutter.
“Duke,” she repeated softly, glancing up at him before looking back at the horse. “You're a very handsome boy, Duke”
The horse snorted, as if acknowledging his own magnificence, and nudged Y/n’s palm for more attention. The gesture made Donnie smile faintly, though his eyes stayed fixed on her - the way the dim light caught her profile, the gentle curve of her neck as she leaned into the horse’s nudge.
Donnie pushed off the door, stepping closer. Close enough that his shadow fell over her in the dim light, close enough she could smell the whiskey on his breath and the leather on his boots. He rested a forearm on the stall gate beside her. “Pet him here,” His fingers shifted her hand up toward the center of Duke’s forehead. “That’s his spot”
His body was close enough now that she could feel the heat coming off him. His chest nearly brushed her shoulder. His hand still rested over hers, adjusting her fingers with maddening slowness. Duke immediately leaned into the touch.
Donnie’s breath hitched slightly, his gaze dropping to their hands where they touched on the horse’s forehead. “See that?” he murmured lowly, his voice almost gravelly. “He loves it”
his gaze fixed on the horse’s forehead, where her fingers now rested. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a slow, idle touch that seemed to hold more significance than it should. Y/n turned her head a fraction. They were so close - her nose nearly brushed his jaw. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but she could still see them - darker here, intent. Focused entirely on her. Not playful like earlier. Not distant like at the arena. Something steadier. Heavier.
“You do this a lot?” she asked quietly, though her voice wasn’t nearly as steady as she wanted it to be.
Donnie’s eyes flicked to hers, surprise flitting across his face before it settled back into that steady gaze. He was quiet for a moment, his thumb still idly brushing her knuckles. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice low and even, almost thoughtful.
“Guide... Be a captain on and off the field”
His jaw tightened slightly, something flickering in those dark eyes - pride, maybe, or the weight of expectation. “Every damn day,” he said, voice rough with the truth of it. His thumb stilled on her knuckles, pressure lingering. “Horses, firefighters, whatever needs leading”
Her pulse ticked in her throat.
Duke shifted again, breaking the moment slightly. Donnie’s hand slid away from hers - slow enough that she felt the absence of it. She turned her head just enough that if either of them moved forward - if she moved with him even slightly they’d be too close to ignore it. His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth before lifting again. There's a beat of silence. Then another.
Then - “Well, well”
Ryan’s voice cut through the moment like a snapped rope. Y/n stepped forward instinctively, Donnie shoved his hands in his pockets as Ryan approached with that easy grin.
“See you've met Duke” Ryan said, resting his forearms on the stall door.
“Yep,” Donnie answered shortly, his gaze flicking between Ryan and Y/n. His son didn't seem to notice the tension lingering in the air, thankfully. Or maybe he just didn’t care. Ryan was never one to back down from a challenge. “She was asking about him”
Ryan looked between them - something flickering in his expression before he covered it with charm. “Oh? So my award winning rodeo skills inspire you to take a ride yourself?” He winked.
She raised an eyebrow playfully, crossing her arms. “Award winning, huh?”
Donnie’s expression darkened slightly at Ryan’s flirtatious tone. He shifted his weight, hands still tucked in his pockets but fingers curling into fists. Ryan just grinned wider, ignoring the way his father's jaw ticked. “I could teach you”
Y/n didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know,” she said playfully. “You looked pretty busy trying not to fall off”
Ryan clutched his chest. “Wow. That’s cold”
“I’m kidding,” she smiled quickly - because that’s who she was. Gentle. Nice. Always softening the edges.
Donnie watched the easy banter between them, something tight coiling in his gut. He shouldn't care. She wasn't his. He had no right. But the way Ryan smiled at her - even playful, even gentle made his teeth ache.
“Come on, live a little”
“That’s sweet,” she said. “But, maybe next time. We got a busy week ahead”
“That we do” Ryan sighs, his grin softening into a more genuine smile. He couldn’t help but notice how Y/n’s answer had deflected any potential flirtation, keeping things friendly and casual. Donnie’s hand slowly uncurled in his pocket as the tension eased slightly.
“So I should probably get home” she continued.
“I’ll walk you out” Donnie said, voice low and flat, already moving toward the barn door before she could protest. Ryan gave his father a soft glare, already turning back to fuss over Duke. Donnie held the door open, the late evening sun casting a long sunset across the yard. He fell into step beside her, not too close, not too far.
The walk to her car was quiet. The string lights from the party glowed softly behind them, laughter and music fading into the distance. Donnie kept his hands in his pockets, shoulders squared, but his steps matched hers - not leading, not lagging. Just present. When they reached her car, he stopped.
Y/n turned to face him, keys jingling in her hand. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unexpected. Donnie’s gaze flicked to her lips briefly before meeting her eyes again. His thumb hooked in his pocket, fingers tapping a restless rhythm against denim.
“Thanks for tonight, it was...” she paused, giving him a playful grin. “interesting”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Glad you enjoyed yourself,” he murmured, voice deeper than before. He stepped closer, not enough to invade her space but enough that the distance between them felt significant. Intimate, almost. “See you at the station, Y/n”
“see ya, Cap” y/n smiled.
He nodded once, that single gesture holding the weight of a dozen unsaid things. Then he stepped back, giving her space to unlock her car and slide inside. He waited until the headlights cast a sharp glare before turning back toward the barn. His expression was unreadable - jaw tight, eyes shadowed. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him like this.
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The following week had already dragged on - wishing it was Friday when it was only Tuesday type of week… Hell, what would it matter? They'd be hauling ass in that big ass red truck on a Saturday. The station was quiet that evening though, the kind of silence that only came after the last call had been cleared and the other crews had gone home. The lights had a gentle glow to them, casting warm shadows across the kitchen. Y/n was leaning against the counter, sipping a lukewarm coffee, absently going through the medical supply list for Roxie.
Donnie appeared from the hall, carrying a stack of reports. He paused when he saw her. Something about the way she leaned there - relaxed, effortless, and completely unaware of the effect she had on him. God, it made his chest tighten.
“You still awake?” she asked, glancing up. Her tone was casual, but her eyes were warm, and for some reason, it made him forget the words he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head.
“Yeah,” he said, setting the reports down. “Just finishing paperwork” His gaze lingered on her longer than necessary.
She tilted her head, catching the intensity in his eyes. “You should get some rest. It's been one hell of a day”
“I could say the same about you” he muttered. He stepped closer, his presence heavy, and before he knew it, he was standing just a little too close, the smell of his cologne, or maybe just him, making her heart thump faster than it should.
“Guess I'd have to listen. You're the captain after all” y/n smirked, refusing to move or pull back.
There was a strange, magnetic pull between them, an unspoken tension that had been building for weeks. Donnie’s hand hovered for a brief, impossible moment near hers, the papers on the counter a flimsy excuse for why they weren’t touching. “You make it look too easy,” he said quietly, his voice low, almost a growl. “All this… work, chaos… and you just glide through it”
She swallowed, her own pulse quickening. “Someone’s gotta keep up,” she said softly. “Can’t have the captain looking bad”
He chuckled, but it was strained. His eyes flicked to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Right… yeah”
For a heartbeat, time slowed. Donnie’s hand twitched toward her, almost grazing her wrist. She could feel the electricity, the closeness, the temptation. His restraint was palpable, but so was the desire behind it.
Then the quiet was broken by the distant clatter of a locker closing down the hall. Both of them jumped slightly. Donnie cleared his throat, stepping back, his hand dropping to his side as though it had never been lifted.
Y/n’s pulse was still racing, though she wore her calm mask. “You okay?” she asked, her voice deceptively casual.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a small, frustrated smile tugging at his lips. “Just… paperwork. Get some rest”
She nodded, taking a slow sip of her coffee. Y/n didn’t move away, didn’t break the tension entirely. There was a momentary, silent understanding between them - a mutual acknowledgment that the line had almost been crossed. And maybe, somewhere deep down, one was waiting for the other to cross it so the other didn't have too.
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Donnie pushed the doors of the station open, dragging his gear behind him, the faint smell of smoke and sweat clinging to his jacket. He tried to shrug off the aches and scrapes from the call, insisting he was fine, but y/n was already there, hovering like a hawk.
“You’re kidding me if you think you’re walking past me looking like that” she said, her voice calm but firm. She took a quick look at the faint cuts on his forehead and the redness around his knuckles as she twisted her hair into the flower claw clip she always used.
He just smiled weakly, trying to play off the pain as he set his gear down and began to peel off his jacket. The cool air of the station hit his sweat-drenched shirt, making him shiver slightly. “It’s just a few cuts”
“You’re not fine,” y/n said, grabbing his arm lightly to stop him. “You let me check you out. No arguments, Captain”
He let out a soft chuckle, his eyes meeting hers as he relented, holding up his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.
She followed him to his office. The room was dim, only the desk lamp casting a soft glow. He sank into his leather chair, letting her take her time. She moved close, flashlight in hand. “Follow the beam, Captain” she murmured, checking his pupils.
“I am”
Donnie leaned back, letting her work, his eyes tracking every movement. He could smell her perfume - something floral and soft - cutting through the lingering scent of smoke on his skin. His knuckles ached, but he wasn't about to mention it; not when her fingers were so gently tracing his jaw, checking for swelling.
“You really think I need this?” he asked, his voice low. But there was a catch in it, a tension in the way he leaned just slightly into her touch.
“Yes” y/n said simply, her tone firm, though her hand lingered a second longer on his jaw than necessary.
Donnie's gaze fell to her lips for a moment before snapping back up to her eyes. He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close she was, how alone they were in the dimly lit office. His heart rate picked up, but not from pain or exertion this time.
She cleaned his knuckles, and for a moment, her hand brushed his. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her closer, but his hands stayed on the arm rests of the chair, tight fists slowly relaxing. She noticed every flicker of desire, every tight muscle, every quiet tremor of his restraint. And after weeks of waiting, of catching stolen glances, of feeling that pull she couldn’t ignore - she finally let go. “Fuck it” she muttered under her breath.
Before he could respond, she leaned down, her hands gripping the collar of his shirt as she pressed her lips to his. Rough, heated, demanding. Donnie’s breath hitched like he'd been shocked, but his hands came up fast, one gripping the back of her neck, the other finding her waist and yanking her between his legs. A low groan rumbled in his chest as he kissed her back, all that restraint he'd been holding crumbling in seconds.
He broke the kiss just to breathe, forehead resting against hers. “Wait,” he panted against her lips, not pushing her away but holding her close. “Are you actually kissing me right now or am I delirious from concussion?” His thumbs brushed her hips, holding on like she might disappear.
Y/n chuckled softly. “Yes... But only because you wouldn't kiss me”
Donnie's brain shorted out at her words, and he captured her lips in a fierce kiss before she could say anything else. His hands moved to cup her face, tilt her head, deepen the kiss until they were both gasping. “I wanted to” he admitted, breaking the kiss to lift her up on his desk.
“You should of”
Donnie growled, his hands gripping her thighs as he spread her legs and stepped between them. He kissed her again, harder this time, punishing almost. His fingers dug into her skin as he pulled her flush against him. “I couldn’t” he panted between kisses.
He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them breathing hard, his hands trembling on her thighs. “I'm your captain” he whispered raggedly, like it was an excuse and a curse both. But he was still kissing her, still holding her like she was oxygen. She moaned softly against his lips, cupping the back of his head.
Y/n pulled back slightly, eyes dark. “then fuck me, Captain”
Something in Donnie snapped at her words, some last thread of control breaking. He kissed her again, aggressive and hungry, hands sliding up her thighs to her hips, pulling her against his hardness. He knew they shouldn't, knew someone could walk by any second, but god he wanted her.
His mouth found her neck, biting and sucking at the skin there while his hand reached up and tugged the claw clip, releasing her hair. He was rough, desperate, all the tension and wanting for months pouring out in one heated moment. His cock pressed against her through their clothes, demanding.
“Donnie” she shuddered against his lips, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.
He let her work the buttons, his own hands sliding up her thighs and under her shirt, skin meeting skin. His name on her lips like that - husky and begging sent a jolt straight to his gut. He kissed her harder, needier. When she finally pushed his shirt open, her palms flattening against his heated chest, he groaned.
He broke the kiss long enough to yank her shirt off, tossing it aside. His hands went back to her waist, pushing her flat on her back on the desk harder than intended. His hands slid up her denim covered thighs to the waistband, yanking them down her thighs.
He rocked his hips against hers, making her moan. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep quiet. Donnie pulled back just enough to give himself clearance, one hand fumbling with his own belt while the other pushed her legs further apart. When she was spread before him, skin flushed under her sports bra - that's when he really looked at her.
His eyes raked over her - the curve of her breasts and stomach, the way her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. He’d looked before, of course, but never like this. Never with permission. Never with the right to touch. He gave his belt one more sharp tug, the leather sliding free. Her breath hitched at the sight.
Donnie's hands curled around her hips, tugging her closer to the edge of the desk then slipped between her legs, fingers pressing through her panties. “Tell me you want this,” he murmured, his voice rough.
“I want this” y/n whispered, reaching for him. “want you”
He groaned, pulling her panties to the side as his fingers slipped between her folds, finding her wet and ready. His thumb pressed against her clit and she arched up against his touch.
“You gotta be quiet” he breathed against her throat, biting down on the sensitive skin before straightening back up and towering over her.
One finger slid inside her, and her head fell back against his desk with a thud. Her mouth fell open and she quickly clamped her hand over it before any sounds were released. Her free hand gripped his wrist as his finger moved inside her.
Donnie added another finger, curling them inside her as his thumb continued to circle her clit. His other hand gripped her thigh, spreading her wider. He watched her face, saw the way her eyes squeezed shut and her jaw clenched as she fought to stay quiet. It was fucking sexy.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice low and rough. When she opened her eyes, glazed and desperate, he thrust his fingers deeper. “You're so fucking tight”
He pulled his fingers out with a wet sound. He positioned himself between her legs, the head of his cock pressing against her entrance. He leaned over her, one hand gripping the edge of the desk for balance while the other wrapped around her thigh, pulling it up higher around his hip.
“P-please” y/n whispered.
That pleading whimper almost made him come right then. He gripped himself, rubbing the head of his cock against her wetness, coating himself before pressing inside slowly. Her mouth fell open in a silent O as he filled her, and he had to bite his lip to stay quiet himself. She was so goddamn tight around him.
He started slow, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. His jaw was tight, forehead wrinkled as he focused on not being too rough, too loud. One hand gripped her hip while the other pressed flat on the desk beside her head. His breaths were ragged and quick.
Y/n was wrapped around him like a fucking vise. Donnie's jaw clenched tighter, his movements becoming more controlled as he tried to hold back. He was big - he knew that. And he was basically dry humping her on his desk. “F-faster... please” y/n whispered desperately.
“promise to stay quiet?” he asks, his voice strained from attempting to keep it together.
“N-no” she said breathlessly - honestly. There was no guarantee.
His hand on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into her soft skin as he picked up the pace. He thrust into her harder, deeper, the desk shaking slightly with each movement. His other hand moved to cover her mouth gently but firmly, silencing any sounds she might make.
Y/n’s eyes rolled back slightly as he started fucking her in earnest - rough, precise strokes that had her legs shaking. His cock hit that perfect spot inside her over and over, and the hand covering her mouth felt possessive, controlling. It made her hotter, wetter, clenching around him. “Shh, darlin'” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her neck.
She was a mess under him, body shaking, eyes half-closed, begging. Donnie removed his hand from her mouth, replacing it with his lips - kissing her deep and dirty while he fucked her through it. His free hand slid to grip the back of her neck, holding her in place against her protests. “Feel so good wrapped around me”
His hips snapped faster, more urgently. He could feel her getting tighter around him, her breaths turning into tiny gasps against his lips. The desk was shaking violently now, papers scattering to the floor. He broke the kiss to bite down on her shoulder, muffling a groan as he felt her orgasm building.
“I'm close” she whispered, her voice shaking as her hips arched off the desk.
“I know,” he growled against her skin, thrusting deeper, hitting that spot that made her see stars. His hand slid between them to rub her clit in rough circles, matching the rhythm of his cock. “Come for me. Try to stay quiet” He was close too - so close it hurt.
Her orgasm hit like a freight train - silent and violent. Her whole body clenched, back arching off the desk as she shook through it. She managed to stay quiet, but just barely, her mouth opening in a soundless scream against his shoulder. The hand in her hair tightened, holding her there while he kept fucking through her orgasm, drawing it out.
“D-donnie” y/n whispered against his ear.
“Shh, I got you,” he breathed, his own control snapping. He buried his face in her neck, muffling his own groan. His hips started to stutter. “want me to pull out?”
Y/n shuddered, brain too fuzzy. “I..umm” she stuttered.
“I’ll pull out...” His voice was strained. He was buried deep inside her, still hard and throbbing. He could feel her squeezing him tightly, like she didn't want him to leave. His hand moved to cover her mouth gently.
He kissed her hard once more before pulling out completely and coming on her stomach instead, biting down on his lip to keep quiet. He panted heavily above her, watching as his release coated her skin.
“Fuck...” He whispered, his forehead resting against hers. He slowly pulled back to look at her - flushed skin, messy hair, lips swollen from kissing. He gently wiped some of his release from her stomach with his thumb before leaning down to kiss her softly. “You okay?”
“I'm great,” y/n looked up at him with a shit eating grin. “thanks, Captain”
Donnie let out a breathy laugh, his forehead dropping to rest against hers. His hand cupped her jaw, thumb brushing over her swollen lower lip.
“Brat” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. He pressed a softer kiss to the corner of her mouth before straightening up reluctantly, tucking himself back into his jeans.
He grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on his desk and cleaned her stomach gently, his touch surprisingly tender after the rough sex. He tossed the tissues aside and then helped her sit up, pulling her panties back into place. His shirt was still open, revealing his chest.
Donnie picked up her jeans for her before buttoning his shirt back up but didn't bother with the collar, leaving it open casually. He watched as she fixed her own clothes, her hair messy around her shoulders. He reached out to gently smooth a strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her neck.
“You put me on night shift... I need to get to the bunks before they realize I'm in here”
“Right” Donnie said, nodding. He stepped closer, giving her a quick once-over to make sure she looked presentable. He knew she was right - if anyone found out she'd been in his office, there'd be hell to pay. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead before stepping back.
He walked her to the door, checking the hallway before opening it slightly. “Go left, take the back hall to the bunks. Should be clear,” His voice was low, back in captain mode. But his hand lingered on her waist for a second too long before he let her go. “See you at morning briefing”
She nodded and slipped out of the office, walking quickly and quietly down the left hallway. Donnie leaned against the closed door, running a hand through his hair. He could still smell her perfume lingering in the room, still feel her warm skin under his palms. What the hell did they just do?
PAIRING: evan buckley x fem!reader
WARNINGS: kissing, no use of y/n
GENRE: FLUFF
SONG INSPIRATION: no lie - sean paul, dua lipa
WORD COUNT: 890
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you’d been worried about evan for a while now.
his lip biting habit was getting completely out of hand. it started as something you barely noticed, just a quick nip here or there when he was deep in thought. but over time, it had become constant.
stressful situations? he’d gnaw at his lip. awkward silences? there he was, tugging at the tender skin with his teeth. even when he was doing something as mundane as scrolling through his phone, his lips bore the brunt of his absentmindedness.
it was driving you mad. not because it was irritating, though you had half a mind to grab his chin and physically stop him, but because his lips were perpetually red, swollen, and sometimes even cracked.
one particularly bad day, he’d been so lost in thought that his lips had started bleeding. you’d seen it happen from across the room, wincing as he dabbed at the cut with a tissue, looking sheepish when he caught your concerned gaze.
that was the final straw.
the solution came to you in the middle of the night. you’d been lying in bed, scrolling through your favourite online shop, when you stumbled across a set of flavoured lip balms. a lightbulb went off in your head. if evan couldn’t stop biting his lips, maybe you could make it more interesting, and beneficial – for both of you.
the next morning, you arrived at work armed with a plan and your first flavour was honey.
evan was sitting at the kitchen table in the station, staring blankly at his phone, his teeth worrying his bottom lip as usual. you’d been watching him for a few minutes, waiting for the perfect moment.
“buck,” you said, pulling the lip balm out of your pocket.
he glanced up, his brow furrowing as he took in your determined expression. “what’s up?”
instead of answering, you twisted the cap off the balm and applied a generous layer to your lips. then, before he could ask any more questions, you leaned over and kissed him.
it wasn’t a long kiss, just enough to transfer the balm, but it left him wide eyed and speechless.
“what are you--”
“fixing your problem,” you say sweetly, sitting back in your chair. his fingers brushed over his lips as he stared at you, his cheeks turning pink. “you kissed me.”
“yes, and i’ll do it again if you keep biting your lips.” you smirked, leaning forward on your elbows. “think of it as behaviour modification.”
he blinked, still processing what had just happened. “that’s... definitely one way to go about it.”
“exactly,” you agree, popping the cap back on the balm. “now stop biting them. they already look so sore,” you pout.
it didn’t take long for your new routine to become a new kind of habit. every time evan started biting his lips, you’d pull out the balm, apply it to your lips, and kiss him.
each time, you’d surprise him with a new flavour – vanilla mint one day, strawberry the next, even coconut on a particularly warm afternoon.
at first, he’d get flustered, his cheeks turning red as he stammered out a protest. “you don’t have to--” he’d start, feeling bad but you’d cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a quick kiss. over time, though, he stopped protesting altogether.
one evening, after a particularly grueling shift, you caught him absentmindedly nibbling at his lips while the two of you were watching a film. without a word, you grabbed the balm from the coffee table and applied it. this time, you used a cinnamon roll flavour.
evan didn’t even hesitate. as soon as you leaned in, his hands found your waist, pulling you closer. the kiss was deeper than usual, slower, more deliberate. you could feel the way his lips softened under yours, the balm working it’s magic. when he pulled back, his lips were shiny, free of any signs of his nervous habit.
“you’re not even trying to be subtle anymore,” you teased, brushing a thumb across his cheek.
“why would i?” he replied, his voice low and warm. “best treatment plan i’ve ever had.”
your lip balm kisses became a running joke at the station. the team started noticing how often evan’s lips looked glossy, and when they caught on, you couldn’t stop the teasing.
“hey, buck, what flavour is it today?” chimney asked one morning, leaning against the counter with a knowing grin.
“peach,” evan mumbled, avoiding everyone’s gaze as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“peach?” chimney laughed. “man, you’re whipped.”
evan didn’t deny it. instead, he shot you a soft smile from across the room, and you felt a certain warmth flow through you as you gave him a shy smile in return.
weeks turned into months, and the habit that had once driven you mad now became something you both cherished. you started keeping track of flavours, surprising evan with his favourites and experimenting with new ones.
some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, his hands cradling your face as he kissed you just to guess the flavour. “chocolate mint?” he’d ask, his voice soft and teasing.
“wrong,” you’d reply with a grin. “it’s mocha.”
“close enough.” he’d kiss you again, and you’d both laugh,
PAIRING: evan buckley x fem!reader
WARNINGS: the end of s6 e10, no use of y/n
GENRE: fluff to angst to fluff, friends to lovers
SONG INSPIRATION: close by nick jonas, tove lo
WORD COUNT: 5.4k
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working out with buck had been your idea. you’d been needing a workout buddy for weeks, and when the team’s golden retriever of a firefighter overheard you mumbling about it to yourself, he all but begged to join.
“you kidding me?” he’d said, practically bouncing on his heels. his blue eyes lit up. “i’ve been dying for someone to spot me! eddie’s great and all, but he always wants to do leg day. you can’t skip chest, y’know?”
you couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, rolling your eyes in fond amusement. “fine,” you’d said, shrugging. “but don’t complain when i make you do cardio.”
he’d placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “cardio? brutal. i’m in.”
truthfully, you weren’t about to turn him down. buck’s infectious energy was always a mood booster, and the idea of having some company – especially someone as good natured as buck, made the thought of dragging yourself to the gym a little more bearable.
what you hadn’t expected, though, was just how much of a scene your new workout buddy would cause once you actually got there.
from the moment you walked in, it was clear buck had a way of drawing attention. it wasn’t just his size, though, at a towering 6’2 with broad shoulders and a physique that screamed firefighter, he was hard to miss.
it was the way he carried himself: confident, animated, and completely unaware of how many people were stealing glances his way.
“alright, partner,” he said, clapping his hands together with a grin as he surveyed the gym floor.
“what’s the game plan?”
before you could respond, he leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “wait…please tell me you’re not one of those people who only does the treadmill and leaves.”
your eyebrows shot up. “and what if i am?”
buck gasped, scandalized. “then i’d have to stage an intervention. you’re not just here to take instagram selfies, right?”
“relax, buck,” you said, laughing. “i actually want to work out. and for the record, i don’t even have instagram.”
“good,” he said, relieved. “because i have a strict no posers policy,” he laughs.
the first hour was typical enough. you’d both started on treadmills to warm up, buck kept pace with you, occasionally shooting you goofy grins or nudging your arm to try and playfully throw you off.
but when it came time to hit the weights, the playful banter took a backseat to something else entirely.
“alright,” buck said, clapping his hands together as the two of you moved to the weight machines. “what’s the plan? you wanna start light and work your way up?”
you gave him a look, a small smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “not exactly.”
he blinked, his curiosity piqued, as you walked past the smaller dumbbells and headed straight for the leg press machine. without hesitation, you loaded it up with plates, a lot of plates.
buck’s eyebrows shot up. “uh…” he hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “you sure about that? that’s, like, 280 pounds.”
“yeah,” you said casually, adjusting the seat as if it was no big deal.
he stepped closer, his concern evident. “i mean, not to doubt you or anything, but… that’s a lot of weight. you sure you don’t wanna, i dunno, warm up with something lighter?”
you shot him a grin, sliding into position. “relax, buck. i’ve got this.”
he opened his mouth to protest, but the words died in his throat as you pushed against the plate, lifting the weight with almost laughable ease.
his jaw dropped.
“holy–”
you completed the first few reps with smooth, controlled movements, your legs steady as you pressed the weight up and lowered it back down like it was nothing. by the time you finished the set, buck’s jaw was practically on the floor.
you sat up, brushing a bead of sweat from your brow and giving him an amused glance. “what?”
buck shook his head, a laugh bubbling out of him as he stared at the loaded machine. “i don’t even know what to say right now.”
“say i’m strong and move on,” you said, smirking as you got up to grab a towel.
“oh, you’re strong, alright,” he said, still staring at the weights like they might be made of styrofoam. “you’re, like, scary strong.”
you rolled your eyes, brushing off the compliment as you moved toward the next machine. “it’s not that impressive.”
“not that impressive?” buck repeated, practically tripping over himself to follow you. “are you kidding me? you just lifted more weight than half the guys i know! heck, i’m not even sure i can do that.”
you shrugged, unconcerned. “it’s not a competition, buck.”
“no, but seriously, how did you– what’s your secret? is it, like, spinach? protein shakes? did you sell your soul for quads of steel?”
you snorted, shaking your head. “hard work, buck. and maybe a little bit of magic spinach.”
he laughed, still looking at you with something bordering on awe. “okay, but now i’m scared to spar with you. what if you accidentally throw me across the room or something?”
“don’t tempt me,” you teased, grabbing a set of dumbbells for your next exercise.
but buck wasn’t letting it go. he lingered by your side, peppering you with questions about your routine, your strength, and how you managed to make 280 pounds look like a warm up as you both did your shoulder press sets.
“do you ever, like, wrestle people for fun?” he asked, eyes wide with curiosity. “because i think you could clean out a bar with those legs.”
“i don’t usually make a habit of that,” you said, amused by his relentless fascination.
“well, you should. you’d make bank,” he said, completely serious.
you chuckled, shaking your head as you put down your equipment. you moved to another machine. “buck, are you going to work out, or are you just here to watch me?”
“oh, i’m working out,” he said, grabbing a pair of weights. “but i’m also taking mental notes. i mean, i thought i was strong, but now? i’ve got to try not to be lifted by you in every single exercise.”
“good luck with that,” you said, smirking.
buck’s grin widened, his competitive streak lighting up in his eyes. “oh, it’s on.”
as the workout continued, buck kept finding new things to be impressed by.
when you did pull ups, he counted under his breath, his awe growing with each rep. “you’re gonna make me look bad,” he muttered, shaking his head.
“then keep up,” you teased, dropping down effortlessly.
when you moved back over to free weights, buck watched as you lifted with perfect form, the muscles in your arms flexing with every movement.
“i think i just found my new hero,” he said, only half-joking.
“buck,” you said, laughing. “stop staring and do your set.”
“i can’t help it,” he admitted, grinning. “you’re like… the woman version of captain america.”
you rolled your eyes, your cheeks warming despite yourself. “you’re ridiculous.”
over the weeks, going to the gym with evan had become a comforting routine. he always made your favorite protein shakes, bringing it in the reusable cup you’d picked out together on a shopping trip.
there was a soothing familiarity to the cycle you’d both fallen into: wake up early, eat, meet evan, work out, eat again, then head to work.
it was exhausting, sure, but it also made you feel more alive and motivated than you had in ages.
as much as you enjoyed it, though, it was becoming a bit of a problem. you felt an ache of disappointment on the days evan couldn’t make it or when he brought someone else to the gym on days you were too sick to go.
there was a twinge of something deeper, an unease in your stomach, whenever you weren’t around him.
you couldn’t stop yourself from sneaking glances at him between sets. watching him lift massive weights with ease, his face barely showing the strain, made your cheeks heat up. flustered, you quickly turned away, taking a sip of water to hide the smile threatening to betray your feelings.
the more time you spent with evan, the harder it became to ignore how much you enjoyed his company – how much you looked forward to your time together. it was in the way when he’d adjust the equipment for you, his knowing smirks when he caught you stealing glances at him, and the way he made the gym feel more like a hangout than a chore.
that morning, as you finished a set on the leg press, you caught evan watching you, his gaze lingering just a second longer than usual. he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
“not bad,” he said. “looks like someone’s been paying attention.”
you shrugged, pretending to be unfazed. “someone had to. i can’t exactly count on you for tips.”
his grin widened as he pushed off the wall, walking toward you. “oh, is that right? maybe i should stop correcting your form then.”
“maybe you should,” you quipped, grabbing your water bottle. “but we both know you can’t help yourself.”
he laughed, low and warm. “you’re lucky i like you.”
you tilted your head, smirking. “oh, you like me? i thought this whole thing was me doing you a favor.”
he stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “is that what you think?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly. “because from where i’m standing, it looks like you’re the one who keeps showing up to see me.”
you rolled your eyes, even as your pulse quickened. “don’t flatter yourself, buckley. i’m here for the gains.”
“sure you are.” he leaned in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “and the protein shakes, right?”
you shrugged, letting a sly smile cross your lips. “well, the shakes are pretty good. i might keep you around for those.”
he laughed, shaking his head as you brushed past him toward the mats. “unbelievable.”
the rest of the session passed with the same energy. quick-witted remarks, lingering looks, and more than a little playful tension. when you finished stretching, evan handed you your protein shake, his smirk firmly in place.
“taste test,” he said, nodding toward the cup. “admit it. i’m the best gym partner you’ve ever had.”
you took a sip, deliberately slow, meeting his gaze with a smirk of your own. “mmm… you’re definitely in my top three.”
his jaw dropped in mock offense. “top three? that’s all i get?”
you shrugged, walking toward the door. “guess you’ll have to work harder if you want to move up.”
he followed after you, his chuckle soft but full of amusement. “oh, i will. don’t worry.”
as you stepped into the cool morning air, the playful grin you exchanged with him lingered. it wasn’t just the workouts keeping you coming back, and you were pretty sure he knew it too.
you should have said something before you left the station.
the bad feeling in your gut had been sitting there all morning, clawing at your nerves with every glance toward buck. he’d been his usual self. bright, charming self. in the way only evan buckley could be, but something about today felt incredibly off.
you didn’t know what it meant but you knew it wasn’t anything to do with his usual antics that made you uneasy.
as soon as the alarm sounded, buck had been all business, as if the bad feeling had somehow missed him completely. but it had latched onto you, sinking its sharp claws deeper with every second.
"hey," he had said just before you all climbed into the engine. "you’ve been staring at me all morning. something on your mind, or do i look extra good today?" his grin was wide, teasing, just like always.
you rolled your eyes, the usual banter offering no comfort this time. "just… don’t do anything stupid, buck."
he smirked as he slung his helmet on, the motion so casual it could have been an instinct at this point. "define stupid," he teased back, his voice light as he climbed into the engine.
you watched him for a second, a twinge of frustration running through you. he wasn’t taking you seriously. but the bad feeling, the nagging sense that something was off, wouldn’t leave.
you knew you weren’t being paranoid.
"buck," you called, stopping him by holding onto his arm just as he was about to get into the engine, his back turned to you. "i'm serious. you’ve been a little more reckless lately, and i don’t want to see you get hurt. you need to be careful."
his expression softened slightly, but there was a flicker of that familiar mischievous glint in his eyes. "hey, you worry too much," he said with a chuckle. "i’ve got this."
you exhaled sharply, watching him climb in and settle into his seat. you should have insisted more. should have made him listen. but instead, you let it slide, trying to push aside the bad feeling in your gut.
still, that nagging feeling wouldn’t go away.
the entire drive to the scene, you couldn’t shake it. you kept glancing at buck out of the corner of your eye, but every time he caught you staring, he’d throw you a grin or wink, as if everything was just fine, as if nothing was wrong. he didn’t see it.
you tried to focus on the task at hand, tried to prepare yourself for whatever was waiting for you once you arrived. but that feeling, that certainty in your gut that something was about to go wrong, kept escalating.
the scene before you was pure chaos. flames licking hungrily at the night sky, smoke billowing in plumes from the high rise apartment building. the rain was relentless, drenching everything, adding a cruel, ironic touch to the flames. you worked quickly, herding evacuees to a safe distance, your voice steady despite the frantic pounding of your heart.
through it all, your eyes kept flickering to buck. he was ‘arguing’ with chimney, both gesturing toward the ladder propped up next to the burning building. you didn’t need to hear them to know what it was about; the decision of who would ascend into danger.
buck won. chimney relented, clapping him on the shoulder before stepping back. you watched buck as he adjusted his gear and started up the ladder.
your hands itched to pull him back, to ground him. but this was the job.
“be careful,” you murmured under your breath, as if the wind might carry your words to him.
he was now fully up the ladder, chimney and eddie stood close by, ready to assist
the hose spraying water over the flames as he leaned into his harness. the muscles in his arms flexed against the pull of the stream, his movements steady despite the slippery ladder and the brutal weather.
you stayed rooted on the spot, keeping a watchful eye on him. every instinct in your body screamed at you to make sure he was okay. he was professional, you knew that, you'd seen it time after time again but also knew that he was always pushing himself, always risking too much.
he adjusted his grip on the hose, pausing for a moment to glance around. his head tilted slightly, scanning the sky above.
that’s when it happened.
a blinding flash of light. searing, far too close. the bolt of lightning struck with a deafening crack, so near it sent a shockwave through the ground. you stumbled back, shielding your face against the glare. when your vision cleared, the madness continued.
eddie was on the ground, sprawled beside the truck, stunned but moving. your eyes darted to the ladder, searching frantically for buck.
your breath hitched.
he was dangling. his body hung limply from the harness. your heart dropped into your stomach, your voice breaking as you screamed his name.
“buck!”
hen was suddenly beside you, her hand firm on your arm. “i’ve got this,” she said quickly, taking your place as you stumbled toward the ladder.
everything around you blurred except for him. your heart racing as you saw chimney and eddie already scaling it, their movements urgent. your heart pounded in your ears.
buck was still swaying in the harness.
chimney reached him first, working quickly to detach the harness, easing him on a stretcher. the seconds felt like hours as they maneuvered to bring him down, each movement too slow for your frantic mind.
they pulled his helmet off, revealing a face that was far too pale. he wasn’t moving. he wasn’t breathing.
“oh my god.” the words left your lips in a whisper at first, then louder, more frantic. “oh my god, he’s not breathing!”
your knees buckled, and eddie caught you, his arms steady around your shaking frame. “they’ve got him,” he said, his voice tight but comforting. yet his eyes betrayed him, he was just as terrified as you were.
chimney was already working, barking orders, his hands moving with practiced precision. but all you could do was stare, tears streaming down your face as you clung to eddie.
“come on, buck,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “please.”
time stretched endlessly, each second a cruel twist of the knife. eddie’s arms tightened around you, grounding you as you sobbed into his shoulder, unable to tear your eyes away from the still figure on the stretcher.
and then, mercifully, chimney shouted, “i’ve got a pulse!”
relief washed over you, a sensation you hadn’t realised how desperately you needed until it finally hit. the moment buck’s chest rose and fell, a steady rhythm of life, you felt a flicker of hope ignite in your chest.
you were the first to jump into the ambulance after they loaded him in, not even thinking, you just knew that you needed to be with him, to stay close. you sat beside him, as the paramedics worked, hands moving swiftly.
your eyes stayed glued to buck, to the rise and fall of his chest with each breath. the fog of his exhale against the oxygen mask was the smallest of assurances, but it was enough. enough to make you believe that, against all odds, he was still here with you.
your fingers curled into the seat beneath you, holding on to that fragile hope. his pulse was steady now, mingling with the low hum of the ambulance. for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to breathe again, knowing that somehow, miraculously, he was still with you.
later that night, the others came by to visit buck after their shifts ended.
first, it was hen. she walked into the room, her face drawn with concern, her eyes immediately seeking you out. when she saw you still sitting in your uniform, not having moved from buck’s side, her expression softened. she took a slow breath, then crossed the room to stand beside you.
“hey,” hen said quietly, her voice gentle as she took in the sight of you, your exhaustion evident. she noticed how you were clinging to the quiet hope that buck would wake up any moment. she placed a hand on the back of the chair you were sitting in, her touch light but grounding.
“i know there’s nothing i can really say to fix this, but just know you’re not alone, alright?”
you gave her a small, tired smile, grateful for her presence. “i know,” you whispered, nodding toward buck. “i just… i need to be here. he’ll wake up soon, hen. he has to.”
she didn’t push you to talk more, knowing there were no words that could change what had happened. she simply stood there, her presence a quiet comfort. she squeezed your shoulder lightly before stepping back toward the door. “i’m one phone call away if you need me.”
you nodded again, and hen gave you one last look. one filled with unspoken support, before she left the room, leaving you alone with buck, the steady beeping of machines and the soft rustle of sheets the only sounds filling the silence.
next came bobby. his steps were slow, almost hesitant, as he approached. he paused for a moment by the door, taking in the sight of you sitting by buck’s side, clearly worn out but unwilling to leave. he stepped closer, his hand briefly resting on your shoulder in a silent show of support.
“how’s he doing?” bobby asked, his voice low but laced with concern.
you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you gave him the same explanation you’d given hen. “he’s stable. the doctors said it’s just the aftereffects of the lightning strike. he’s in a coma, but they’re monitoring him closely.” your voice wavered slightly, but you pushed through, not wanting to show how deeply it was affecting you.
bobby nodded, absorbing the information. he didn’t ask for more details. his gaze lingered on buck for a moment, his brow furrowing with worry before he looked back at you.
“i know that he appreciates you being here with him.”
you offered him a tight smile, appreciating the sentiment even if it didn’t quite ease the weight in your chest.
bobby gave you one last, understanding glance before he turned and made his way to the door.
he left quietly, leaving you alone once more with buck, the room feeling a little emptier than before but still filled with that quiet hope that he’d wake up soon.
it wasn't long until eddie got there. he stood at the doorway for a moment, looking at you with that familiar, quiet worry in his eyes. his gaze flickered to buck before he approached. “how are you holding up?” he asked softly.
you nodded, though the exhaustion was starting to hit you. “i’m fine. i just... i need to be here. he’ll wake up soon. the doctors are optimistic.”
eddie gave a short, strained smile, but his eyes didn’t quite match the gesture. “you’re doing everything you can.” he patted your shoulder and lingered for a moment, then left without another word, his presence offering you the slightest bit of comfort.
after eddie, chimney and maddie came by together, both looking drained from their shifts. they paused when they saw you still sitting there, but you shook your head, silently telling them you were okay.
you reiterated what you had said to the others.
chimney gave you a concerned glance, but maddie was the first to pull you into a hug. her arms wrapped around you, offering a quiet but comforting presence. you let yourself lean into the embrace for a moment, grateful for the feeling of someone who understood what you were going through.
they stayed for a little while, with maddie talking softly to you, her voice calm and steady, offering small distractions. eventually, she gave chimney a look, and he gave a brief nod before heading out of the room, leaving the two of you alone.
the room felt a little quieter, a little more intimate, and the weight of everything seemed to settle around you both. after a beat of silence, maddie let out a soft sigh and glanced over at buck, his unconscious form still hooked up to machines. “of course evan would be the one to go and get struck by lightning,” she said with a light laugh, the sound a bit shaky.
you couldn’t help but chuckle too, glancing at buck with a fond smile. the moment lingered for a while, but the laughter eventually faded, and the air grew heavier again.
maddie’s expression softened, her tone turning more serious. “he talks about you all the time, you know?”
your head snapped toward her, the surprise evident in your eyes. “he… he does?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
maddie gave a small, knowing smile and nodded. “a little too much, if i’m being honest. but don’t tell him i said that,” she added with a wink, as though sharing some kind of secret.
you felt your heart skip a beat at the thought, warmth spreading through you. the idea that buck, through everything, even in the midst of his chaotic life. talked about you with such frequency, it was almost too much to process.
but somehow, it made the weight of the moment feel a little lighter, the hope growing that he’d wake up and that you’d get the chance to hear all of it from him, yourself.
you requested time off, and bobby didn’t hesitate to approve it. he knew, as well as you did, that there was no way you could focus on work, not when your heart and mind were stuck in that hospital room.
so you stayed. you spent your days at the hospital, barely leaving buck’s side. the rest of your life faded into the background. the gym, your job, even basic routines. all of it felt distant and unimportant compared to the need to be there for him.
every night, the nurses gently urged you to leave when visiting hours ended. you could tell they didn’t want to force you out; the sympathetic looks on their faces said as much. they were kind, patient, and understanding, but rules were rules.
each time you left, you were reluctant, your heart aching at the thought of being away in case he woke up. before you’d go, you always leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, your lips lingering a moment longer each time. you’d clasp his hand in both of yours, brushing your thumb gently across his limp fingers, whispering words of hope he couldn’t yet hear.
at home, everything felt heavier. eating and showering became a struggle, but you managed, if only because you needed to be somewhat put together for him when you returned. you’d collapse into bed, trying to drown out the fear and negativity with the faint hope that maybe, when you woke up, he would too.
a week passed like this, each day melting into the next as you clung to your new routine.
on this particular evening, as visiting hours neared their end, you sat by buck’s side again. you clasped his hand, bringing it to your lips briefly before leaning over to place another on his forehead.
and then you felt it, a faint squeeze against your hand.
your breath caught in your throat as you froze, your heart racing. slowly, you pulled back and stared at his hand in yours, disbelief mixing with hope. “buck?” you whispered, your voice trembling.
your heart pounded as you stared at his hand, still clasped in yours. for a moment, you wondered if you had imagined it, if your mind was playing tricks on you after days of exhaustion. but then it happened again, a weak, deliberate squeeze.
“buck?” you whispered again, louder this time, leaning closer to him. tears welled in your eyes as you searched his face for any other signs of movement. his eyelids fluttered, just barely, but it was enough to send a wave of relief crashing over you.
“oh my god, buck, can you hear me?” your voice cracked, and your free hand reached out to gently brush against his cheek. his skin felt warmer than it had in days, and the faintest sound escaped his lips. a low, hoarse groan.
you pressed the call button frantically, your hand shaking as you leaned in closer, desperate to see more. “it’s me. i’m here,” you said softly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “you’re okay, buck. you’re safe. just keep waking up for me, please.”
the door burst open as a nurse hurried in, quickly assessing the situation. “he’s waking up,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of joy and panic.
the nurse nodded, immediately moving to check his vitals and calling for the doctor. you stepped back slightly to give them space, but you couldn’t take your eyes off buck. his fingers twitched in yours again, his head turning just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his face. his eyes opened slowly, unfocused but alive.
“hey, there you are,” you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks as you smiled through the overwhelming emotions.
his gaze drifted to you, his brow furrowing slightly as if he was trying to make sense of where he was. his lips moved, dry and cracked, but no sound came out.
“it’s okay,” you said quickly, leaning closer again. “don’t try to talk. just rest. you’re in the hospital, but you’re safe now. i’m here, buck. i’ve been here the whole time.”
the doctor arrived shortly after, giving you a reassuring smile as they began to examine him. you reluctantly let go of his hand so they could work, stepping aside but never straying far from his side.
“his response is a very good sign,” the doctor said after a moment, turning to you. “we’ll keep monitoring him closely, but it looks like the worst is over.”
you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding, your chest feeling lighter than it had in days. as soon as the doctor stepped back, you were at buck’s side again, taking his hand in yours.
“see? i told you you’d be okay,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. his lips curled into the faintest hint of a smile, and it was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in a while.
a couple of hours later, after the doctors had left and the atmosphere had settled, it was just you and buck in the quiet hospital room. the dim light from the bedside lamp cast a soft glow over him, highlighting the color slowly returning to his cheeks.
he shifted slightly, wincing, and you immediately reached for the cup of water on the tray beside his bed. “easy,” you murmured, slipping a straw into the cup and holding it up for him. “here, small sips.”
buck obediently took a sip, his eyes never leaving yours. his throat worked as he swallowed, and you felt a wave of relief seeing him manage something so simple. it was progress.
“you scared the hell out of me, you know,” you said softly, setting the cup down once he’d had enough. “you got struck by lightning, buck. lightning. do you even realise how lucky you are to be here right now?”
he blinked, his gaze turning thoughtful. “i remember… the storm,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. you immediately reached for the water again, bringing it to his lips before he could continue.
“here. drink more. don’t push yourself,” you said, your fussing in full force now. you fluffed his pillows, adjusted his blanket, and scanned the machines monitoring his vitals, as if you could will them to show even better numbers.
“you remember the storm?” you prompted, sitting back down beside him and holding his hand tightly.
buck nodded, his brow furrowing. “yeah. i was on the ladder… the flames were bad. i remember hosing them down, and then…” he paused, his eyes growing distant. “a loud crack. bright light. and then… nothing.”
your grip on his hand tightened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “buck, you were out for a week. a week. they weren’t sure if you’d–” your voice cracked, and you quickly shook your head, brushing away a tear. “but you’re here now, and that’s what matters.”
buck’s lips twitched into a small smile, his hand weakly squeezing yours. “you’ve been taking care of me, haven’t you?”
you scoffed lightly, brushing it off. “of course i have. someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid like this again.”
he chuckled softly, the sound weak but warm. “you don’t have to worry so much, you know. i’m okay.”
you froze, staring at him in disbelief. “don’t have to worry? buck, do you even realise what just happened to you? you almost died! you were in a coma! and now you’re telling me not to worry? you’ve got to be kidding me.”
as you ranted, your free hand gesturing animatedly, buck just lay there, watching you with an amused smile.
“what?” you snapped, though there was no real anger in your tone.
“nothing,” he said, his voice soft and laced with affection. “just… you’re cute when you’re like this.”
your face heated, and you rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself. “you’re impossible, buck.”
“and yet, here you are,” he teased, his smile growing.
you shook your head, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead.
After the whole q-word jinxing fiasco, all the three of you wanted to do was slumped onto the couch, eat some takeout, and watch some television after such a heavy day. So after having a quick game night with Christopher - where you, Christopher, and Eddie teamed up to make Buck lose much to his playful dismay - and helping to tuck him into bed when it got late, it was time for the three of you to your own thing.
"What are we watching this time?" You asked your partners as you surfed through various different shows, making sure to note which ones piqued your interest.
Walking into the living room with bowls of popcorn in hand, Buck dropped onto the couch with you, careful to not drop anything to avoid Eddie's scolding as he looked inquisitively at the tv with you. "Mm didn't a new Dateline episode come out. I vote for that."
"I seconded that." Eddie said, setting down a bottle of wine and some glasses onto the coffee table before taking the open seat between you and Buck.
