The issue I have with writers doing a "plus-size reader being insecure, so sex is the solution" trope is that it just sexualizes us. Insecurity can also stem from sexualization, just like it can from rejection. Plus-size people face objectification every day, and you're a part of it. It's also so unrealistic; if I'm feeling insecure about my body, the last thing I'd want is someone groping my naked body. Imagine if you were really thirsty and instead of someone giving water, they spit in your face and say, "Well, it's a liquid." That's what y'all are doing with those fic tropes. You're saying, "Oh, you have insecurities? Here's a fic about you getting your puss ate." Also, 99% of these authors who write plus-size characters like that are not plus-size themselves. So, instead of doing research or even talking to a bigger person, they write a crappy, half-assed fic that they think is so different. They praise themselves like they're fucking Liberace. I can give you a quick outline of these fics.
•reader tries on dress
•reader is insecure
•character comes in
•reader cries
•character and reader have sex.
You're like everyone else who treats us like we are not more than our bodies, you're just doing it in a performative way. You're not different, nothing you're doing is new, and if I'm being honest every insecurity->sex fic I've seen has been fucking trash.
Summary: (Y/n), is a skilled paramedic, works alongside Buck and the 118. She’s secretly harboring feelings for him. But after she over hears Buck talking about her, and he mentions her feeling like a sister, she distances herself from him. (Y/n) is pouring herself into work, and when Buck feels the distance, he tries to confront her, but she’s a closed book. But everything takes a turn when (Y/n)’s life is on the line.
TW ‼️: This story includes near-drowning, hypothermia, intense emergency situations, and emotional tension related to trauma.
Request: @woantohae
Word count: 8k
9-1-1 Masterlist | Evan "Buck" Buckley Masterlist
GIF by @emziess
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
The sound of early-morning chatter and distant sirens drifted through the bright red open bay doors as (Y/n) stepped into the firehouse. The air carried its usual mix of gasoline from the trucks, coffee, and a faint trace of smoke that never truly left the place.
A black duffel hung from her shoulder, bumping against her hip as she crossed the polished concrete floor. She gave a few sleepy nods to the night-shift crew heading out before ducking into the locker room.
The metal lockers were lined like soldiers, each one plastered with stickers, photos, and scuffed nameplates. She dropped her bag onto the bench, spun the lock, and swapped her “civvies” for her uniform: the dark blue shirt, with dark blue pants and her boots laced tight. The familiar weight settled on her shoulders, grounding her.
In the bottom of the duffel sat a small white bakery box. She hesitated for a moment, fingers brushing the lid, asking herself if she should leave it right here or just give it to him. It’s just cookies, she told herself. He asked when you were making them again, that’s all. But what if he was joking? She shook her head, like she was shaking the thought out of her head and she tucked the box under her arm and headed toward the kitchen.
The kitchen was already alive with the morning rhythm of the station. Hen was rummaging through the fridge, and the coffeemaker gurgled loudly in protest at being overworked. Buck sat at the table, legs stretched out, scrolling through his phone with that lazy grin that made everything look easier than it was.
“Morning,” he said without looking up, keeping his eyes locked on whatever was happening on his phone. “Morning,” (Y/n) replied, trying to sound casual. She set the bakery box on the table in front of him and, without waiting for his reaction she slid it across the surface and turned straight toward the counter without adding another word to it.
She could feel his eyes on her back as she reached for a mug. Her cheeks were already warming, but at least he couldn’t see them. She could hear his phone drop onto the hard surface of the table, “Wait- these are the cookies?” Buck’s voice brightened with recognition. “The sea-salt ones?” he added.
“Maybe,” she said over her shoulder, pouring coffee and praying the machine’s hiss would cover the smile tugging at her lips. He flipped the lid open and inhaled the smell of the fresh baked cookies like he’d just found a treasure. “You’re kidding. These are amazing.” he said.
Before she could answer, a new voice broke in. “Oh, cookies!” Chimney swooped in from nowhere, reaching over Buck’s shoulder. His hand was halfway to the box when Buck slapped it away with lightning speed. “Hey! Mine,” Buck said, protective as a kid guarding Halloween candy.
Chimney blinked watching him with an offended expression. “Yours? Since when do you get cookie ownership rights around here?” Chimney asked. Buck looked up at Chim, pushing the box closer to him. “Since (Y/n) brought them in for me,” Buck said, his eyes wandering back to her.
She kept her eyes on her mug, pretending to focus on stirring in cream. “They were just extra,” she tried to explain.
“Uh-huh,” Chim said, unconvinced. Buck looked at (Y/n) for exactly five seconds, and that was long enough for Chim to wait until he turned back to his phone and then sneak a cookie anyway. “Hey!” Buck caught the movement too late. “You thief!” he practically yelled over the loft.
Hen entered just in time to see Buck scowling and Chim chewing guiltily. “What’s going on in here?” she asked, one eyebrow already raised. “Cookie drama,” Chim said around a mouthful.
Hen leaned over the box, eyes twinkling. “Let me guess… (Y/n)’s spoiling Buck again?” she guessed, looking at the three persons standing spread over the loft. Buck lifted a hand. “For the record, I didn’t ask.” he said, with his mouth full.
Hen had a hand placed on her hip and smirked at Buck. “Uh-huh. And yet here you are, defending them like they’re state secrets.”
(Y/n) shook her head, half-laughing. “You’re all impossible.” she said as she took a sip of her coffee.
Hen moved towards the kitchen and poured herself coffee, muttering something about “oblivious men” as she left. Chim followed, still munching, before Buck could chase him down.
When the room finally quieted, Buck turned to (Y/n) again, cookie in hand, expression softening. “Seriously, though. These are incredible. You’re the best.” he said, sending her a kind, small smile.
She forced a light smile and took a sip of her coffee to hide the flush returning to her cheeks. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it.” she said.
He laughed, easy and bright, the sound echoing through the kitchen. And even though she knew he didn’t mean anything by it, she couldn’t stop the small ache that came with it.
The wail of the siren was a scream against the city’s early morning quiet. Hen’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as the ambulance sped through the Los Angeles morning traffic as the world was flashing red and white. Beside Hen (Y/n) checked the medic bag for the third time, her heartbeat quick but steady, it was the way she always felt when they were going to a call.
The sharp smell of smoke hit before they even saw the flames. As Hen pulled to a stop beside the ladder truck, (Y/n) felt the vibration of the engines through her boots. The world outside was pure chaos. There was orange light covering up the sides of a three-story apartment building while thick gray smoke spread into the sky.
Hen put the car in park, killed the siren and got out of the ambulance in one smooth move like she had done a thousand times before. They met Bobby at the perimeter, his face hard with focus and ready to command his team. “Hen, (Y/n)—set up triage south side. We’ve got evacuees coming out fast.” Bobby ordered.
“Copy that,” Hen said, (Y/n) hoisted her bag, slinging it across her shoulder as they sprinted toward the line of coughing residents. Even though they were at a safe distance from the burning building, they could feel the heat pressed against them like a living thing, radiating off the burning structure.
For several minutes, it was all motion. Hen checked vitals while (Y/n) flushed a burn with saline, her hands moving automatically. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and melted plastic, the metallic taste of adrenaline. A woman sobbed somewhere behind them; someone else coughed so hard it echoed through the chaos. But she stayed focussed on the patient right in front of her.
Then the radio burst to life, first the sound of static filled the scene, but quickly it was taken over by a familiar voice. “Medic assist needed, interior, second floor east wing!” Eddie’s voice called over the radio.
Hen’s head snapped up. She looked toward the building, then back to (Y/n). Their eyes met, and Hen motioned towards the structure. “Get in there. Grab an O2 tank, helmet and your bag.” she told her team member. (Y/n) nodded, “Got it,” she said as she was already moving. Just as she left the triage, she could hear Hen’s voice call “You got this!” after her, making her grin.
The oxygen tank was heavier than she remembered, but she barely felt the weight as she ran toward the entrance. Firefighters moved past her in a blur, hauling hoses and axes. She shot up the stairs, and made her way towards the east wing as she arrived on the second floor. At the doorway, a figure emerged from the haze. It was Buck with his mask on, visor smudged with soot but his flashlight beam cutting through the smoke. “This way,” he called out, voice muffled through the mask.
He reached out instinctively as she approached, gloved hand brushing her back, a guiding pressure just below her shoulder blade. It was light, almost nothing, but she felt it, solid and grounding through the chaos. Then he was moving ahead again, leading her through the wreckage.
Inside, visibility dropped to almost nothing. Smoke curled through the hallway, hot and wet against her face. Her pulse was a hard, steady beat in her ears. They turned a corner where Eddie was kneeling beside a man pinned by debris, blood pooling dark beneath him. “Femoral bleed,” Eddie said as soon as she made eye contact with him. “He’s conscious but in shock.”
(Y/n) knelt beside him, dropping her bag. “Sir, my name’s (Y/n),” she said clearly, her voice calm and practiced. “We’re going to get you out, okay? Stay with me.” she said. The man groaned, fingers twitching weakly. “Buck, I need you to press this dressing onto the wound” she said. “Got it,” he said, bracing down hard as she pulled the tourniquet from her kit, looping it high on his thigh, just above the wound. After that she twisted the windlass tight. When the bleeding slowed, she locked the velcro strap, securing it in place.
“Eddie, what’s his pressure?” she asked, already pulling the IV kit free. “Dropping. He’s going into shock.” he concluded.
(Y/n) listened to his words and quickly made a choice. “Alright, I’m starting a line.” Her voice was steady, but she could feel the sting of sweat trickling under her mask. She worked quickly, inserting the needle into a vein at the crook of his arm. A bead of dark blood rose before she connected the tubing and held up the small morphine bag. “I’m pushing for pain.” she said, more to herself than to the two guys around her.
She squeezed the bag, watching the clear liquid move down the line. The man’s breathing evened out slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing.
Buck crouched beside her again, passing supplies before she even had to ask. His movements were sharp, precise, an extra pair of hands that seemed to anticipate her next need. When she shifted to check the other leg, his flashlight beam followed, revealing a shard of metal embedded near the knee. “Good catch,” she said, glancing up.
But he didn’t answer, he just met her eyes through the visor and gave a short nod, smoke curling between them. She worked as fast as she possibly could in a burning building, and then the radio crackled again: “All teams, evacuate! the structure is getting unstable!”
“Time to go!” Eddie barked. (Y/n) held the IV line steady, keeping the bag raised as Buck lifted the man and Eddie grabbed the tools they used to search the place. There was no time to call for a backboard. They needed to get the hell out of there.
(Y/n) keyed her radio as they moved. “We’re coming out! Need a gurney ready at the south side of the building!”
“Copy that!” a voice answered through the static.
The building groaned above them, wood cracking, plaster falling in gray clouds. The smoke grew thicker, suffocating. (Y/n)’s lungs burned; her heartbeat pounded in her throat. Then, finally the daylight broke through the smoke like a promise.
Outside, a team was waiting with a gurney. “Right here!” another paramedic from another house called.
(Y/n) pulled off her helmet and oxygen mask and handed over the morphine bag she was holding to the paramedic. “Tourniquet high left thigh, shrapnel in right knee, morphine onboard,” (Y/n) reported quickly as Buck placed the patient onto the gurney. “BP dropping but stable for now.” Two other paramedics moved fast as they loaded the man into an additional ambulance.
She exhaled hard, tugging off the fabric hood from under her mask and just took some distance from the building. The air hit her face like ice, even though a mix of sweat and soot was dripping over her face. She undid her ponytail and ran a hand through her hair, shaking out the damp heat. For a moment, she just breathed, watching the fire crews still battling the blaze.
Buck appeared beside her, removing his own helmet, soot streaking the side of his face. His blonde curls were partly plastered to his forehead, eyes bright in the harsh light. “You okay?” he asked, voice low but edged with genuine concern as he held the fabric hood in his hands.
She cleared her throat and nodded, still catching her breath. “Yeah. You?” she asked, glancing slightly at Buck. He managed a tired smile. “Fine. Just another day at work, right?” he said, slapping the fabric he was holding against her chest, playfully.
“Yeah,” she said softly, but her gaze lingered on him for a second longer than she meant it to.
-
The rigs pulled into the bay just after three in the afternoon, the day still bright and hot. The sunlight slanted through the wide open doors while the hum of engines winding down filled the space.
(Y/n) climbed out of the ambulance, helmet tucked under her arm. Sweat dampened the collar of her shirt, and the smell of smoke clung to her skin no matter how much fresh air filled her lungs. She hung her gear back, ready so if they needed to head out again, she could just slip into her gear and be ready.
She made her way towards the locker room, in her movement stretching the stiffness from her back, her muscles humming as the adrenaline left her body. When she arrived at her locker, she looked up, eyes closed as she sighed. It has been a long call. She needed some peace and quiet.
But the quiet got interrupted, quickly. Buck was a few feet away, unbuttoning his shirt as he made his way towards the lockers too. He didn’t want to linger at her, everyone had their own ways of handling intensive calls. And this was her way.
She already sensed him. She could hear him breathing and the boots he was wearing squeaked at the friction with the floor. His shirt was streaked with ash, and the curls that earlier stuck to his skin were now dried up.
“You good?” he asked with a small grin, his voice a little rough from smoke but steady. She kept her eyes closed as she slowly nodded and forced herself to open her eyes. “Yeah…” She said as she brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, “You?” she asked, turning her head towards him.
Their eyes met, and he offered a tired but genuine smile. It was the kind that still made her chest feel unreasonably warm, even after the kind of call that left you exhausted down to the bone.
He nodded, taking off his shirt “We got lucky in there. If that ceiling had gone just a minute earlier…” he didn’t finish the sentence, it was clear what he wanted to say with that. Buck turned towards his locker, and opened it as a silence fell between the two.
“But it didn’t. You were quick. You carried that guy out before it even had the chance.” she said, looking at him as he was putting his shirt into his locker. He gave her a quiet, half-embarrassed laugh, looking down. “Well, Eddie had the fancy tools. I figured I’d do the heavy lifting.” he said, looking to the side.
She smiled, “You make it sound like nothing.” she said. “I had good backup,” he said, glancing back at her. His eyes lingered just a little longer than they should have. It was a look that made her forget for a heartbeat what she’d meant to say next.
She cleared her throat. “I’m gonna hit the showers before the next call. I smell like a campfire.” she said. He grinned. “Good call, you smell like half the building.” he joked. (Y/n) shot him a look, one brow lifting as the corner of her mouth curved.
“Says the guy who smells like a barbecue gone wrong.” she shot back as she closed her locker. Buck laughed, mock-offended. “I’ll choose smelling like a barbecue over antiseptic any day.”
She shook her head, smiling as she threw her towel over her shoulder. “Mmmm, sure you would, hero.” she said, patting Buck’s shoulder as she made her way towards the bathroom. Still laughing, he watched her walk away.
Not long after, Eddie appeared beside Buck, arms crossed leaning with his shoulder against the lockers with an amused look on his face. “So…” he said slowly, nodding toward the path (Y/n) had just disappeared through. “You gonna tell me what’s going on there, or should i start guessing?”
Buck glanced at him and frowned at his words. “What? Nothing’s going on.” he said. Eddie raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh.. really? Because you two have been… rather close lately… You notice her before anyone else does. You look for her on calls. That doesn’t sound like “nothing’s going on” man.” Eddie said, using his fingers to quote him.
Buck blinked, then let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “Come on, it’s not like that.” He said. “Then what’s it like?” Eddie asked curious. Buck hesitated, staring down at his hands. “She’s… she’s just a friend. We work well together.”
Eddie tilted his head, unconvinced. “You sure that’s all?”
Buck’s shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “Yeah. She’s…” He paused mid-sentence searching for the right words. “She’s like a little sister, you know? Someone to look out for. To protect.” he explained.
Eddie frowned at the chosen words and tilted his head, studying him. “A little sister?” he said. “Yeah,” Buck said, almost too quickly. “She’s good at what she does, and she’s part of the team. I just… don’t ever want her to get hurt. That’s all.”
Eddie watched him for a moment, but long enough that Buck started to feel it. Then he nodded once, slow. “That’s a nice thought, Buck. Just make sure you’re not the one doing the hurting.”
Buck blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Eddie pushed himself off the lockers. “Nothing. Just… sometimes we protect people so much, we don’t realize they don’t need it.”
He gave Buck a pat on the shoulder, gentle and walked out of the locker room. Leaving Buck standing there, unsure why that last line sat heavy in his chest.
In the bathroom everything was cooler and quieter, the kind of quiet that hummed in the air after a long call. (Y/n) dropped her things onto the bench and pulled at the ties of her boots. She reached for her caddy, then sighed. Shampoo. She’d left it in her locker where she had a conversation with Buck.
She rolled her eyes at her own stupid mistake, and she long hall towards the lockers. But as she almost entered the locker room again, she froze. Voices carried from the room. Not loud, but clear enough. Familiar enough. “…She’s like a little sister,” Buck was saying, his tone light but sure. “Someone to look out for. To protect.”
For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe. The words hit somewhere deep, not a sharp sting, but a slow, spreading ache like a virus. Her hands curled into fists, tightening until her knuckles went white.
Eddie said something she couldn’t catch, low and teasing. Buck laughed, that easy laugh she knew so well. And still, that one line replayed in her head. Little sister.
She stepped back into the bathroom before anyone could see her. The sound of running water filled the silence as she set her things down, moving almost mechanically now.
When she finally stepped under the shower, the heat hit her skin and her eyes burned, though she blamed the smoke for it. She let the water run over her face, washing away the soot, the smell of smoke and the sweat. But no matter how long she stood there, she couldn’t wash away the echo of his voice.
Maybe she should’ve known. Maybe it had always been that way. But standing there, surrounded by steam and silence, she realized something she hadn’t wanted to admit. She’d fallen for someone who didn’t see her in the same way.
And for the first time since she joined the 118, the station didn’t feel like home.
______
Morning sunlight stretched across the firehouse kitchen. The air smelled like the usual mix of coffee and toast, the kind of comfort that only came between emergencies. Chim was bent over a bowl of cereal, drinking the milk that was left over after he ate all the cereal, dramatically while Eddie shook his head in mock disgust. Hen leaned back in her chair, half laughing and half disgusted by the sounds of it.
Buck sat where he always did, elbow on the table, one leg kicked out, grinning at the chaos. It was ordinary. Familiar. But there was something that was missing. (Y/n) wasn’t beside him.
Her laugh, the one that always found its way into these mornings, was absent, replaced by the steady tap of keys. She sat across the table instead, near Hen, a tablet propped up in front of her. She was scrolling through reports with sharp focus, her hair was in a tight, neat ponytail, her uniform neat and tucked, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the faint smudge of soot near her wrist.
There was no box of cookies on the counter this time. No mug of coffee quietly placed by his elbow like she did some of the times. Something felt off by the way she was acting.
Buck’s gaze lingered a second too long before he cleared his throat. “Hey,” he started, tone casual. “You were fast out there yesterday. That IV? Cleanest one I’ve seen.” He complimented her.
Hen grinned, her head turning from Buck towards (Y/n). Hen nudged (Y/n)’s arm, “Told you, she’s the sniper of veins.” She smiled.
(Y/n) glanced up briefly, a polite smile ghosting across her face. “He was an easy stick,” she said softly, eyes flicking back to the screen. “Got lucky with the placement.” She said as she was already lost inside the report that was on her tablet.
Buck’s grin faltered just a touch. “Yeah. Sure. Luck.” He mumbled.
She didn’t look up.
The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it definitely was noticeable. It stretched thin, like a breath held too long. Eddie looked up from his coffee, sensing it, but then decided to say nothing. Chim just raised his brows at Buck across the table asking him in silence “what did you do?”
Bobby walked in deeper into the loft as steam curled from his mug. “Alright, it has been a slow morning so far. Let’s try to keep it that way.” he said, breaking the silence that no one wanted to break. And with that, the rhythm of the room resumed.
Well… the entire room but except for Buck.
He sat back, arms crossed, trying to tell himself he was imagining it. That maybe she was just tired, or distracted. But he glanced over at (Y/n) as her laughter mixed with Hen’s filled the room. It gnawed at him that it wasn’t his laugh that mixed with hers. He wasn’t sure what he did wrong, or what he was feeling. The only thing he was sure of, was the feeling that (Y/n) was acting differently around him, and he needed answers.
It’s the day after their day off, a little more than 48 hours after their last shift. The air hummed with easy routine. The sound of, squeaking shoes against the polished floor, the muted sound of Eddie’s music coming from somewhere near the gym and compartments on the trucks opening and closing now and then.
Buck tried to get his mind off things when he was on his day off, but somehow, his brain kept wandering back, subconsciously. And now he wandered toward the rigs, restless, searching for her.
It’s the beginning of the evening and the back doors of the ambulance were open, and (Y/n) was inside, clipboard balanced against her knee. She’d pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling forward as she counted supplies. Methodical, focused, her brow furrowed in concentration.
Gauze rolls stacked neatly on one side. Saline bags lined up like soldiers on the shelf. Every movement was crisp and efficient, and maybe a little too careful. Buck leaned his shoulder against the doorframe of the ambulance. “You hiding from Hen,” he teased lightly, “or just really into inventory today?” Buck said, trying to make small talk.
Without looking up, she smiled. But it didn’t feel genuine. It felt practiced, polite. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t run out of bandages next time you try to wrestle a patient.” she said, her eyes locked onto the clipboard that was still balancing on her lap.
He chuckled, looking down at the floor for a second. “Now okay, that was one time.” he said.
She made a small sound, it wasn’t a laugh, but it was close. “Hmmm, and who had to tape your wrist after?”
“You did.” He grinned. “And you told me I’d live.” he added.
“See?” she said, finally glancing at him. “I’m always right.”
It should’ve felt like their usual conversations. Easy, quick, familiar. But it didn’t feel that way. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Buck studied her quietly while she checked another box of equipment. Her fingers moved swiftly, confidently. She looked fine, composed, in control but there was something underneath it. Something tight. Something he had never seen before.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
(Y/n) froze, her pen hovering midair. She looked over at him, the slightest hesitation in her eyes before she smiled again. “I’m fine, Buck. Promise.” she said, her eyes meeting his.
He frowned slightly, arms crossing. “You sure? You’ve been a little quiet lately.” he said. He finally was having a conversation with her, so he decided to take his chance.
She tilted her head, trying to sound breezy. “Just tired. It’s been a long shift.” (Y/n) answered, not too detailed. But her hands told a different story. How they stilled for half a beat before moving again, how her breath seemed shallower than usual.
Buck hesitated, the words pushing past his uncertainty. “Did I… do something?” he asked then. Her eyes flicked up, startled. “What?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a small shrug. “You’ve been different. Distant, maybe. I just… if I said something or did something, I’d rather know.” he explained.
For a long moment, she just looked at him. And god, the concern in his face. The genuine confusion, it almost broke her. Because he really didn’t know what he did.
She forced a smile, her voice soft but even. “You didn’t do anything, Buck.”
His brow furrowed. “Then why-” but before he could even finish that question, she cut him off gently, her tone lighter than she felt. “I’m just making sure everything’s stocked. Hen gets cranky when we’re missing stuff.”
And with that, she placed her clipboard underneath her arm, jumped lightly from the rig. Making Buck push himself off the part he was leaning on, and stepped back. She closed the back doors with a metallic thud. “Need help?” he offered quickly.
She shook her head, already walking toward the back hall. “No, I’ve got it.” she said over her shoulder, while sending him a small smile after.
He watched her go, the way her ponytail brushed her collar, the clipboard now pressed tightly to her chest like armor.
The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.
Buck stayed where he was, staring at the closed ambulance doors. His throat felt tight, though he couldn’t explain why. He told himself it was nothing, she was just tired, or busy, or focused. That she’d be back to normal soon. But deep down, something twisted uncomfortably in his chest. Because it didn’t feel like nothing.
It felt like losing something he hadn’t realized he needed.
_
It had been two full shifts since the fire, and the friendzoning words “little sister”. Two shifts since things between them had quietly changed, but not in the way people noticed.
(Y/n) still laughed with Hen, still showed up early, still did her job like the professional she was. But the small things, the ones that used to be Buck’s, were gone. No coffee quietly placed at his side. No little check-ins between calls. And when she smiled at him now, it never quite reached her eyes.
Buck told himself it was fine. People got tired. Things shifted. Not everything had to mean something. But when she brushed past him in the hallway and he felt her body tense just slightly, like she’d rather be anywhere else, it felt like a bruise he couldn’t stop pressing.
That night, the station was quiet. Most of the crew had already crashed in the bunks. A half-played deck of cards sat abandoned on the kitchen table. The overhead lights were dimmed to a tired amber glow, and outside, the city murmured against the windows.
Buck sat at the table, staring into a mug of cold coffee, jaw tight. He didn’t even remember pouring it or how long he had been sitting there.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, (Y/n) stepped onto the loft, hoodie half-zipped, her hair loose, shadows beneath her eyes. She stopped when she saw him, blinking like she hadn’t expected to find anyone awake.
He looked over and gave a small, tired smile. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.
“Guess not.” She grabbed a glass and filled it with the tap, her movements quiet and methodical. “Long day.” she added.
He nodded, watching her reflection in the stainless steel cabinet. She looked… guarded. Like someone holding herself together out of habit. He didn’t bother easing into it this time. His voice was calm but certain.
“You’ve been avoiding me.” he said.
She froze, her hand tightening around the glass. A small pause, a flicker of breath. Then she turned, leaning against the counter. “I’ve been busy.” she said, frowning at his comment.
“That’s not it.” he said while shaking his head, and his eyes locked with hers, once again.
“Buck…” Her tone carried a warning, tired, but cautious.
“I mean it,” he said, standing from his chair. “You barely talk to me. You walk out of a room the second I walk in. I just know I-” His voice cracked just slightly. “I did something wrong in your eyes, And I..” he was searching for the words but he couldn’t quite put them into his mouth.
Her eyes softened, and for a moment she looked like she wanted to tell him everything. But then she exhaled, the breath shaky, and the mask slipped back into place. “I already told you, you didn’t do anything.” she said.
He frowned. “Then what’s going on?”
She shook her head. “Sometimes things just… change.” she stuttered.
“Not like this.” He took a step closer. “You’re acting like I… like we-” He stopped, struggling to find the right words again. Her gaze met his, steady but distant. “Maybe we just stopped being on the same page, Buck. That happens.” she said, taking a sip from the glass of water that was still in her hand.
The quiet between them was heavy. He opened his mouth, to argue, to ask, to plead.. “(Y/n) if I-” but before he could speak, the alarm split through the room, sharp and jarring.
“Station one eighteen, respond to a multi-vehicle collision, Highway 110 Northbound. Possible entrapments.”
They both flinched instinctively, the moment shattering right in front of his eyes.
Without a word, (Y/n) set her glass down, and moved quickly towards the stairs where she bolted down. (Y/n) was halfway to the bay before Buck could even move.
He followed her, heart pounding, the adrenaline already rising. Not just from the call, but from the ache that she’d just left him standing there, mid-sentence. Without answers.
As they reached their rigs, she stepped into her turnout gear and got into the ambulance beside Hen. Buck looked across the flashing lights as he stepped into his turnouts, catching her gaze through the windshield.
It was only a second. But there was something in her eyes. Something that said please don’t ask again, and I wish you would anyway.
_
The rain hadn’t stopped since sunset. It hammered against the rigs as they arrived on the scene. Lights painting the soaked asphalt in pulses of red and blue. The world beyond the windshield was chaos: twisted metal, shattered glass, and the distant echo of horns trapped in the storm.
Hen slowed the ambulance to a crawl, her wipers barely keeping up. “God, it’s a parking lot from hell.” (Y/n) squinted through the streaked glass. “Dispatch said there were at least ten vehicles involved. Multi-impact.” she said.
Bobby’s voice crackled over the radio, “We’ve got a multi-car pile up across both lanes. I want teams on extraction, medical triage, and containment. Be advices, one tanker truck’s leaking fuel. No sparks, people! Let’s move!”
The moment they pulled to a stop, the doors flew open and the smell of gasoline hit hard, sharp, metallic, cutting right through the smell of the rain.
“Hen, (Y/n),” Bobby barked as they jogged up to him, helmets low against the storm. “You two set up triage near the guardrail. Prioritize red tags, assist medics as needed. Chim, you and Vega handle suppression near that tanker. Keep a perimeter in case that thing lights up. Buck, Eddie, you’re on vehicle extractions. SUV on the west end looks like it took the brunt of the impact.”
And with that, everyone moved. Years of muscle memory clicking into place.
Hen and (Y/n) grabbed their kits, sprinting through puddles toward the guardrail. The triage area was chaos already, bystanders dazed, some screaming, some eerily silent.
“Sir, can you hear me?” (Y/n) crouched beside a man slumped against a twisted bumper, her blue gloved hands already finding his pulse. Weak, but there. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. Hen, I need a pressure bandage!” she called.
It took one second, she glances at her partner and she tossed one pressure bandage over. “Keep pressure on that leg. We’ll tag him yellow.” Hen added, (Y/n) nodded and did as Hen as a PIC told her to do. “Copy!”
A call cut over the radio through the rain, it was Bobby again. “LAFD, sound off! Where’s that fire suppression team?”
“On it!” Chimney’s voice sounded over the radio. When (Y/n) looked over the scene while keeping pressure on the man’s leg, she found Chim on the west side, already working a foam line with Vega.
(Y/n) looked up, scanning the wrecks through the downpour. In the distance, she saw Buck and Eddie shoulder-deep in the crumpled remains of an SUV, working the jaws of life. Sparks lit the night for half a second, cutting through the storm as the door screeched free.
But then something else caught her eye.
Just beyond the chaos, faint, and barely visible through the rain, tire tracks, veering away from the pileup. They carved down the embankment toward the guardrail, where a section had been torn open.
Her stomach sank at the sight of it. “Hen,” she called, standing. “I think there’s another vehicle-” (Y/n) said. “Where?” Hen was already following her gaze.
(Y/n) jogged toward the edge, flashlight slicing through the dark. The beam caught on something far below: two faint red lights, flickering beneath the surface of the water.
“Down there,” she breathed. Then louder, into her radio, “Cap, this is (Y/n). I’ve got a submerged vehicle off the embankment, taillights visible. Looks like it’s going under!”
“Copy, (Y/n), hold position. Buck, Eddie-” Bobby’s voice crackled over the radio. But the rest of that sentence she couldn’t hear. Because she was already sliding down the muddy slope, boots skidding, rain blinding.
“(Y/n), wait!” Hen shouted, voice distant against the storm.
The cold hit her the moment she stepped into the water. It was shockingly deep, waist-high and rising fast with the current. Her flashlight beam trembled across the car as it sank nose-first.
“Sir! Sir, can you hear me?” she yelled. Inside, a man was pounding against the window, his face pale and wild. “I’m coming, just hold on!” she yelled, trying to make herself audible for the victim that was trapped inside.
She moved forward, and grabbed the door handle. But it wouldn’t open. She took a breath, ducked under, and yanked again, the pressure finally giving way as the door popped open with a violent rush of bubbles.
She surfaced, gasping. “Okay, door’s open! I’ve got you!” she said. But the man didn’t listen. He clawed for her, pure instinct taking over his thoughts and movements. His hands gripped her turnout jacket, dragging her toward him.
“Stop! Stop! You’re pulling us both under!” she shouted, trying to brace herself. But it didn’t do anything. He panicked harder, shoving against her shoulder in blind desperation to keep his head above water. Her footing slipped, the current tearing at her legs.
The world disappeared in an instant. The cold hit like a fist. Her breath ripped out of her lungs before she could stop it, replaced by choking, metallic-tasting water.
The current pulled her sideways, tugging at her gear, dragging her deeper. She tried to push up but her foot caught on something. Her chest screamed. Her brain screamed.
Her arms moved sluggishly, like she was underwater in a dream she couldn’t wake from. She felt the panic rising, sharp and bright, the kind that burns through every rational thought.
She clawed at the water, desperate for light, air, anything. Her lungs seized again, and the world narrowed to nothing but pressure and pounding.
Then came the quiet. A slow, creeping calm.
Her body stilled. Her eyes drifted toward the faint shimmer above her, growing smaller by the second.
Buck was elbow-deep in metal when he heard her voice through the static of his radio “I’ve got a submerged vehicle… I’m going in.”
His head snapped up, mid movement. “What?” he murmured under his breath. “Buck, door’s almost-” Eddie started, but Buck was already running towards the guardrail (Y/n) was just seconds ago. “Cap! She’s in the water!” Buck yelled.
Bobby turned sharply, scanning the darkness. “(Y/n)! Report!” he called over the radio, but the only thing he got back was static. Nothing.
“Eddie, you’re with Buck! Hen, prep the med rig! Chim, hold that perimeter!”
Buck jumped over the guardrail, boots sliding down the slick slope. His flashlight beam skimmed across the black water. His chest went tight. “Oh, God-”
“Hey!” Buck yelled at the driver, who was half-crawling out of the shallows, coughing up water. “Where is she?!” The man looked dazed, shaking his head, eyes wide with panic.
Buck grabbed him by the soaked collar, voice breaking. “The woman who pulled you out, where is she?!” his voice filled with panic, fear and anger.
The man choked out a sob. “I-I don’t- she was there- and then- she went under-” the victim choked. Buck shoved him back toward the slope, fury and fear colliding in his chest. “Get up there! Hen’ll take care of you!”
He turned back to the water, scanning desperately. Nothing but rain and ripples. “(Y/n)!” His voice tore through the storm.
Nothing.
His light swept across the surface again, and then caught something. A flash of reflective tape, drifting under the current. “Jesus- no-” he choked out.
He dove in without hesitation. The cold was brutal, slicing through his gear, but he kicked hard, pushing deeper until he reached her. Buck’s lungs burned as he kicked downward, reaching blindly through the dark until his hand found fabric, the thick sleeve of a turnout jacket. He got her.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling hard. They broke the surface with a gasp, Buck dragging in lungfuls of air between words.
“I’ve got you,” he gasped, breath ragged. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you—come on, stay with me.”
Her head lolled against his shoulder, lips pale, lashes clumped with water. He swam hard for the bank, every stroke feeling slower, the weight of her gear dragging both of them down.
“Eddie!” he yelled hoarsely, voice cracking over the storm.
Eddie was already moving, sprinting down the embankment as Buck half-carried, half-pulled her through the shallows. Together, they got her onto solid ground.
“(Y/n)! Hey come on!” Buck’s hands were shaking as he turned her onto her back. Her skin was cold as ice, lips tinged blue. “She’s not breathing-” Buck choked out, his teeth almost clattering because of the cold.
Buck knelt opposite him, fumbling at the buckles of her turnout jacket. Buck’s hands were clumsy, slick with river water, but he forced the latches open, pulling the heavy coat apart to give her chest room to rise. “Come on, (Y/n), don’t do this to me…” he muttered.
“I’ve got it!” Eddie dropped to his knees beside her, immediately starting compressions. “One, two, three—come on, come on—” Eddie mumbled as he pressed down.
“Hen!” Eddie shouted over his shoulder as she came sliding down the hill. “Airway bag, now!” he ordered as he kept pushing her chest.
Hen dropped beside them, already fitting the mask, counting under her breath as she squeezed the bag valve in rhythm with Eddie’s compressions.
Buck’s world had shrunk to the sound of her name in his head, over and over. Breathe. Please. Just breathe.
Then a cough.
A wet, choking sound that cracked the night. Water spilled from her mouth as she convulsed, dragging in a desperate gasp of air.
Buck’s breath hitched half relief, half disbelief. “That’s it. That’s it, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” he said. Not noticing he actually called her that.
Eddie leaned back, panting, letting Hen take over as she fitted the oxygen mask to (Y/n)’s face. “She’s back.” he panted.
“She’s hypothermic,” Hen said sharply, checking her pulse. “We need her wrapped and moving now.”
Buck nodded, still hovering protectively over her, brushing soaked hair from her face with trembling fingers. (Y/n) moved her hand towards the oxygen mask, but before she could push it off, Buck gripped her hand. “D-d-d-river?” she mumbled through her chattering teeth.
Buck managed a small gentle smile, of course she was thinking about that asshole after she almost died. “The driver’s okay,” he whispered to her, voice rough. “You did good. You did so damn good.” he said, pressing her hand, he was still holding, to his chest.
Her eyes barely opened, glassy and unfocused. “Cold…” she whispered. “I know,” Buck said softly, throat tight. “We’re getting you warm.”
They managed to bring her back to the guardrail and moved her onto the gurney, securing her under thermal blankets. When they eased her into the rig, Buck hesitated for a moment. His gaze met Bobby’s, who gave him a small nod, telling him to get in the rig with her.
Buck climbed into the rig without a second thought, dripping wet, hand still gripping hers as the ambulance doors slammed shut.
______
The city below stretched like a river of gold and silver, streets gleaming under the fading sunlight. (Y/n) sat near the edge of the firehouse roof, wrapped in a hoodie, a steaming cup of tea cupped between her hands. The warmth seeped slowly into her fingers, grounding her, but it didn’t calm the flutter in her chest.
It has been a week since the water incident, and this is her first shift back on the job. They had just gotten back from a call, and somehow, the sounds inside of the firehouse were too loud for her, so she came up here.
(Y/n) could hear the door towards the roof opening and closing, footsteps softly approaching her, but she didn’t turn, even though she knew by the sound of his breathing and the footsteps, that it was Buck.
“Mind if I join you?” Buck’s voice asked, (Y/n) glanced over her shoulder Buck stopped a few feet away, hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her. (Y/n)’s eyes wandered back to the view of the city. “It’s yours” she said lightly, as she gestured to the empty space beside her.
He took place beside her, and for a moment neither spoke. The distant hum of the city and the wind tugging at their jackets filled the silence. Finally, Buck exhaled. “I’ve been thinking… about the call. About you.” Buck said, breaking the silence.
(Y/n) met his gaze. “The water?” she asked, just to be sure they were on the same page. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Seeing you in the water… I don’t know. I thought I’d lost you. And I realized… I can’t just treat you like anyone else.”
(Y/n)’s gaze drifted away, and she set her cup down next to her. She shifted slightly, gathering courage. “Buck…” she said quietly. “there’s something I need to tell you.” she continued.
She closed her eyes for a moment, not making any eye contact, but gathering the courage to come clean. “I heard you… and Eddie. Back at the station.” she said.
Buck stiffened slightly, his eyebrows frowning at her confession. “Um… what do you mean?” he asked, not sure what she was talking about.
“In the locker room, you were talking to Eddie… about me” She cleared her throat softly, and scratched the back of her neck, a nervous habit. “You told him you see me as a little sister, someone to protect…”
He looked down at his hands, running a thumb along the back of one. “(Y/n) I’m so sorry… that’s-” He stopped. “It’s not what I meant..” he stuttered.
“I know,” she interrupted gently, a small, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “And I get it now. But… I wish we could start over.”
He blinked, looking at her. “Start over?”
She nodded, shrugging slightly. “I did some dumb shit too. I avoided you, overthought everything… I don’t want to do that anymore.”
Buck’s chest rose and fell as if he’d been holding his breath for weeks. “You really mean that?”
“I do,” she said quietly.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other. Then, almost without thinking, she leaned in. They hugged tight, full of relief, fear, gratitude, and the unspoken weight of everything between them. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder; his arms wrapped around her automatically.
When they pulled back, their eyes met again. Too close. Too intense. They both could feel it, the brush of lips, the lingering closeness. The air around them seemed to thrum with possibility.
And then the door to the staircase that led to the rooftop got pushed open, a loud thud sounding. “Oh hey sweethearts, dinner is served!” Hen informed the two, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of the two.
Both jumped slightly, breaking the tension and immediately creating more space in between the two of them. “We’re coming Hen, just give us a second.” Buck answered, Hen smirked and nodded. “Hmm” she mumbled and took off again.
They laughed nervously as she left, hearts still racing. Buck exhaled, “I’m Buck,” he said, grinning softly, trying to anchor the moment in something safe.
She laughed, shaking her head at his “joke,” but took his hand anyway. “(Y/n),” she said, letting the words land. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, (Y/n)”
pairing: man of your choice x you
rating: explicit
warnings/tags: p in v, mirror sex, wet/messy, third round, bent over, visual kink.
You’re already ruined.
Your thighs are sticky with slick and spend, the ache between your legs deep and sweet from the last two times he had you —slow and then fast, both of them messy. You should be spent. Boneless. Wrung out.
But then he bent you over the edge of the bed on his side, caught your eyes in the mirror, and pressed the head of his cock to your dripping slit like it was the first time all over again.
And now your knees are shaking.
He slides in slow, one long stroke, and it’s obscene how easily he sinks inside —your body greedy for him, your walls fluttering around the stretch, welcoming, wanting. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting echo off the walls, loud and shameless, wet from the mess he left in you already.
His hands grip your hips, firm and steady, dragging you back onto him as he starts to move. Slow at first —just enough to make you gasp, just enough to feel the way everything inside you clenches. He keeps his eyes on yours in the mirror, gaze dark and focused and hungry.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, eyes roaming across your reflection. To the way your mouth parts, to the way your body bends, to the way your tits bounce with every thrust.
He fucks you with purpose. Deep. Thorough. Like he’s chasing the last of your breath just because he wants to.
Your hands clutch the bedding, knuckles white, hips arching back into him helplessly. You can feel the slick coating your inner thighs, the glide of him inside you easier than it has any right to be. It’s filthy. It's too much. It’s perfect.
Your eyes keep catching in the mirror —the sweat glistening on your body, the flush blooming across your chest, the way he’s watching every second of it, his jaw tight, his chest rising with ragged breaths, eyes hungry and trained where his cock is disappearing into your cunt.
You meet his gaze again and whimper.
He answers by fucking you deeper.
Your body jolts with every thrust now. His hands spread wider on your hips, fingertips digging in. His cock drags against your sweet spot with maddening precision, and the pressure in your belly coils fast and sharp —no build-up this time, no teasing. Just white-hot need from the first stroke.
You can feel him watching it happen. Watching you fall apart again.
And you love it.
Love the way your thighs shine with the mess he left. Love the way he grunts through his teeth every time your cunt clenches tight around him. Love that you’re both staring at the same thing: the wreckage of you and him. The way you take him. The way he wants you.
