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lyjen · 28 days ago

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Lose Control | Evan "Buck" Buckley

Summary: (Y/n) goes unusually quiet when one morning she glances at the phone of her boyfriend and finds his ex texting him. When Buck chooses to confront her with the fact why she’s avoiding him, an argument follows. The 118 gets dispatched to a cruise ship disaster. Can the two of them still rely on each other when things go south on call?

Trigger warnings: Manipulation, betrayal, anxiety, intense arguments, drowning and injuries involving some blood.

Request status: OPEN ✨

Word count: 9,6k

A/N: I'm so so sorry for keeping y'all waiting for so long. 🥺💔 I’ve been busy with work, traveling to Paris for a convention (SLC hehe), concerts. BUT IM BACK!!

9-1-1 Masterlist

(Gif by @adhdbuck)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Before shift | Buck & (Y/n)’s apartment | 6:03 AM

Sunrise crept through the bedroom blinds, projecting shadows across the floor and the rumpled sheets they'd just crawled out of. The room still held the warmth of sleep. That comfortable, lazy stillness that came just before a long day. Or in this case.. a long shift.

(Y/n) stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed in her uniform pants and a simple tank top. She was pulling her hair into a ponytail. Her eyelids were still heavy, the kind of sleepiness that lingered even after coffee, but her movements were steady. The day was already beginning to take shape in her head: call logs, traffic, vitals, triage.

Behind her, she heard the soft padding of bare feet on the wood floor. Then warm hands slid around her waist from behind.

She smirked faintly, as she met his eyes in the mirror just as Buck leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck. “You look good,” he murmured, voice low and husky with sleep, “even when you just woke up.”

(Y/n) huffed a sleepy breath of amusement. “That’s because you’re still half-asleep.” she said as she tightened the ponytail she had just finished wrapping the hair tie around.

He didn’t say anything. Instead of answering with words, he buried his face against her skin for a second, breathing her in like she was grounding him. He tightened his arms slightly, like he didn’t want to let go yet.

(Y/n) smiled, it was a small but real smile. She leaned back into his chest just for a second as she let her eyes flutter closed. Just the two of them, standing in that quiet space between night and day. Just a moment before all the chaos of the day started all over again.

“You better get ready,” she said as her eyes fluttered open again. She gently nudged his hip with hers. “We’re on shift in less than an hour.” Buck groaned dramatically at the words that left her mouth. “I hate mornings.” he mumbled as he pressed one last kiss into the crook of her neck, and loosened his grip on her body.

She rolled her eyes, lips twitching. “Then you picked the wrong job, Buckley.” she said as she turned around, facing Buck now. “I picked it for the hot paramedic,” he said with a smirk spread across his face. Pressing a kiss onto her forehead, making her laugh.

He pulled away with a grin and disappeared back into the bathroom. Silence settled again.

(Y/n) exhaled, shaking her head a little as she reached for her uniform shirt. She grabbed it off the chair and pulled it on slowly as she stood in front of the mirror again. Still smiling to herself at the comment Buck had made.

The screen of Buck’s phone lit up because of the notifications that were coming in as it vibrated on the nightstand. But she kept her eyes on her reflection in the mirror, buttoning her shirt.

Not shortly after the first notification, his phone vibrated again.

She adjusted her collar in the mirror and straightened the fabric of the shirt she had just put on. She grabbed her black smartwatch off the dresser, and slid it onto her wrist. The strap snagged for a second, her hands slightly less steady than usual.

Another vibration of the phone sounded through the space. Her gaze, casual and unintentional, drifted toward the nightstand. She didn’t mean to look, she needed to get the watch around her wrist. But she was annoyed at the fact it wasn’t working and the constant buzzing wasn’t helping. But there was also a part of her that was asking herself, who needed Buck at 6 AM?

But the screen lit up, and it said: “Taylor K.”

Her fingers froze on the watch strap.

She blinked once, then twice, as the messages came in one after another. Just enough of them appeared on-screen to make her stomach twist.

“I keep remembering that night..”

“You don’t have to respond, I just..”

“I shouldn’t have said anything that night. I know it was messy, but I keep thinking about it.”

Her body didn’t move. Not a twitch. But her throat tightened like someone had reached in and pressed a hand against her windpipe. A quiet panic slid beneath her skin, slow and cold.

What night? What was she talking about? Why was Taylor texting him at all? Was he cheating on her? Was he bored of their relationship?

Then the water stopped in the bathroom.

(Y/n) blinked, her expression flattening like a shield locking into place. She flexed her fingers, and finally managed to fasten it tightly, double-checked the fit by looking in the mirror.

Footsteps thudded softly against the wood floor as Buck stepped out of the steamy bathroom, towel around his waist, rubbing at his hair with another. “Have you seen my station shirt?” he asked, voice casual, distracted, scanning the floor around the bed.

“Folded on the chair,” she answered without looking at him.

He looked up. “Oh- .. right.”

He moved past her to grab it, pausing to shake the fabric out before tossing it onto the bed. (Y/n) watched him in the mirror: damp curls clinging to his forehead, the faint outline of old bruises on his ribs from their last call, the way he hummed absently under his breath as he started to get dressed like nothing was wrong.

She put on her boots and pulled her jacket from the hook, slid it on, and adjusted the zipper halfway up. Not too fast. Not too stiff. Her motions were practiced, calm on the outside, even as a storm was raging just beneath her skin.

Buck was walking down the stairs, shirt half-buttoned as he continued to button the last ones. “You want to stop for coffee on the way? I think we’ve got time.” he asked as he reached for his shoes and put them on too.

“Sure,” she said, her voice smooth. Easy. Like nothing was going on. He grinned at her, all warmth and sunshine. “God, I’m gonna need it. I feel like I didn’t sleep at all.”

She smiled, barely. “You slept.” She said as she grabbed her duffle bag and slung the strap over her shoulder and waited for Buck.

Buck didn’t catch the edge in her voice. Or if he did, he chalked it up to another early morning. He finished tying his shoes, grabbed his bag, and moved to the door. Reached for her hand like he always did.

She let him take it. But her grip was light, and her fingers didn’t curl into his like she used to… And he didn’t notice.

The firehouse buzzed with its usual morning rhythm. Boots stomping across concrete, the distant sputter of the coffee machine, radios buzzing with the first dispatch of the day. The air was a mix of diesel, detergent, and last night’s chili.

Buck and (Y/n) walked in side by side, but nothing about their body language said together. Their movements were slightly out of sync, him too casual, her too precise. (Y/n) hadn’t said a word since they left the apartment.

“Morning, you two,” Eddie said when the two of them entered the locker room, and tossed a granola bar into his locker. Buck grinned. “Didn’t think you’d be this chipper without caffeine.”

“Chipper? Man, I’m surviving. My kid just turned my living room into a volcano science project. I’m running on fumes and parental fear.” Eddie deadpanned, stretching his shoulders. A couple of the others chuckled.

But (Y/n) said nothing and opened her locker as the others continued their conversation. She placed her duffle in the locker and closed it. She needed to get her mind off whatever she had read this morning, so instead of making small talk, she decided to go straight to work.

But Buck caught up behind her, still oblivious to the shift in temperature. She almost left the locker room, but then Buck called her name. She stopped, glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “Didn’t forget your water bottle this time,” he said, pulling it from his bag and offering it with a boyish grin.

She looked at it. Then at him.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it with a brief smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. And then she continued her way, off toward the ambulance bay, her focus already zeroed in.

Her expression was unreadable, but inside, though, her mind was a thundering blur. She could still see the texts. She could still hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears when she read Taylor’s name. “That night…” What night? What the hell was she talking about? What the hell was he not telling her?

She felt it like smoke in the air. That slow, creeping suspicion curling beneath her ribs. Sharp. Wrong.

(Y/n) popped open the rear doors of the ambulance and climbed in. The familiar scent of antiseptic and rubber greeted her. Cool, clean. Predictable. She moved with efficiency, but there was no softness in her rhythm. It was all muscle memory and distraction.

Glove boxes - stocked.

Airway bags - organized.

IV kits - sealed.

Med drawer - untouched since last shift.

She moved through the rig quickly but with precision, hands checking and counting automatically. It was her ritual. Control. Order. Something solid while her mind swirled with the weight of Taylor’s texts, Buck’s silence, and the terrible ache of not knowing the truth.

She reached for the defib unit and ran the battery check. A soft green light blinked at her, all systems go. She exhaled. Finally, something that made sense.

Boots stomped against the concrete, coming closer. She didn’t look up right away. She already knew the footsteps. It was Hen.

“Morning” Hen’s voice broke through the noise of her thoughts. Warm. Steady. “Everything good here?” she asked. (Y/n) glanced up to find her leaning against the rig’s rear doors, sipping from her metal coffee mug.

“Morning,” she said, as she nodded once, eyes still on the equipment. “Fully stocked. Oxygen’s at 1200 PSI. We’re good.”

But Hen caught it. The tightness around her eyes, the clipped edge to her voice.

“Early rig check?” Hen asked casually. “Wanted to get ahead,” (Y/n) replied, reaching for the O2 gauge. Hen took a sip from her coffee, “Or avoid something?”. (Y/n) froze, just for a second. A little bit caught off guard. A tired, faint and forced -kinda- smile appeared on her face. “Hen…”

Hen raised a hand. “No pressure. Just an observation.” she told her. (Y/n) gave a quiet exhale through her nose, then looked down at the monitor wires she was untangling. Her hands were steady, but her heart wasn’t.

“So let me ask again, is everything good here?” Hen asked. (Y/n)’s hands were still holding the wires, and sighed softly. “I’m fine.”

Hen didn’t speak right away. She just nodded once, slow and thoughtful. She didn’t push. Not yet. But she didn’t back off either.

“Well,” she said, “You’re checking that rig like it insulted your mother. And Buck looks like a puppy who doesn’t know he peed on the carpet.” A flicker of something crossed (Y/n)’s face. She dropped her gaze, fidgeting with the wires in her hand.

Hen waited.

Finally, (Y/n) spoke. Calm, but her gaze locked on her hands. “He’s lying to me. Or hiding something. And I’m trying to decide which is worse.” she explained.

Hen’s expression softened instantly. “You want to talk about it?” she asked. (Y/n) hesitated for a moment, but shook her head “Not yet.” she said now, glancing at Hen.

Hen gave a small nod. “Okay. But when you’re ready… you know where to find me.” she said as she gave her a small smile. “Thanks Hen.” (Y/n) said, giving her a small smile back and with that, Hen stepped away and left her alone in the back of the rig.

Surrounded by order, but full of quiet chaos.

In the back of the ambulance, (Y/n) was wiping down the last of the rig’s interior, methodical and silent. She didn’t rush. Her hands moved almost automatically: disinfectant spray, rag, clipboard check. All muscle memory. But none of it helped the storm boiling in her chest.

She stepped out of the back, a hollow sound echoing as her boots hit the ground while she held the clipboard and the half-used bottle of disinfectant. She placed them both on one of the red benches they used for morning briefings.

Buck stood just a few feet away, rag in hand, wiping down the side of the firetruck like it was something he actually cared about, but his eyes tracked her every movement. He hadn’t spoken to her in hours, not since their morning shift started.

If he wanted to talk, this might be a good moment. While holding the rag -as some kind of fidgeting tool- in his hand, he slowly made his way towards (Y/n). “Hey,” he said cautiously, testing the weight of the word.

She didn’t even spare him a glance as she walked back towards the ambulance. It wasn’t like she couldn’t hear him, he was standing too close for that. “(Y/n), wait- ” he said.

He could feel it. The tension, hanging in the air like something was wrong. He followed her, towards the ambulance, where she hopped in the back. “Alright,” he said, his voice low but loud enough for her to hear him. Careful. “Are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Or am I supposed to guess?” he asked as he leaned with his right arm against the backdoor frame of the ambulance.

She didn’t answer him, but stopped in her movements. Shoulders tense. Back still turned.

He let out a breath. “(Y/n), come on. You haven’t looked at me all day. You haven’t smiled. You barely even said hi this morning—”

“I’m fine,” she cut in sharply, still not meeting his eyes but continuing her tasks. “Can we not do this here?” she sighs. But Buck shook his head, stepping in front of her, forcing her to either face him or walk away. “No. No, I can’t keep pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

“Buck,” she said, her tone a warning, using the side door of the ambulance to aim again for the red bench, but this time with a small basket in her hand.

He ignored her words, he pushes himself off the doorframe and blocks her path this time. “What did I do? Just tell me. Because this silence is killing me.”

There was a snap in her eyes now as he stood right in front of her, panic? Anger? Pain? “Can you not.. can you not do this right here, right now?” she sighs as she tries to avoid eye contact.

His voice raised slightly, desperate. “Why not? Are you gonna keep ignoring me? Keep walking past me like I’m not-”

“Buck, stop-”

“-like I’m not yours anymore?” he asks.

That did it.

Her eyes were closed for a second, as a loud sigh left her mouth. She moved to stand next to him now, shoulder to shoulder. Fire flashing behind her eyes as she hissed, “Stop making a scene.” and she walked away to place the goods onto the bench again.

A few heads turned from across the bay as Buck looked around, then ran a hand down his face. “Shit.” he mumbled to himself.

Then he did something he rarely ever did with her. He turned on his heels and walked towards her again. But this time he wasn’t aiming for a conversation in the middle of the firehouse, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Come with me.” he said.

His hand was strong, “What? No- Buck, let go-” she hissed at him as she tried to break free from his grip. But his grip tightened, not hurting her, but enough to guide her down the hall. “We need to talk. Now.”

“Evan—”

“Now.”

She tried to yank her arm away once, twice, but he was too strong and too determined. He led her into the nearest empty supply room. Cold, quiet, dimly lit, and slammed the door shut behind them.

And then turned. Eyes blazing.

“We’re not leaving this room until you tell me what the hell is going on.” he sounded determined.

(Y/n) stood with her back against the wall, chest heaving. She shook her head, swallowing hard. “I didn’t want to do this here,” she said with an annoyed tone.

“Well, we’re here,” he said. “So talk to me.”

(Y/n) paced, arms tightly crossed, eyes locked on the floor like it had personally betrayed her. Her jaw was clenched so tight, she was sure it would ache by the time this was over if it ever ended.

Buck was blocking the door. She wasn’t getting out of this room. And he wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said coldly, not looking at him. “Well, too bad,” Buck snapped, chest rising with frustration. He had his arms crossed and was leaning with his shoulder against one of the rack units. “We’re not walking out of here until you tell me what the hell is going on.”

(Y/n) let out a bitter breath and finally met his eyes. “You really want to do this here?”

“I have to,” he said, stepping forward. “Because whatever this is… it’s been eating at you all day, and I’m not stupid, (Y/n). I know when I’ve lost you.” he said, his eyes burning on (Y/n).

“You didn’t lose me.” she whispered, not sure if she wanted him to hear that, but he did. His brows pulled together, desperate. “Then what the hell is this?” he asked as he pushed himself off the wall, standing straight across from her.

She took another step back, shaking her head. “No. You don’t get to play innocent.” she told him. “I’m not,” Buck said quickly. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“Don’t,” she cut him off, voice trembling. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Tears were welling up in her eyes, but she pushed those away.

“I’m not pretending!” Buck said, louder now. “I’m standing here trying to get through to you and you won’t even let me in. You won’t talk to me and you keep avoiding me like I'm some kind of disease!”

“Because I saw it, Buck!” she finally yelled, voice cracking, breaking as the truth came to light. “I saw the messages!”

Silence slammed into the room.

Buck’s mouth parted, but he said nothing. (Y/n)’s hands were trembling now as she forced the words out. “Taylor. This morning. Your phone was lighting up while you were in the bathroom and I-” She swallowed, shaking her head. “I saw her name. And I saw what she said. That she remembered ‘that night.’ That she shouldn’t have said anything.” word after word, her voice started breaking more and more. Tears were streaming down her face. She feels mad, sad, betrayed.

Buck stepped forward, guilt already warping his face. “I can explain-” he said as he wanted to reach out for her arm. But the second his fingertips touched her arm she pulled away abruptly. “Don’t,” she said quickly, backing away from his approach. “Don’t touch me.” she cried.

He stopped cold, his hand still mid-air where her arm used to be a second ago. “(Y/n)-”

“Don’t touch me.” She repeated her words again, her voice dropped an octave, laced with hurt and fury. “I swear to God, Buck.”

He lowered his hand slowly, his throat working like it physically hurt to speak. “It was months ago. Before you and I were… anything. I haven’t spoken to her in months.” he tried to explain.

“You never told me,” she said, her voice softer now, and somehow worse. “You let me fall for you. You let me think I was different.”

“You are,” Buck said instantly. “You are different. That night-”

“Was what? A mistake?” she asked, eyes narrowing. “You needed someone to make you feel better, so you ran back to what was easy?”

He said nothing. Which was enough.

She stepped forward now, words trembling with restrained fury. “Do you know what it’s like to wake up next to you, love you with everything I have, only to see those messages?”

Buck’s voice cracked. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d see it like this.” he told her.

“And you didn’t think I deserved to make that decision for myself?”

“Of course you did,” he whispered.

“Then why did you lie?”

“I didn’t lie!” he shouted, suddenly exasperated. “I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t something I was proud of. It meant nothing.”

“It meant enough for her to still think about it.”

That shut him up.

“You think I don’t know what people see when they look at me?” she continued, voice breaking now. “That I’m just the warm body who picked up the pieces after your life fell apart?”

“No,” Buck said, stepping closer again, pain all over his face. “That’s not- don’t say that.”

“You let me love you thinking I was the only one,” she whispered, eyes burning. “And now I don’t even know if I was just a rebound or just a placeholder until she got bored again.”

“What? No- No! That’s not fair. Listen to me-” he said, his voice rough, breath catching. “I chose you. I love you.”

She laughed. A sharp, broken sound. “Then maybe you should’ve treated me like someone you actually respected.”

Buck took a step back, it felt like she’d slapped him.

A long, horrible silence stretched between them.

And then the station alarm screamed through the hall. Red light pulsed above the door. "Engine 118, Squad 118, Ambulance 118. Reported sinking cruise vessel, Echo Pier. Multiple victims overboard. Immediate response required."

(Y/n)’s chest rose and fell rapidly. Her face was streaked with tears, but her expression was stone. Duty flickered back into her spine like a switch.

Buck reached for her one last time, as some kind of last attempt to make a connection, hesitant, broken.

She sidestepped his hand like it burned, and then without a word walked out the door.

______

The air was thick with sea salt and smoke. And the sound of sirens, waves and panic sounded over the scene.

Flashlights cut through the dimming light as emergency responders moved between rows of survivors. Soaked, injured, shivering, some silent in shock, others screaming. The capsized cruise ship loomed just yards away, still groaning with the sounds of twisted metal and rushing water.

(Y/n) was crouched beside a teen boy wrapped in a thermal blanket, checking his vitals with a blood pressure cuff. Hen was nearby, splinting a woman’s ankle. They worked in tandem fast, practiced, efficient.

“BP’s a little low,” (Y/n) muttered. “Let’s get him on fluids—” she said as she gave other paramedics the task, and got ready to move to the next victim.

She was focussed on her tasks but deep down, though her mind was distant. She hadn’t stopped thinking about the fight. Or Buck. Or how tightly his jaw had clenched when she said what she said.

But then a different sound cut through the noise, getting her full attention. A woman’s voice. Shaking. Desperate. Screaming. Raw with desperation. “My son! Miles! He’s still in there! Please, somebody help him!” she cried out.

The woman was soaked, barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a towel and panic was written all over her face as she was pulling at the sleeve of a commanding officer. “Ma’am,” the captain in command of the scene said, voice firm but distant. “You need to calm down. You’re going to be okay-” he tried to calm her down. “I don’t care about me! My son, Miles! He is eight, he was right behind me, and then there was a wave—he never came up the stairs—please!” she choked on her cries.

(Y/n)’s pulse spiked at her words, desperate cry for help.

But the captain just turned to one of his men and barked another order. The woman was left sobbing into her own hands, unheard.

Something twisted inside (Y/n)’s chest. No one was listening to her. (Y/n)’s body locked up as she looked toward the ship. The bow lights flickered like dying stars. Water splashed violently around the hull. Another groan of shifting weight echoed through the air like a warning.

Hen was working on victims not too far away from her co-worker. She looked up when she noticed (Y/n) had stopped moving. “Hey,” Hen said, wiping her hands. “You okay?” she asked as she placed her stethoscope around her neck.

(Y/n) stood up, eyes still locked on the grieving mother. “Yeah. I just… I’ll be back in a minute. Gotta check on something.” she said.

“Check on what?” Hen asked, but (Y/n) was already walking away. Hen watched her head toward their ambulance, a quiet “Dammit” under her breath.

She yanked open the side compartment of the rig and grabbed her turnout coat, throwing it over her shoulders in one practiced motion. Her helmet followed, secured fast. The moment the chin strap clicked into place. And she ran towards the boats.

The inside of the ship was a world apart.

Emergency lighting cast everything in harsh orange. Pipes hissed and groaned. Water lapped at her boots as (Y/n) pushed forward, deeper into the bowels of the ship.

The deeper she went, the worse it got. Water swelled fast, from ankles to shins to calves. The metallic creaks of the dying ship echoed through the corridors. Water splashed around (Y/n)’s boots as she stepped carefully around a tipped-over vending machine, her turnout coat soaked halfway to her thighs.

But her breathing stayed steady. Focused. Every sound was potential.

She turned a corner fast and nearly ran straight into Buck. He was backing out of a room with two passengers and two other firefighters, guiding the victims toward the main exit. His flashlight flicked up and caught her face.

They both froze.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” Buck’s voice sliced through the chaos. (Y/n)’s heart jumped into her throat, not from the surprise, but from the raw anger she hadn’t finished spitting at him earlier. She sidestepped him without slowing. “Keep walking, Buck.” she said as she kept on making her way through the ship.

“(Y/n). seriously?” He was soaked, breathless as he caught up with her. “You just ran in here? You’re not even assigned to search and rescue! You’re a medic!” he shot at her as he followed her, boots splashing beside hers.

“I know what I am,” she hissed. “I’m also not the kind of person who leaves a crying mother on the dock when no one’s listening to her.” she continued. Buck exhaled sharply. “You should’ve waited for backup.” he said. The corridor slanted to the left, and that’s when everything tilted. The hallway was narrowing. Water climbed along her calf.

“You weren’t listening earlier. I’m fine on my own.” she said as she pushed floating furniture out of her way to clear some kind of path. “You don’t mean that.” he said as he pushed the furniture she had just cleared out of her way, out of his own way now.

She didn’t answer. Just moved through another door, flashlight sweeping through fogged glass and fractured reflections. “(Y/n), talk to me,” he said, voice lower now. “Please. I’m not your enemy.” he begged.

She didn’t even look at him. “We’re not doing this now, Buck.” she hissed. “When, then? You won’t even look at me. I had to drag you inside of a supply closet to make you talk.” He sighed.

“I swear to god, would you just drop it and focus on finding that kid!” her voice filled with pure annoyance. The water was slowly making up the way up to their thighs now. As silence took over the space they were walking through now.

The silence was broken by Buck’s radio that crackled at his shoulder. “Buckley, what’s your six?” It was Cap’s voice, slightly distorted.

Buck sighed as he hesitated to react to his captain. But then he grabbed the mic. “Still sweeping the midsection. Had a visual on movement. Possible survivor.” he said with his fingers pressed onto the talk button.

(Y/n) shot him a look. “That’s a lie.” she said, as she scanned the scene for any sign of the kid. “I’m not leaving you alone in here,” he said simply.

“You should. Orders were clear.” (Y/n) said. Another static buzz. “All remaining personnel- evacuate immediately. Hull stress increasing. I repeat- evacua- ” but the radio got cut off. The radio fizzled. Dead. Probably too much water… or worse.

Buck ripped it off his shoulder and let it fall into the rising flood. “You should go,” she said, voice cold. “Save yourself the trouble. You’ve done it before.”

He flinched at her words, it was almost like she’d just shot him in the chest. “I’m not leaving your side,” he said again, stepping closer.

The water was still rising swirling cold and high around them. They were both soaked, weighed down, breath frosting in the chilled air. “I don’t care if you hate me right now. I’m not letting you walk into this alone.” he told her.

Before she could answer her focus was drawn towards a voice. A scream. Sounding far away. But just loud enough to hear, it felt like a loud whisper. “Help! Somebody!”

Both of their heads snapped up. (Y/n) turned sharply. “This way.” she said, and without waiting, she went straight forward into the rising dark. She wasn’t hallucinating. The scream had been real.

Miles. Nine years old, soaked and shivering, wedged beneath a collapsed shelf in a partially submerged cabin. His foot was trapped between twisted metal and splintered flooring.

“Hey, buddy,” (Y/n) said, the water sloshing, which was almost at her waist now. Her voice stayed calm, like she wasn’t freezing, like the world wasn’t crumbling around them. “You’re doing amazing, okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.” she told the boy.

Buck stood just behind her, flashlight steady in one hand, and a found broken piece of pipe in the other so he could use it as a prying tool. “We’ve gotta hurry. Water’s rising fast.” he said.

(Y/n) lowered herself in the water and ran her fingers along the edge of the metal pinning Miles’ foot. “It’s caught under a support bracket. I need a wedge here and right here.” the told Buck.

Buck moved beside her without question, bracing himself as the ship gave another slow, sickening groan. The tilt of the room shifted again, and the water slowly climbed higher.

“Miles,” (Y/n) said gently, brushing wet hair from his forehead. “You’re gonna feel some pressure, okay? I need you to trust me.” she told the boy. He nodded quickly, sniffling through his tears.

She wedged both hands under the metal while Buck jammed the pipe into the angle she’d marked. Together, they pushed, strained, and fought the resistance of bent steel and waterlogged boards.

Then a sharp snap sounded above the rushing water that filled the space. Miles screamed, but his leg came free. “I got you!” (Y/n) said as she assisted his foot, she wrapped her arms around him as he clung to her like a lifeline. “You’re okay” she hushed him as he cried against her soaking wet turnout jacket.

Buck got rid of the pipe as they stood together, (Y/n) explained to Miles that Buck would carry him, the water was getting too high for him to walk in, he was shivering and getting weaker at the second. Miles nodded his head as a sign that he understood (Y/n). (Y/n) lifted the boy up into Buck’s arms. She could carry him too, but Buck would hold him longer. “Let’s get out of here.” Buck’s voice said as they made their way out of the room Miles had been pinned in.

But the moment the three of them exited the room, the metal roared and another loud slam sounded on the inside of the ship.

A door at the far end of the hallway gave way, blown open by the pressure of the water. And suddenly, a wall of seawater roared in, knocking (Y/n) off balance. The current ripped through the hallway like a freight train as Buck tightly held on to one of the pipes on the side of the hallway.

“(Y/n)!” Buck yelled, holding Miles tight to his chest.

She was thrown back against the far wall, shoulder slamming hard into a broken railing. Her flashlight was gone. Her helmet knocked slightly to the side. The cold was unbearable as her whole body went under for a moment. Her legs kicked under the surface as the current fought to drag her down and let out a loud gasp as she reached the surface and managed to keep her head above water.

Buck surged forward, the water was just passing his hips now, but rising much faster now that the door had been blown open. “(Y/n), grab something!” he shouted trying to fight his way above the volume of the water.

Her arms scrambled, finding the edge of a vent grate and locking fingers around it. Her chest heaved with the effort just to stay above the surface. “I can’t- ” she gasped, water slapping over her mouth. “I can’t keep-” but she couldn’t even finish her sentence as the water kept pulling her down.

“I’m coming your way!” Buck shouted as she coughed, trying to clear her lungs. Buck moved cautiously towards (Y/n), keeping his balance, as he used one arm to hold on to the beam on the side of the hallway, and the other one locking Miles against his chest. “You have to move now!” he called out.

She tried. She really tried. She struggled toward them, fighting the pull. Her hands were white-knuckled, blood smeared across one knuckle from where she’d hit the wall. But she pushed through. In the flicker of Buck’s flashlight, their eyes locked. And in that moment, it wasn’t just the water that threatened to drown them. It was everything they hadn’t said.

He was pressing himself against one of the door frames in the hallway, not giving the current any chance to pull him with it. He held Miles with one arm and reached out with the other, his fingers stretching toward her. “Grab my hand” he ordered her, eyes wide, water swirling around the hallway, almost reaching the half of his chest. “Don’t shut me out now.” he begged her. He wasn’t going to let this end like this. They might be fighting, but he still loves her, and she loves him too. He knows it, and so does she.

(Y/n) hesitated for a small second, just a blink of an eye. And then she grabbed his hand. Buck pulled her in with everything he had.

Together, they clutched Miles between them, braced against the water, waiting for the next moment to move. The ship groaned again. Somewhere above, a steel beam creaked and crashed into the water. There wasn’t time. They had to move if they wanted to make it out alive and not go down with the ship.

“This way,” (Y/n) said breathlessly, pointing toward an emergency light flickering down the corridor. Small coughs leaving (Y/n)’s throat as they slowly had to find their way out.

“Stay close,” Buck ordered, his voice hard now. Protective. Focused. “Don’t let go of me.” he told her, and those words made (Y/n) glance over her shoulder. “I wasn’t planning on it,” she murmured, voice hoarse, but her grip never loosened.

Together with Miles trembling between them they moved deeper into the chaos, toward a sliver of light that promised survival. The water was freezing. The kind of cold you could never get used to.

The hallways were a drowned skeleton of what once was. There were safety signs floating on the water, luggage floating and slowly sinking like lost memories, and the throb of the ship’s groans echoing like the last warning from something ancient and dying.

(Y/n) shivered as she crossed her arms, trying to create some warmth. Buck moved beside her, matching every stride, breathing hard but steady as he had Miles pressed against his chest and his head leaning onto his shoulder.

They weren’t going to make it far like this.

He stopped for half a beat, reached one handedly into the side pocket of his gear, and yanked out a nylon rescue line that was bright orange, coiled, the kind they kept in all their kits for tandem evac or water pulls.

“Here,” he said quickly. “Hold still.”

“What are you-?” she stumbled.

“I’m not losing you,” he muttered, already clipping one end to the D-ring on her turnout coat. “Not in this water. Not in this mess. Not now.” he said determinedly. (Y/n) froze as he clipped the second carabiner to his own harness.

They were exhausted. Constantly pushing their bodies through the water, the cold was barely manageable and to be honest it had just been a long ass day and shift.

The water was slowly falling the more they got towards the exit. (Y/n)’s eyes flickered to the rope now stretched tight between them “You didn’t have to follow me-” she said as a small cough left her mouth.

“I did,” Buck cut in. “And I’d do it every time.” He continued. (Y/n) looked away, throat thick, eyes burning. “You shouldn’t. I don’t have the brightest ideas.” she admitted.

Because if she didn’t go down in the ship when everyone else was getting out, maybe she wouldn't have faced herself almost drowning. She’d have been safe on land, doing her actual tasks.

His voice cracked, just barely. “Maybe not. But without your bright idea, maybe we would have been pulling a bodybag out instead of...” he said as he went silent and motioned with his eyes towards the little boy who was still hanging in his arms.

They walked forward and with every step, the rope between them tugged slightly. It wasn't just a connection, but a reminder: you’re not alone.

Miles whimpered. “I’m cold…”

“I know, buddy,” (Y/n) said softly, brushing his wet hair back as she moved through the water next to Buck. “We’re almost out. Just hold on, okay?” she told him, squeezing his upper arm softly. (Y/n) had taken Buck’s flashlight and cut through the hallway ahead, flickering now, as the water was at their thighs again, the water was slowly getting lower as they got closer to the exit.

(Y/n) had started coughing more and more in the past few minutes. Probably because of the amount of salt water she had inhaled. Due to the coughing she slowed down in her movements. She gripped the wall to keep her balance and to use it as a small guide as she coughed more.

Suddenly, a crack echoed above them.

A section of ceiling gave way with a metallic groan, sending down a cascade of sparks and rubble.

“Hold on!” Buck shouted, both hands locking around the rope. The tension between them, tight which was keeping them from being separated as the hallway darkened even more.

One of the metal beams coming loose as the ship let out another metallic groan. Buck glanced over his shoulder to check on (Y/n), she was just walking underneath the beam.

Without a second thought, Buck’s free hand curled around the rope and he pulled (Y/n) towards him and away from the falling debris. She felt her body being yanked away, and not a moment later her chest bumped into Buck’s left side. The beam fell into the water, splashing a large amount of water onto the three.

“I got you,” he grunted. She steadied, chest heaving, arms trembling from the cold and strain. Her eyes wandered from his shoulder towards his eyes. Their eyes locked. He was soaked, bruised, breathing hard, but still standing there tied to her like it was the only thing keeping him sane.

In the middle of the storm, there was a moment of silence. Where it felt like it was just the two of them when she looked him in the eye. “You never let go… even when I did.” she whispered, voice so low it was almost lost in the water.

He met her eyes, soaked curls plastered to his forehead. “You needed someone to keep holding on… So I did. For both of us.” Buck said.

More silence. Only the sound of lapping water and creaking metal. Their eyes still locked. Her lips parted like she might say something back, but a cough took over, mixed with a new sound that cut her off.

The hallway was dark, only lights were flickering above the hallway. Voices echoed up ahead and multiple flashlights were bobbing in the air. “Search team, right here!” someone called. as the rescue squad came into view. Yellow helmets with lights connected to them, a few with med bags slung over their shoulders.

But it was someone familiar who called out those four words, that made her let out a sigh of relief. Hen was walking up front, eyes widening as she saw Buck, Miles and (Y/n). “Buck! (Y/n)!” she gasped relieved.

“Over here!” Bobby’s voice cut through, strong and steady. “Let’s get them out!” he said as he came into view. Buck quickly unlatched the rescue line from his harness and passed Miles over to the first responder in reach. “Get him checked out now—he’s breathing but he’s ice cold!” he told the other first responder as he handed Miles over. The guy nodded and copied.

Hen rushed toward them, sloshing through thigh-deep water, hands out. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” she asked. (Y/n)’s steps were slowed, knees nearly giving out. She tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak gasp as her body buckled forward.

“(Y/n)? Hey—HEY!” Buck was beside her in an instant, kneeling down in the water as he grabbed her shoulders. She dropped to her knees with a choked gasp, one hand gripping the metal floor of the ship and the other was placed near her mouth. A horrible, wet cough racked her body. Then another. And another. Her whole frame shook as she tried to inhale, but instead sucked in more pain.

“No—no, no, I’ve got you—hey, look at me.” For a moment, he forgot about how much his arms hurt from carrying Miles or how he was shivering because of the cold water.

Hen’s face went pale. “She aspirated. She took in water. Maybe a lot.” Buck told Hen as he was holding (Y/n) upright, her body was limp, shaking, fighting for breath that wasn’t coming easy.

Buck was starting to rattle, panicked. “There was a door, blown open. She went under. She managed to pull herself out but—” his words were cut off as she doubled over again, coughing so violently that blood-tinged water dripped from her mouth.

“We need her out now. Come on, let’s move!” Bobby ordered from behind, who had listened to every single word. Buck didn’t hesitate. He slid one of (Y/n)’s arms over his shoulder, and Hen grabbed the other, anchoring her between them.

“She needs oxygen, heated blankets, IV fluids—let’s go!” Hen yelled as they moved towards the end of the hall, towards the boats they used to get onto the ship.

Together, they started hauling her out of the ship’s narrow hallway, each of them soaked and shaking. (Y/n)’s head lolled slightly, her weight hanging between them.

“Just hold on, okay?” Buck whispered to her, voice tight, ragged. Even through the harsh coughs and groans of pain he heard her whisper something hoarse and broken. “…told you… I’d find him…” she brought out slowly.

Buck’s eyes closed for half a second the pain and love in that one sentence slicing him open. “I know… I know you would.”

The emergency tent bustled with organized chaos. Paramedics weaving between rows of cots and equipment, taking vitals and treating wounds, while families reunited under flickering string lights. The sky outside had gone dark, the sinking ship still ready to go under, but was like a ghost in the background.

(Y/n) was lying on a gurney toward the far side of the tent, an oxygen mask pulled under her chin. Her face was pale and clammy, a monitor beeped steadily beside her. Her soaked turnout gear had been replaced with warm layers and a thermal blanket. Her lungs still burned, every breath a struggle between pain and instinct.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus as she tried to look around the scene. A noise, a very familiar one, made her heart drop.

Voices. A low camera beep. A lens being adjusted. She turned her head to her right.

Taylor Kelly.

The news reporter was standing maybe ten feet away with her cameraman. No mic clipped on. Not filming. Just watching. Waiting.

The weight in (Y/n)’s chest shifted. Not just water, not just exhaustion. It was rage. Hurt. Betrayal. The three things she felt earlier this day when she saw those three messages, and later on when she was arguing in the supply closet with Buck.

She sat up abruptly, wincing at the sight.

Hen, who’d just returned from helping another triage patient, saw her expression change within an instant. “Nope,” Hen said firmly, stepping beside her and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t even think about it. Sit down.” She ordered her.

“I’m fine,” (Y/n) rasped as another cough left her mouth. “No, you are absolutely not,” Hen said gently, but without room for argument, giving her an expression that said ‘girl, I don’t believe shit what you’re saying’. Hen’s eyes followed (Y/n)’s for a second, “She’s not worth another breath, (Y/n). Don’t let her win.”

(Y/n) gritted her teeth, tearing her eyes from Taylor. “She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted me to see it, Hen. To feel it.” (Y/n) said as Hen could see the thunder in her eyes.

Y/n)’s voice was low, sharp, the kind of anger that comes from deep betrayal. (Y/n) looked down at her trembling hands

Hen stayed quiet for a second, letting the words settle in the tense air. Then, softly but firmly, she said, “You think she wins if you keep quiet?”

(Y/n) turned to her sharply, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” sounding a bit offended.

Hen’s hands moved gently to tuck a blanket tighter around (Y/n)’s shoulders. “I’ve known you long enough to know this version of you. The one biting her tongue, swallowing fire… that isn’t the real you. You know you have a voice and it’s okay to use it.” she confronted (Y/n).

(Y/n) knew Hen was right, she was letting someone completely ruïning her and wasn’t fighting back. (Y/n)’s jaw clenched. “So what? You want me to go over there and deck her in front of half the department and her cameraman?” she asked, not knowing what Hen was asking her.

Hen smirked a little. “No. I want you to remember that she wants you to lose control. She wants to see you go insane, because she knew the damage she’d cause if she sent those messages. That thing between them ended months ago, why would she randomly text him about something that had happened months ago?.”

That gave (Y/n) pause. Her mouth twitched, something between a laugh and a sob caught in her chest. “Well, she got what she wanted. I lost trust. I lost peace. And the worst of it all… I lost him.” She said.

Hen leaned in, eyes soft now. “No, you didn’t. You’re just standing in the wreckage, but you’re still standing. And you didn’t lose Buck… not really. Not unless you walk away before he can fix what he broke.”

A sigh left (Y/n)’s mouth and she pressed her lips into a thin line. When she looked at Hen her attention got caught by a person aiming for Taylor. Her eyes flicked toward Taylor again, who was now who was talking with her cameraman.

It was Buck, aiming straight for Taylor.

Buck strode out of the tent, he had his soaked turnout gear now replaced with a dry set of clothes and his damp curls were still sticking partly to his forehead. He spotted Taylor by the generator crates, arms folded, scanning everything on scene, looking for what she could use for her item.

“Hey!” Buck called, firm and sharp. Taylor turned, trying to hide the flicker of guilt in her expression by smiling. “Buck-” she wanted to say something but he cut her off immediately. He wasn’t playing her games, that’s what he told himself. “No. You don’t get to say my name like that.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “I was just checking on you-”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “That’s how this all started.”

Taylor glanced at the camera man, then waved him off. He stepped away.

Buck lowered his voice just enough to keep it between them. But his anger was boiling beneath his skin. “You knew I was in a relationship. You knew I moved on. But you couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” he hissed.

“I just wanted to talk,” Taylor said, arms crossing tighter in front of her chest. “No,” he corrected, stepping closer. “You wanted to test me. You wanted to see if there was still something between us.”

Taylor flinched at how furious he was. The bomb named Evan Buckley had started ticking this morning, and finally this evening, it had finally reached its climax and exploded.

“Well, congratulations,” he continued bitterly, adding a soft clap to his words. “You did rattle me. You almost ruined the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Buck…”

“I was happy,” he cut her off. “For the first time in years, I was really happy. And you knew that. But you couldn’t stand it if it wasn’t with you.”

Taylor said nothing, the silence heavier than the stormclouds above them.

“There’s nothing left between us,” Buck said, final and cold. “No sparks, no maybes. Not even a friendship. Stay away from me. We’re done.” he finished the conversation, which was more one sided.

Then he turned and walked back toward the tent, toward the woman he loved, whose trust he was going to fight like hell to earn back.

And he left Taylor standing there. She didn’t even have a chance to say anything, and to be honest, he didn’t really need to hear anything from her. No excuses. Nothing.

The triage tent had quieted somewhat. The worst of the chaos had been stabilized or moved to transport. The sounds now were less chaotic. There were low murmurs, equipment beeping steadily, and the soft shuffling of boots across tarp-covered ground.

(Y/n) sat on the edge of her gurney, a blanket still around her shoulders, her damp hair pulled back messily. She held a small oxygen tube under her nose. Her lungs still ached with every breath, but the burning was fading. Hen sat beside her, perched on the edge of a supply crate, keeping watch. Making sure she didn’t do anything stupid, but mostly to keep her some kind of company.

Footsteps entered the tent they were in. The both of them looked up as Buck approached, his face full with emotion. His eyes met (Y/n)’s and immediately dropped to the floor. It wasn’t from shame, but the weight of what he was carrying.

He stopped a few feet from the gurney.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, voice a little hoarse from emotions and the adrenaline that was starting to wear off.

Hen glanced at (Y/n), her brow creasing. The question wasn’t spoken aloud, but (Y/n) saw it clearly in her eyes, You good? (Y/n) gave her a small nod. It wasn’t enthusiastic, but it was strong. “I’ll be okay,” she whispered.

Hen stood slowly, giving Buck one last look. It wasn’t a warning, but a reminder, Don’t screw this up. As she passed Buck, she gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, not comforting, not cruel, just a reminder: Be careful with her.

Buck moved slowly, towards the edge of a nearby supply crate, the same one Hen had sat on before. He lowered himself onto it with a sigh that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs and rested his elbows on his knees.

(Y/n) sat on the edge of the gurney, her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, fingernails digging into her palms, as a distraction to not start trembling right in front of him.

Now it was just Buck in front of her. And all the space between them.

“I didn’t respond to Taylor,” he said. “Not once. She texted, yeah, and I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you the second it started. I didn’t delete anything or hide it, but I didn’t shut it down either.”

(Y/n)’s eyes were glassy, the sharp sheen of unshed tears glimmering under the sterile lights. She didn’t speak. Didn’t even blink as he talked.

“I thought ignoring it would be enough. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. Because it didn’t. But that doesn’t matter, does it?” His voice wavered. “It made you feel like I was hiding something. Like maybe part of me still wanted her in my life. And I didn’t even realize I was making you feel that way until it was too late.” he rattled.

Her lip trembled as she inhaled through her nose, slow and shaky. “You could’ve just blocked her,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It would’ve taken two seconds and none of this would’ve happened.”

Buck didn’t try to respond right away to her heartbreaking, broken down voice. But he stood up, slowly, carefully, as if rushing toward her might shatter the small amount that was keeping her together. When he stepped in front of her, she didn’t look up, her eyes were locked on the floor.

She didn’t resist when he reached out. It was Buck who closed the distance.

He slid one arm gently around her back and then the other, his touch soft but sure as he pulled her against his chest. She didn’t return the embrace at first. She just sat there, stiff and silent, arms limp at her sides. And then she felt him press his cheek to the top of her head. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

That was what broke her down into a million pieces.

Her hands gripped the back of his shirt in two tight fists, and she let out a sob that had been buried in her chest for the entire day. Buck didn’t flinch. He just held her tighter, cheek still pressed to her hair, locking her in his arms. His eyes were closed now, his lashes wet with tears of his own, and he rocked her slightly, as if movement could soothe the heartbreak between them.

“I didn’t know how much I was hurting you,” he whispered into her hair. “And when I saw your face this morning, when you looked at me like I was a stranger… I knew I’d fucked up. But I need you to know that nothing happened. We never met up. She just texted. I ignored it. But I should’ve erased her the second she reached out. I should’ve blocked her.”

(Y/n) shook her head against his chest. “You didn’t have to cheat for it to feel like betrayal.”

Buck closed his eyes tighter, pressing a small, light kiss to her hair now, letting her words pierce deep. “You’re right,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. “I failed you in a different way. And I’ll spend every damn day proving I’m not going to do that again.”

Her grip on his shirt tightened, and she buried her face deeper into his chest. His arms wrapped fully around her now, like he could protect her from every crack she had felt since that first text. Like he could protect her from himself.

But for now, she didn’t say anything more. She didn’t have to.

#911 #911 fox #911 abc #911 imagine #imagine #buck imagine #buck x reader #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evanbuckley

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thatredheadwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Pretty

frankie morales x reader

Alright, so you know ya girl has a bit of an oral fixation. And a thing for marking (seriously, I’ve already done a whole fic about it). So it shouldn’t shock you that seeing all these gifs of Pedro from TUWOMT in his little striped speedo has✨SPARKED✨ something in me. Something absolutely fucking feral. I love thighs. Idc who they belong to, they’re fluffy pillows of sexiness and they deserve to be shown a good time. Also, we need to call boys pretty. They are and they deserve to hear it more. I totally intended for this to be pwp, but then I got a little angsty with it, and then it got real fluffy, and idk man. I think it turned out ok, but this is not the fic I planned on writing when I started, and that’s ok. Also, I suck at endings, so I guess I just stopped writing words instead of properly closing it. Whatever. Please enjoy.

This is an NSFW oneshot for female reader with Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales of Triple Frontier. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18. As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however, I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon-level violence.

Warnings Include (but are not limited to):

Swearing

My extreme love of thighs

nibbling/marking kink

Kinda body worship

Elements of handjob

Mention of oral (male receiving)

Frankie doesn’t think he’s beautiful and handsome

Fairly mild (IMO) body-image-related angst (just Frankie’s this time around)

Mentions that maybe reader had some past body image issues (not explicit)

Pet names

Sickeningly sweet fluff

Making Frankie say that he’s pretty (not in a feminizing way, pretty doesn’t always mean feminine)

Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.

It was a lazy day. You lay with your foot at the head of the bed, arms crossed underneath you, reading your newest pick from the local library.

Frankie sat beside you, propped up against the headboard reading the morning paper. You knew if you teased him about his reading glasses and old-man habits he’d take them off and go back to squinting, so you kept your giggles to yourself.

When he didn’t need it to hold the paper, one of his warm palms rested splayed on the back of your thigh, rubbing up and down in what was meant to be a soft gesture, but was pulling your mind in another direction entirely.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t fucked your brains out the night before, but you couldn’t help but want more. He was too pretty, too handsome, although every time you tried to tell him so, he’d get all flustered and change the subject.

As your eyes trailed down his form, bathed in the morning light, you couldn’t help but appreciate him. His broad shoulders and soft tummy covered in the fabric of his favorite white t-shirt, down to his thighs, mostly exposed from the hem of his plaid boxers ridden up into the seam of his hips.

God his thighs were just perfect. You loved digging your fingers into them as he fucked your face, and so did he, even if he liked to pretend he was indifferent. They were your favorite pillow when you watched movies on the couch, and you loved watching and feeling the muscles flex underneath you as he came.

So when you finished your chapter, you sat up and pulled your legs up under you, turning to face your boyfriend with a pout. Sitting back on your heels, you chewed on your lip as you studied him until he noticed your stare and set his paper aside.

“What’s up, pup?” he asked, sitting up a little more so he could place a hand on your knee. Frankie loved to touch you, and you loved that about him. He always made you feel safe and adored.

“I wanna try something,” you said hesitantly, narrowing your eyes at him.

He wiggled his brows suggestively, “If I remember correctly, the last time you said that, we ended up staying in bed for an entire weekend.”

When you didn’t react to his joke about the time the two of you had first tried cockwarming, he shifted again.

“Hey, what is it? You can tell me anything,” his brow was furrowed adorably, and you huffed a laugh.

“I…I just don’t know how to say it. Can I just show you?” you asked, fiddling with the hem of your sleep shirt and looking up at him.

“Of course. I trust you, princesa.”

You smiled and tossed your book haphazardly up towards your nightstand before using his ankles to spread his legs, earning you a look of confusion as you moved between them. It didn’t go away as you settled on your belly between his legs, head right between his thighs.

“I don’t think this is new,” Frankie chuckled above you as you reached your hands out to begin caressing the insides of his legs.

“Oh, I’m not sucking you. Not yet anyways,” you clarified, still massaging his thighs. “Frankie, I just love you so much. You’re so pretty.”

“Not that again,” he dropped his head back to the headboard like he was annoyed, but you knew it was really to hide the blush creeping up his face. “I’ve told you-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to you talk bad about yourself. You’re so beautiful Frankie. Especially your thighs. God, I love them.”

You dipped your head to trail your nose along his skin there, the light hair tickling you as you searched for the perfect spot to start. The first kiss was light, testing his reaction. But as he relaxed under you, you grew bolder. Soon you were leaving litters of sloppy kisses all over his thighs.

When you first nibbled a little, you were afraid you’d hurt him with the way he’d sucked in a breath. But when you looked up at him, his eyes were blown with lust and his fingers were tangled in the sheets.

“Love you s’much, Frankie,” you murmured into his skin, now mottled with the evidence of your mouth on him. His cock strained in his boxers, and his hips bucked involuntarily when your nose grazed it.

“Fuck,” he groaned, “I love you too, princess.”

You grinned up at him, resting your cheek against his thigh. Your fingers traced up the sensitive flesh and onto his boxers, slipping up under his t-shirt and into the fabric of his waistband.

“Will you say it for me?” you asked, looking up at him with big doe eyes as your hand finally made contact with his achingly hard dick.

“Say-say wha- oh, fuck,” he cut himself off as your thumb swirled precum around his tip, toying with his frenulum.

“I want you to say that you’re pretty. Cause to me you’re the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Seriously?” he all but pouted, frowning down at you.

“Frankie, you spent months when we first started dating telling me how beautiful and gorgeous I am, and I eventually started to believe it. I just want you to love yourself,” you said honestly, hand stilling inside his boxers as you waited for his reaction. “You’re always making little digs about being out of shape or gaining a little weight since your discharge, and I literally couldn’t care less. Francisco, you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met, and I just want you to see that. I love you.”

You could swear there was a tear in his eye when you finished, and he opened his arms wide, indicating he wanted to hold you.

“God, princesa, how did I get so lucky?” he sniffled a bit as you crawled up to his level, letting him wrap his arms around you and hold you, with you holding him back.

“I think I’m the lucky one, but that’s just me,” you grinned into his shirt. “I just don’t want you to ever feel less than, Frankie. And you always make me feel so loved, I just want to share it back, I guess.”

“Ok,” he sighed, pulling back to look at you. He took a deep, shuddery breath before screwing his eyes shut tight. “I’m pretty,” he grimaced as the words came out, cracking an eye afterward to see your barely contained mix of amusement and adoration.

You leaned in and pecked a kiss on the end of his nose.

“Yes, yes you are. And you’re handsome,” another kiss, this one to his left temple. “And you’re beautiful,” a kiss to his right temple. “And you’re smart,” you kissed the center of his forehead. “And kind,” you kissed a cheek. “And an amazing father,” the other cheek. “And the sweetest partner,” you kissed one of the bare patches in his beard. “And a simply divine lover,” you kissed the other patch, although you missed a little bit because he was giggling underneath you. “And I am so lucky to call you mine.”

The last kiss you placed to his lips, but before you could pull away, he was pulling you in with his need.

You rolled your hips down on him, his hard cock still pressing into you through his boxers.

“Can you say it again for me?” you asked with your best pouty face, “You can even say handsome instead if you don’t like pretty.”

Frankie leaned in to kiss down your jaw, bucking your hips up against yours. “I think ‘pretty’ is growing on me.”

“Yeah?” you asked, tugging him away by his hair.

“Yeah. Cause you’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’d kill to be anything like you, pup.”

#frankie morales #francisco morales #catfish morales #frankie morales smut #frankie morales angst #frankie morales fluff #francisco morales smut #francisco morales angst #francisco morales fluff #catfish morales smut #catfish morales angst #catfish morales fluff #triple frontier #frankie morales fic #francisco morales fic #catfish morales fic #francisco 'catfish' morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

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spookysmujer · 4 years ago

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Nights Like This, O. Diaz

summary: Oscar and Y/N decide to download tinder and find themselves matching with each other.

warnings: cute s h e t 🥺

word count: 2.4k

a/n: I try to make simple request but then I gotta go get all into it. I hope this lives up to your expectations! Please consider following my blog if you aren’t already! Heart/comment/reblog my content if you enjoy it also turn on the notifications for when I post new content, lots of love ❣️ Request are open!

requested by @hinagiku0

(Gif belongs to @shittystockholmstyles ✨)

It was all one big joke. He didn’t need something like a dating app to meet girls. He is Oscar “Spooky” Diaz, he has no trouble in the ladies department. But out of the blue, on a lazy Sunday, he thought he’d download the overhyped Tinder app.

What harm can it do?

He scoffed at some of the girls that popped up. Most of them, he already had hooked up with, some for a single night and others on multiple nights. He got bored of seeing the girls that he already did. Oscar decided to extend the range further out from Freeridge.

Sunday’s called for deep cleaning with you. It was the, technical, beginning of a new week and nothing says welcome new week like a clean slate. All the stress and baggage from the previous long forgotten.

The music is bumping from the living room as you are scrubbing the counter top. You like the routine you have, you have a well paying job, a nice apartment in a busy city right outside of LA and have felt the greatest you ever have. But you can’t deny that you’ve sat on your couch many nights with one too many empty wine bottles nearby, far too often.

As your mother would say, you can be alone but not lonely. Learn how to separate the two.

And for the most part you could do that. You would keep to yourself but keep busy enough that it wouldn’t linger in your mind that you’re in your mid-20’s, a successful person but no one to share it with. You could, right?

Hell yes, you can! That’s why you are currently setting up a Tinder profile nearing the witching hour? You’ve hesitated with the whole thing, what pictures to add, what to say in your bio, and why do they have oddly specific interests to choose from? Online dating is certainly more complicated than you previously thought. And problematic, you’ll soon learn.

Oscar kept finding himself uninterested when he matched with a few women. He would sigh, getting the You’ve Matched! notification. One might not understand why he wasn’t finding any pleasure in it, especially when he would get messages from those he would match with and how they wanted to do things with him and to him.

There was a split second pause when he came across your profile.

He stares at your picture and scrolls through the 3 that you choose to upload. Hm, he wondered. Even though each of them showed you in a different mood, there’s a twinkle in your eye in all of them. The corner of Oscar’s lips lifted a little. This was an app for quick relief. Why does he begin to think of more mundane things when looking at your pictures? Left swipe.

Los Angeles is a big city. Beyond your mind’s capacity to comprehend how many fine bachelors and bachelorettes Tinder is holding. The thought of finding a meaningful connection on an app like Tinder makes you snort. Everyone knows that this is a main source of booty calls. YG’s Toot it and Boot it should be its theme song.

After some time it became boring.

Though consciously aware of Tinder’s purpose, you still sigh at every profile you come across when the bio carries the vibes of one night stands. To be alone and not lonely. You kept on chanting as you began to swipe more right then left.

It must have been quite the workout seeing as you woke a few hours later, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, with your phone face down on your chest. You rub the sleep from your eyes, plug in your nearly dead phone and carry on with your morning routine, “Alexa, play Fuckin’ Perfect by P!nk.”

All while you contemplated which candle to light and whether you were going to put on athletic wear to actually work out or to just wear. Oscar goes on about his day, chilling around his house with Santos.

“You know your sister is on Tinder. Mira mira, she says she lookin’ for someone to blow her mind and her back.” Oscar snorts after taking a drag of his cigarette, the surrounding Santos laugh along while Joker doesn’t find it amusing at all.

He shrugs off Oscar’s comment and then raises an eyebrow, “What’s Spooky doing on tinder anyways, huh?” This draws the fellas attention to Oscar who looks at them and scoffs, throwing down the half-smoked stick and smashing with the tip of his shoe.

“Wading the waters, foo.” Once they see his grin then they know it’s safe to laugh it out. They never know with Spooky sometimes, they can laugh and the next thing is a death glare from the Santo leader.

Oscar pulls out his phone and opens the app again, mindlessly swiping right through the profiles. Sad Eyes notices how he isn’t even really looking through them before dismissing them. But he knew why, he knows his compa is tired of the meaningless connection even though Oscar would never actually say it outloud.

When the afternoon hit, you stopped the audible book you had playing and headed to the kitchen to whip up a quick sandwich. As you are enjoying it, you mindlessly open the Tinder app, almost forgetting about it entirely, and begin skimming through the profiles.

Handsome, sexy, boring, yikes, nope.. well, wait a minute.

Your thumb hovers over a profile that caught your eye. You look at the first picture and think, damn, he sure is something to look at. Though facial tattoos weren’t something you were into much, it suited him. He even has better eyelashes than you, even with your eyelash extensions.

“Spooky. The hell kind of name is that?” You whisper to yourself. You scroll through his pictures and feel the heat rising in your cheeks. He really is kind of cute, not kind of, he is very cute.

You look through his information and bio. He is freeridge and seems to run with the Santos, street gang. Oh boy, your mother would wring your neck. But yet, it doesn’t stop you from swiping left.

At the same time, you and Oscar both get the notifications that you’ve got a match. You gasp a little as you see that Oscar is the one you matched with. As if it was cursed text, you fling your phone onto the couch. This wasn’t your first match, so what got you all teenage girl starstruck?

The grin on Oscar's face catches Jokers. The Santo leans over and sees how his compa lingers over your profile, scrolling through your pictures and staring at each one intently.

“Nah, you see this why I don’t fuck with all the online shit. Bitches love to catfish. Talkin’ bout, she look like Cardi B online but rata in real life. Naw fuck that!” Joker exclains, pushing Oscar’s shoulder.

Oso deadpans, holding back a grin, “Wait, there is difference between a rata and Cardi B?” Everyone bursts out into laughter as another Santo threatens them for making fun of his future wife.

But between the laughter and continued talk of catfishing, Oscar thinks how he has been there too. And it wasn’t that he met a girl one night, all fine looking and the next morning she doesn’t look the same. That isn’t his definition of catfishing. He meant full blown wasn’t even the same person in the picture, now that is catfish.

“Com’m Spooky, look. Homegirl got filters on every one of her pictures. These days pictures alter the shape of your face and shit. And lightening the skin tones and all that messed up shit. I can literally make a viejita and fine ass hyna on my phone. Nah, fuck that online bullshit.” As if this becomes one of those TED talks, they go on and on.

Surprisingly, the guys don’t solely blame the ladies but the creators of such filters and apps for creating such a stigma around being beautiful with certain features and skin tones. What the fuck was on the joint that was passed around?

With all and any courage Oscar had left, he sends you a quick message.

Wassup.

Your phone chimes with a different sound indicating that it wasn’t another match but a private message. When you turn it over and see it’s a message from Spooky, you shriek again and drop your phone back face down.

What was in that candle you burned earlier? It was a new one that you got from those all natural, organic stores. People who shop there religiously almost always claim to be woke so there has to be some kind of herb in there that causes spikes of…. shyness?

The nervousness is still on high drive when you pick up the phone and open the message. Your fingers ghosting over the keyboard as you try to figure out what to say back, like it’s hard to reply back to wassup.

When you still don’t write anything back, another message comes through.

Free this Saturday?

“Com’n and say something! Most guys don’t keep interest in girls who leave them on read, say something back!” You scold yourself. You looked crazy, yelling at your phone as if it were the problem here.

With a deep breath and squared shoulders, you calm your mind and respond back. You don’t give him the overly excited response nor do you give a dry one either. You’re chill and show that you are interested and indeed free on Saturday.

In a blink of an eye, it’s now Saturday and you’re in the bathroom at this nice little restaurant. You and Oscar had exchanged numbers and actually talked quite a lot on the phone. He seemed so laid back and chill, nothing how his external shell presented. Hard and cold.

It was a quick check in the mirror that everything still looked good. It’s going to be one magical night. But when you emerge from the bathroom and head back to Oscar, he shows signs of agitation. “Everything okay?”

“Pinche cabrón said that there isn’t a reservation. I know I made one and even double checked yesterday.” He exhales a deep breath through his nostrils. Oscar is staring down the hostess, who looks intimated.

But you are stuck on the fact that he double checked. That this happening is the biggest inconvenience because that means that he really wanted tonight to happen. You smile while looking at him, feeling your cheeks warm. Softly, you nudge him to get his attention.

Oscar has his eye brows pinched together when he looks your way, he relaxes his face when he sees your soft eyes. There goes that twinkle in them.

“I had planned to make dumplings for dinner last night but ended up ordering take out. You like to cook, right? I can teach you how to make them. Everything from the homemade wrappers to each ingredient to make an impeccable filing. Whaddaya say?” You ask him and bite your bottom lip, gently.

Without so much as another look into the bustling restaurant, Oscar takes your hand and leads you back to his car. You had to admit that his car is almost better looking than him, almost. He drives you back to your place and you tell him all about how you craft your pork and veggie dumplings, as he tells you the significant difference between chives, scallions and green onions.

He is impressed with the size of your apartment, complimenting your cleanliness and sense of interior design. You quirk an eyebrow at him as he shrugs mentioning he had a lot of magazines to read during his time at Corcoran.

The two of you dive into the art of crafting the perfect dumpling. You instruct him with how to, when to and why to. Well, it started that way. Halfway along the way, it became Oscar telling you what spices should go in there, as a suggestion of course.

“Sesame oil will bring out the richness in the soy sauce. Trust me.”

By the end of the hour long process of prep, cook and serve, your simple dipping sauce of soy sauce and rice vinegar ended up getting a makeover with the addition of sugar, sesame oil, Japanese assorted chili pepper flakes and grated ginger-garlic. Scallions as garnish and it’s more than you ever imagined it could be.

“Now, open.” You do as told and let him feed you. When you bite down, your knees go weak. Your eyes beam and he laughs, crossing his arms to wait for a thank you, you were so right!

You take a second to process the flavors after finishing your bite, “That oyster sauce really does make all the difference. How do you know so much about Asian cuisine?” You ask him.

“I like to educate myself. All cultures are unique and I like to teach myself about it, try it out sometimes. So you like it?” Oscar leans against the counter as you do. You step a bit closer and lick your lips.

He watches you as you smile to yourself and nod, finally looking back at him.

You look into his eyes at first but they lead you astray to look at his lips. Wow, his lips are really nice. He takes notice and steps closer, feeling his heart hammer. Were you making the first move?

When you stand on the tip of your toes to close in space between you two, he lets his hands rest on your hips. You move yours to rest on his chest, “Can you teach me more?” You ask in a whisper.

Lub, dub, lub, dub, lub, dub goes his heart.

“What do you want to know?” He swallows thickly.

You move your hands to his neck, “Mexican cuisine.”

He is less then an inch to pressing his lips to yours when you step back. He looks confused as you give him something of a sinister smile, “What your favorite dish?”

Oscar laughs and rubs the nape of his neck, he drops his head forward and smiles. Little traviesa. You rest your elbows on the counter and let your chin rest in your hands. He takes the dish rag and flings it to you, “Nah, I don’t think you're ready for that just yet.”

“Oh c'mon! I am so ready.” The two of you are laughing as you plate more dumplings and sit to enjoy them on your kitchen island. You moan in satisfaction as the flavors erupt in your mouth.

“Second date. We’ll grill at my place and I’ll teach you anything you want to know over some coronas.” He brushes his thumb below your eye, never imagining he’d have a night like this.

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