#9-1-1 ficlet

[film-in-my-soul]

Cannon divergence- Buck/Eddie??

I hope you liked this one!

.⋆｡°✩ Eddie becomes a paramedic instead of a firefighter but his and Buck's paths still cross. ✩°｡⋆.

The worst part, Buck thinks, laying on the sidewalk struggling to breathe, is that he's not even on the clock. At least when the universe decides to hand him his ass on a silver platter, he's getting paid for it (if he ignores Abby, and Taylor, and Ali...). Still, it could be worse; Bobby can't get mad at him for getting sideswiped by a car pulling a kid out of the road.

Side on fire and wind still knocked out of him, Buck makes the choice to stay on his back. It's a decision based upon years of training and the fact he thinks he'll lose his breakfast if he tires getting upright. The people in his periphery are making a scene, calling for help, but none of them are actively checking on him, and he's too focused on breathing to hear what they're saying or care. 

Just when Buck thinks of closing his eyes and passing out until an ambulance arrives, a small hand lands clumsily on his non-screaming shoulder, and his attention is forced to shift, eyes sliding unbidden to the side.

A tear-stained face, messy honey-brown curls, skewed glasses. It's the kid Buck had seen tipping sideways into the busy street, his crutches catching in a half-hidden crack in the pavement, sending him topping over. Buck does his best to smile around his grimace.

"Hey buddy," he hopes there's no blood on his teeth. He hopes he's not bleeding at all.

"I'm sorry," the kid says, light eyes wet and redrimmed, his bottom lip trembling hard. He's patting Buck like a cat that needs to be soothed. It twists up Buck's heart, and he wishes he could sit up to comfort him, show that, really, this isn't the worst he's been put through the wringer, but he can't. Buck does try to shrug, though, and bolstered by the need to not be the reason the boy cries even harder, he manages a better grin.

"Hey, don't be. It's not your fault-"

"Chris!" Much louder than the crowd still hanging around the edges, a voice breaks over the murmurs, and Buck feels the kid's (Chris's, he's sure) hand squeeze him hard.

"Daddy!" Chris calls back, and Buck watches from his position on the ground as, at first, a shadow falls over both him and the boy, and then a man comes into view, kneeling over Buck, but whose every bit of focus is on Chris.

"Christ, Mijo, what the hel- what happened?"

"Dad, you gotta help him. He got hurt pulling me away from the car. You gotta-"

They're talking over each other, and Buck feels as in the middle as he is, but the awkwardness is quickly swiped away when Chris's father tips his head down, blocking out the midday sun, and Buck is hit full force by how beautiful the man is. Soft brown eyes edged with the tease of crow's feet and smile lines, thick dark brows to match his swept-back hair, and the promise of stubble at the edge of his jaw. Buck is struck with an immediate attraction so powerful it rivals the impact from the Tesla that he's pretty sure sped away from the scene.

"-ir, sir, can you hear me?"

Buck blinks back into the moment, nods, and immediately regrets it.

"Oh shit, don't do that, okay, you need to keep yourself still until the paramedics arrive."

"No, I-" Buck swallows, trying to clear his suddenly tight through, "I know. Firefighter." He'd point to himself, but Chris is still clinging to his undamaged arm, and the idea of shifting just to make it clear he's not delirious is both daunting and directly in opposition to his claim of knowing better.

The man smiles, and it's devastating how it brightens every corner of his face.

"Good to know. Someone's called 9-1-1, so I'm going to make sure you're alright until the ambulance gets here. I'm a paramedic." He tacks on the last bit like an afterthought, like he should make it clear that the gently probing hand suddenly on Buck's flank isn't for nefarious purposes.

"You sure you're not an angel?" It slips out, easy like breathing still isn't, and Buck can't find it in himself to be cowed at having said it.

The man, whose gaze had slid down to watch as his fingers worked, snaps his eyes back to Buck's face, expression wide with surprise, and Buck hears a soft giggle from Chris.

"Uh, no," he says, a satisfying splash of color coming onto his cheeks, "Just Eddie the paramedic."

Eddie. It fits. Buck likes it. He also likes how Eddie's clearly trying to tuck his bashful smile away and get back to the task of ensuring that Buck isn't bleeding internally.

"Coulda fooled me," Buck can't help himself, rewarded again by Chris's laughter, finally done with crying, it seems, and Eddie's soft chuckle and headshake. He flusters easily, and Buck can't help imagining pushing his luck just to see how much he can get the rosy color to spread over his tan complexion.

He doesn't get the chance, and before Eddie can reply, the sound of the ambulance is there, and then two paramedics descend upon them, one going to squat beside Eddie.

"Diaz, thought you were off duty today."

Eddie rolls his eyes, and Buck wants to comment that, really, are civil servants ever off duty? But then the other paramedic waves a penlight in his eyes and starts asking him questions, carefully dislodging Chris from his place by Buck's shoulder so she can get a collar around Buck's neck.

When they leave and return with the stretcher, Eddie helps load Buck on, and Chris fists his hand in Buck's shirt when they try to wheel him toward the flashing vehicle.

"Chris, we have to let them take Buck to the hospital," Eddie says, coming around to his son's side. Buck smiles, something twinging in his chest that has nothing to do with being jostled forward. He opens his mouth to assure Chris he'll be okay, that as long as Chris is fine, it's all good, but Chris beats him to it as he turns his face up to his father and asks, "But can't we go with him?"

The request floors Buck, and it seems to leave Eddie equally stumped. Chris uses the opportunity to continue.

"It's my fault he's hurt. I want to make sure he gets to the hospital okay."

Something flashes in Eddie's eyes, something that implies a story underlining Chris's words. If he could, Buck would wheel himself into the ambulance and away from what probably needs to be a private conversation. He can't, though, so he sits silent, trying to communicate to Eddie with his eyes that, really, they've already done enough, Chris with his getting Buck's help and Eddie putting up Buck's brazen flirting.

The female paramedic at the head of the stretcher, amused and unhelpfully, adds, "We've got the room."

Between that and Chris's blatantly pleading pout, Buck watches Eddie sigh and momentarily hang his head before he looks back to Buck, smiling small and crooked.

"Only if you don't mind the company. It would... it would mean a lot to him."

Buck wonders if he plays his cards right; he might be able to get that 'him' to become 'us.' He smiles.

"The more the merrier."

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

[tommys-wings]

When they’re having pizza nights at Eddie’s, Buck and Tommy usually order the two with the most protein and then share them half and half, fist bumping once they’ve done the exchange, like this is the height of teamwork.

Eddie just calls them dorks and, one time, Tommy goes ‘you’re just jealous of our swag’ to which Christopher just pretends to leave like ‘I can’t believe I ever thought you were cool’ and Tommy lets out his offended ‘eeeh!’ (The same one he had when Buck teased him about the mouth static).

This prompts a contest between Buck, Tommy, and Eddie, to see who can misuse gen z/alpha slang the most egregiously, ending up in what can only be described as a Chris torture chamber.

Anyway, they’re never starved for banter.

[likeshipsonthesea]

you make me

bucktommy ficlet. had a convo about love. had some feelings. gave them to buck. enjoy~

The entire loft is soaked in the hazy blue light of pre-morning. Buck can hear the mechanical thrum of garbage collectors, a handful of singing birds, quiet but steady breathing. His body is sore, from work and then from Tommy, a satisfying reminder of a yesterday well spent. Everything is warm and soft like Saturday morning, even though he's fairly sure it's Tuesday.

The clock on his bedside table tells him it's much too early to get up for a Tuesday, so he turns over to get comfortable and ends up face to face with Tommy's sleep-slacked expression.

Buck watches him in that way that's only creepy if you're not in love. Takes note of his eyelashes resting against the tops of his cheeks, his lips shadowed by the slant of his nose, how the dawning daylight catches on the angles of his face. He wants to touch, but not enough to disturb the serenity of sleep on his boyfriend's face.

Eddie tells him he says that a lot. My boyfriend. "We all know his name," Eddie says, tone harsh but a creeping smirk giving away the joke.

When Buck brought it up with Dr. Copeland, she asked him why he thinks he says it so much, but it was towards the end of their session so they didn't really get into it. Buck thinks it's probably something to do with his self-image problems, or maybe his abandonment issues? Dr. Copeland's better with the answers than he is.

Calling him Tommy is fine, but saying my boyfriend says my meatless lasagna needs more starch just reminds Buck that Tommy's his and, even more novel, Buck is Tommy's.

Buck likes being Tommy's boyfriend.

Tommy's boyfriend knows Tommy's coffee order, and drops it off along with a savory treat for him at the start of a long shift. Tommy's boyfriend always knows exactly where Tommy left his blue-light glasses and grabs them before they head to bed so Tommy can read another chapter of the cheesy historical fiction novel on his tablet. Tommy's boyfriend is the one Tommy goes to after a hard shift, to talk to or hug or just sit in the same room with until the rest of the world is less heavy.

As Tommy's boyfriend, Buck is still all the things he was before--firefighter, brother, friend--but knowing there's someone who trusts him enough to sleep beside him and let him stare at their face like a creeper in the early hours of the morning--there's this unfathomable freedom to it.

It's like--if Tommy loves him, he must be worthy of it. It's a truth and a prophecy, self-fulfilling. It's this ever-turning cycle that bolsters Buck to be the best version of himself, and none of it feels like work because it's all tangled up with joy.

"How long have you been staring at me?"

Buck startles out of his internal monologue to find Tommy's left eye open. The right is buried in his pillow along with the lifted corner of his mouth.

"Probably a little too long," Buck admits, staring fixedly at that corner of Tommy's mouth.

Tommy's lips part to release a sigh before settling into a smile. "Evan. Go back to sleep."

"In a minute."

Tommy shifts closer on the pillow, his nose nudging Buck's, his morning breath awful and his eyes so close Buck thinks their eyelashes might tangle. "You worked a 24-hour shift yesterday. You need to sleep. You can stare at me tomorrow."

"Promise?"

Tommy brushes their lips together. "Promise."

Buck finds Tommy's hand between them and laces their fingers together. "Alright," he says, settling back into the mattress and letting his eyes shut as he brings their hands to his sternum. "Tomorrow."

[eddiestightywhities]

Twenty-seven seconds.

Buck had counted each terrifying one of them. Those moments, between one to the next, they'd felt like entire lifetimes.

Twenty-seven seconds.

The length of time they’d held each other's steadfast gaze through the glass that separated them; he and Eddie in different rooms yet locked together in a shared, living hell.

Twenty-seven seconds.

It was how long it had taken the CDC doctors to inspect Eddie's hazmat for rips or holes as they'd checked in minute detail for any place the toxic substance could have breached the suit and reached Eddie's skin.

Twenty-seven seconds.

That's what it had taken, in the end. Barely a half-minute—not the full four, as that psychologist from New York would have the world believe.

Buck had read about it in a Big Think article one time:

‘Holding four minutes of sustained eye contact with another person is a sure-fire way to fall in love.’

There had been some other stuff in there about asking a series of tailored personal questions before beginning the looking part of the experiment, but he and Eddie already had six years worth of personal.

No two people on earth knew each other the way Eddie knew Buck and Buck knew Eddie—and although some folks would say that couldn't possibly be true, Buck didn't give a damn about a single one of them.

Twenty-seven seconds.

And Buck knew that Eddie was just as in love with him as Buck had been with Eddie for those six years they'd spent by each other's side. Or, at least, Eddie was in love with Buck now; Buck was sure of it, after the terror he'd seen in Eddie's eyes that was reflected in his own, when they’d each thought they might be about to lose the other half of themselves.

Twenty-seven seconds.

It was more than long enough, after everything they'd been through together.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Then the doctors had given Eddie the all-clear and the pair of them had burst into relieved, happy-tears.

Buck had already speed-dialled Carla (they'd taken Eddie's mobile from him) because he knew Eddie needed to hear Christopher's voice—they both did—and Buck handed the phone to Eddie as soon as the doctors let Eddie tear his way out of that awful room that Buck never wanted to see ever again for as long as he fucking lived, and they'd held back the tears as best they could, for their boy's sake, while they chatted on speakerphone just like it was any other day, about Eddie's shitty cooking and which Lego structures they were going to build when they got back home.

Because that's where they both knew Buck belonged: With Eddie and Chris. The three of them, at Casa Diaz.

Together.

Twenty-seven seconds.

That's how it began.

Twenty-seven seconds.

With those three words.

“Twenty-seven seconds... Eds, that's how long it took me to realise how stupid I've—”

It took Eddie's hands no time at all to find Buck's face and pull it down into his own, Eddie pressing his lips to Buck's and kissing twenty-seven seconds and six years of pure, unadulterated love into them.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Until they were uttering those other three words to each other, over and over again.

They cried more, and laughed about it.

Then they kissed more.

And if Buck had to hazard a guess at how long it took before Hen and Chim and Bobby were able to pull them apart, trying their best to admonish them through their fits of giggles?

Twenty-seven seconds.

Or thereabouts.

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

One day, Tommy is borrowing Evan's blue hoodie. Well, borrowing... that's a flexible word. The sweater is lying over a chair in Evan's kitchen. It's a place for breakfast for two, nowadays. Evan has left for his shift, and Tommy will leave the loft soon, yes, but there's the hoodie. The garment in itself is not special, it's just a sweater, some casual kind of clothing, Tommy doesn't care. But it's the one Evan wore when he pounced on him back in the hospital. That's our day, Evan says. The day we told everybody without telling them. Tommy doesn't care about the hoodie, but he can't forget that Evan wore it, and the color, oh, the blue! It's a special kind of blue, one that makes Evan's eyes shine. There must be a name for all of these colors, but he doesn't know it. Life was simple before Evan, and now it's 50 shades of blue. Tommy gently runs his hand over the sweater, he involuntarily picks it up. It's soft, like Evan's skin, and... he can't help it, he holds it up to his nose, yes, it smells like Evan. Most of all, it's the blue Tommy can't get enough of. But everything combined? He doesn't even know why, but he slips it over his shirt. They are the same height, this fits. It fits him like Evan does. He wears it the whole day long.

[paperyowl]

Tommy looked up, and he saw the moment that Sal's face changed. Something made his eyes grow icy cold. The sight made Tommy's heart stutter and his breath catch. It didn't suit Sal one bit.

He was halfway across the scene before Gerrad's shout of 'Come back here, Kinard' even registered. But it hardly mattered. Tommy had only one goal, and he never even paused before he was right by Sal's side, shoulder to shoulder, facing off against one of the bystanders of a car crash that had resulted in miraculously mild injuries.

"Sir," Sal said through clenched teeth, squaring his shoulders in a way that lined his body up with Tommy. His tone belied the politeness of the words, cloyingly sweet and sounding patronizing. "Would you please step back?"

In a man who swore with every other breath, always lining up sarcastic replies and constantly speaking with the kind of voice that made the impossible heat in him unmistakable, this kind of attitude was scary. Tommy had to lock his knees to avoid reacting physically. He knew Sal well, some days better than he knew himself - and he'd never met this version of him.

The elderly man standing across from them scoffed - and Tommy didn't understand how he couldn't see the eruption waiting to happen, how he didn't cower in the face of hell-frozen-over-kind-of fury barely kept in check.

Tommy knew he wanted to flinch from it and give Sal space. But he needed to stay because he had to try to defuse this. Before Sal ended up self-destructing.

"Sal," Tommy said, willing himself to breathe the warmth back into him. It wasn't a call back home; Tommy didn't have the right. But he imagined that's what his voice sounded like: "Come on, let's go."

Like a mad person, the bystander drew a breath as if to speak. Ironically, it was Tommy who snapped, focusing on this absolute idiot of a person.

"Shut up."

He said it in a way that left no room for argument. It certainly left the bystander speechless. To Tommy's surprise, Sal immediately moved with the gentle suggestion of a pull at his arm. After they'd turned and started walking back to the engine, Tommy was vaguely aware of the man yelling behind them and, a minute later, of Gerrad reprimanding him for not reacting to his earlier call.

"Sorry, Captain."  

He wasn't proud of it, but Tommy knew what he could get away with and made use of that knowledge. Tommy had an inkling that the worst he had to fear was a few shifts as the man behind. (He was lucky Gerrad hadn't heard any of the words exchanged.) No part of him cared.

What Tommy did wonder about was the way Sal stared at him in the engine, all quiet and vaguely wonderous. Even some banter between Howie and someone who'd filled in from B-shift didn't deter Sal's focus. Tommy didn't linger - but he knew that he'd eventually end up alone with Sal.

He was proven right, too, when Sal finally corned Tommy in the locker near the end of their shift. Tommy half expected Sal to berate him. Maybe he would raise his voice a little, or he'd-

"You didn't hear what he said," Sal stated, like the conversation had started somewhere earlier and Tommy had missed it. This wasn't what he had expected. Tmmy shook his head. No, he hadn't heard.

"How did you know? That he said something shitty?"

"Your eyes," Tommy responded, probably too fast.

Sal raised an eyebrow. While they were alone, he wouldn't even give Tommy shit about his phrasing - and wasn't there a whole other layer of undiscovered demons in that fact alone? - but he waited Tommy out instead. They'd grown to know each other well.

"You're eyes were... they were so cold."

Tommy didn't look at Sal when he said it, focusing on a spot somewhere over his shoulder. He didn't want to see if that was some sort of betrayal in Sal's book, whether he was angry at Tommy after all.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Tommy shrugged. " Figured you'd tell me if you wanted me to know."

Sal was in his space in a flurry of movement, making Tommy draw in a breath when he realized that they stood too close for him to look anywhere but right back at Sal without dropping his eyes. Sal held onto Tommy with a hand just above his elbow.

"I'm not going to repeat it," Sal said, vaguely furious, entirely protective. "He was just jealous of how hot you are."

The words startled a laugh out of Tommy - or they would have if Sal hadn't swallowed the noise in a kiss that spelt out a truth that Tommy had only been able to guess at before. Like this, Sal was all heat.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Instead of writing my finals, I wrote this. Based on this post from @chronicowboy

Maddie bolts out the door, Hen close behind, the Buckleys already on their way to inform the guests of the… delay, leaving Buck and Eddie standing there like lost NPCs. To be honest, Buck feels like one. His head is still pounding so much he can’t hold a rational thought for more than a moment. His movements are still sluggish, each gesture enough to make him feel like he’s back on that sinking cruise ship. Eddie scrubs his hands over his face and lets out a noise that’s half sigh, half groan. “We are never doing that again, right?” “Never,” Buck agrees. He looks at his best friend, really looks at him, for the first time since finding him in the empty hot tub. His suit is completely ruined. Stains and tears and wrinkles tell a story Buck only half remembers. Somewhere between karaoke and the fifth bottle of champagne, Eddie’s shirt got ripped to shreds. Why? Buck doesn’t know. He’d never complain, don’t get him wrong. The suit jacket only covers so much, leaving Eddie’s chest bare and enticing. But… The collar is the only remaining piece of fabric from the shirt. Buck can’t help but wonder if there’s some kind of irony, or deeper meaning behind it still being buttoned around Eddie's neck. Last night was the first night since they met that Eddie actually let loose. His smile and his entire being was so free and beautiful, even in the little moments Buck hardly recalls. And yet that collar remained through the whole night, keeping him captive. His captor? Himself. “C’mere,” Buck says, a little too soft, a little too fond. “What?” Eddie steps closer despite his confusion. Buck reaches up to unbutton the collar. His knuckles brush Eddie’s throat. He feels the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. Buck looks into his eyes as he unbuttons the fabric. Eddie’s pupils are blown wide, keeping Buck from looking away. He slowly pulls the collar from around his neck and folds it up before tucking it into the pocket of Eddie’s jacket. He smooths his hand over it, feeling the rapid thump of Eddie’s heart beneath his palm. “Buck,” Eddie whispers, still looking into his eyes. They’ve drifted closer in the short time they’ve been standing there. So close Eddie has to look up at him. Buck takes him in- his mussed hair, his wide eyes, his plush pink lips. Lips Buck knows he caught himself staring at most of the night. “Eds.” Buck trails his fingers down the lapel of his jacket. Echoing footsteps cause Buck to step back, probably more than a respectable distance away. He feels cold suddenly, his heart faltering in its too fast rhythm. Hen appears in the doorway, still looking a little pissed. “What’s holding you up? You lost him, you help find him!” Buck and Eddie share a look before following Hen.

[lonelychicago]

eddie doing something so ordinary and mundane like folding the laundry or putting plates away in the kitchen and buck just— he stops dead in his tracks and needs to take a second, swallowing thickly before he's closing the distance between them and pulling eddie into a soft, tender kiss.

eddie would pull away after a few seconds and smile teasingly and fondly at buck. "what was that for?"

and buck would just shrug and kiss him again and again, unable to stop the grin forming in his lips. "i'm just really lucky and i can't believe i get to have this." he whispers against the kiss.

because he really, genuinely, never thought he'd get this. the domesticity, the tenderness, the home. he thought he would never be enough for anyone.

but he is.

for eddie, buck is more than enough.

[calicomarie11]

Evan and Tommy are sitting at the table in Evan’s loft, a couple of beers in front of them and relaxing now that the clean up from dinner is done.

“So, how’s Bobby handling retirement?” Tommy asks.

“Still fighting to come back, but he does start a temporary gig tomorrow.” Evan answers. “He’s going to be a technical advisor on Hotshots.”

Tommy looks impressed. “That’s a big deal. That show is huge.”

Evan shrugged, “I’ve never seen it.” 

“What do you mean, you’ve never watched Hotshots? How could you miss it. It’s been the hottest show on TV for the past 2 years.” Tommy’s voice is filled with incredulity as he stares at Evan. “We have viewing parties at Harbor, even the off shift crew comes in if they don’t need to sleep.”

Evan lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck and shrugs sheepishly. “I know it exists, I’ve seen the billboards, it’s just….” he trails off and looks towards the ceiling, his go to move when he’s being evasive. 

“What, did you sleep with the star during your Buck 1.0 days?” Tommy teases him.

“Not the star.” Buck takes a breath and fiddles with his beer bottle, tearing strips off the outside as he talks. “So, you are not the first TK that I’ve dated. I used to be off and on with Taylor Kelly.”

Tommy interrupts “The Taylor Kelly who wrote a tell all about the 118? That was your ex-girlfriend? What a bitch.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t a good fit. Anyways, after she published the book it got picked up for development and Hotshots was the end result. I think she’s even working on the show as a consultant. I didn’t read her book and I’m not about to watch her show.” 

“I can’t believe I didn’t put that together.” Tommy sits back, a thoughtful look on his face. “So does that mean the characters on the show are based on the 118?” He cocks his head and studies Evan and then slaps his hand down on the table. “Holy shit, you’re Sandy.”

“Sandy?” Evan asks, his nose wrinkling adorably in confusion.

“Blaine “Sandy” Sanderson. He’s kind of the show’s punching bag. Last season an ambulance rolled over on top of him during an earthquake and crushed his arm.  This year the season opener had him trapped in a mudslide with his best friends kid.”

Evan takes a slow pull on his beer as he processes that. “Why do you think I’m Sandy?”

“Well, he gets hurt a lot, he’s a daredevil, he’s got a heart of gold, he’s a bit naive, and he always has a collection of fun facts that relate to the rescue at hand.”  

“And that’s what you think of me?” Evan asks with a frown.

“No, baby. But superficially it matches up.” Tommy reaches out to cover Evan’s hand with his own.

“Okay.” Even still looks put out, but a little intrigued. “So, what about the other characters?”

Tommy sits back and purses his lips. “Well, Bea is obviously a stand in for Hen, and Shaft must be Chimney.”

Evan interrupts “Shaft?”

“A nickname they never bother to explain.” 

Evan nods. “Yeah, we never did tell her how Chimney got his name. Who else?”

“Well, the captain’s name is Billy, but everyone calls him Cap and he’s married to a police detective named Artemis.” 

“And you’re just now putting this together?” Even quirks an eyebrow at Tommy.

Tommy holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, I wasn’t exactly expecting to see my old house on the hottest show on television. I started watching before I met you.” 

“So is that it? Me, Cap, ‘Thena, Hen and Chim?”

Tommy looks away and shifts in his seat. “There’s also Ricky.”

“Ricky?”

Tommy sighs. “Ricardo “Ricky” Noches. Air Force veteran, single dad to an autistic kid, and Sandy’s best friend.”

“She made Chris autistic?” The outrage is clear in Evan’s voice. “I know she didn’t spend much time with him, but that is supremely uncool.” Evan sinks back in his seat, a look of frustration on his face.

“There’s more.” Tommy says matter of factly.

Evan huffs. “Alright, lay it on me. How much worse can it get.”

Tommy hums and looks around the room, avoiding eye contact with Evan. “There’s a significant portion of the fan base for the show that “ships” Sandy and Ricky.”

“Ships?” Evan says, his face a mask of confusion.

“It means they think they should be in a romantic relationship. Their ship name is Randy.” Tommy says.

Evan sinks into his seat, his brow furrowed. “So, the people who watch this show, based on my life, think that I should be, what, dating Eddie?” 

Tommy holds his breath and nods. 

Evan stares at him for a long moment, a riot of expressions crossing his face, before he bursts out in laughter. It takes him a few minutes to get himself under control, the giggles rising each time he thinks he’s ready to speak. 

He finally wipes away the tears from his laughing jag. “That would be an epic disaster. Don’t get me wrong, I love him like a brother, but he has more trauma than me, and that’s saying something.” 

 Tommy lets out a breath of relief. “I’ll pass that on to Donato.”

“Lucy?” Evan shoots him a look of confusion.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a big Randy fan.  Spends way too much time on shift reading fan fiction.”

Evan lifts an eyebrow at him. “Do you think she knows?”

“That it’s based on people she knows?”

“Yeah.”

Tommy hmphs. “I’ll be sure to tell her.” 

Comments and Kudos AO3 are greatly appreciated

[honestlydarkprincess]

for the prompts: hiding their face in the other's neck

maybe one day

buck x eddie || rated: t || wc: 1.1k

The second Eddie woke up he knew it was going to be a tough day. His head was killing him and he could feel the telltale signs of an oncoming migraine. He pushed himself up and out of bed and tried to get ready. Thankfully it was his day off but he still had to drive Christopher to school.

He stumbled into the bathroom and winced when he turned the lights on. Yeah, today was going to be a bad one. Splashing some cold water on his face, Eddie took a deep breath and rummaged around in the drawer for some Tylenol. He popped a couple pills and washed it down with water from the tap. He just needed to get Christopher to school and then he could come home, make his bedroom dark, and go to sleep. Thankfully he had purchased some black out curtains a while ago when he was working nights, those would come in handy today.

Eddie made it through getting dressed and brushing his teeth but when he walked into the kitchen he was hit by a wave of nausea and he had to hunch over the counter, taking breaths until his stomach stopped rolling.

“Dad?” Christopher said softly, coming up beside him. “Do you have one of your headaches?”

“Yeah,” Eddie mumbled. He tried to smile but it came out more like a grimace. “I’m going to get you to school and then go back to bed. I should be fine by this afternoon.”

Chris hummed, not quite believing him. When Eddie got bad headaches it usually took more than a good nap for it to pass. “I’m going to call Buck.”

“You don’t have to call Buck, I can take you, mijo,” Eddie said, squinting against the light of the kitchen. Why was his house so damn bright?

“Yeah, I’m calling Buck. You only look like that—” Chris gestured at Eddie. “—when your headache is really bad.”

continue on ao3

[therentyoupay]

HI!!!

For the one word drabble prompt: no for Jelsa, please!

You're amazing! ❤️

Elsa, with her fingers absently twisting the delicate satin of her gloves in her lap and with her gaze lost in the pastoral scene beyond the window, found that she could no longer keep her insistent, fluttering thoughts from drifting toward—no, she could not, would not, entertain the notion that Mr. Overland, with his infuriating charm and careless disregard for propriety, had, against every societal expectation, captured any piece of her heart in any way whatsoever—utterly absurd, she told herself... though, perhaps, with diminishing conviction.

♡ image ♡ ♡ askbox meme - thank you, my love!!

[likeshipsonthesea]

pull you a little closer

spoilers for 9-1-1 ep 7x04 this is the start of a fic i wanna write but i thought i'd share just this lil snippet bc it's bi buck day!!!!

Buck collapses back against his island and just barely restrains himself from lifting a hand to his lips like he’s fourteen again, getting his first kiss from a dare at a birthday party. He just kissed Tommy. Or, well, Tommy kissed him. He kissed back, though, kissed back and reached out to pull Tommy closer. Buck closes his hand around nothing. He remembers the firmness of Tommy's shoulder under his palm, the smell of his skin, the surprising softness of his lips. Buck doesn’t know why he’s so surprised about how soft Tommy’s lips are. Maybe because of flying? All that wind must chap someone’s lips. Maybe Tommy carries around ChapStick. He must. Otherwise how would he keep his lips so—

Knock-knock.

Buck blinks out of his ChapStick spiral. Another knock at his door? What now?

He shakes himself out of his stupor before walking over. Anyone knocking on his door at this time of night would have a good reason, like an emergency or a kiss, and Buck’s already gotten one of those tonight. He knows he’s smiling stupidly at the thought of it but he can’t help it. Tommy kissed him.

He’s still smiling stupidly as he opens up the door and he’d be embarrassed about it but he’s too happy to care, and then he just smiles wider because standing there, panting slightly and a little sheepish, is Tommy.

Tommy returns Buck’s smile. “I have PTO saved,” he says without a formal greeting. “Ruiz still owes me a favor from our fantasy football league. He’ll cover me.”

Stupid butterflies kick around in Buck’s chest. “Oh.”

“If you want company.”

Buck’s heart rabbits in his chest. He just kissed a guy for the first time in his life and he’s not entirely sure what it means, and he’s also supposed to call Eddie and apologize for being a dick even though he doesn’t know how to explain himself without getting into the whole I-might-like-dudes thing, and he’d already been kind of tired before Tommy came over so he was kind of thinking he’d just head to sleep, but—

“Yes,” he says, because if there’s one thing he’s sure of, it’s that he wants Tommy to keep looking at him. “Yes, I do.”

[eddiestightywhities]

𝖘𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖙/𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗

a closeted gay teen from a mexican catholic family growing up in 90s el paso, texas, edmundo diaz met shannon in high school and, in her, found his best friend and soul mate.

after a while, they decided to fake-date, to save eddie from scrutiny and danger—but in the end, shannon was the one who needed protecting; she was murdered for defending eddie, by a knife gang of bigots hellbent on chaos and death, and eddie, in self-defence, killed one of them after they tried to take him out, too.

jailed at 18, eddie did 8 years for manslaughter at the penitentiary of new mexico, where he kept his head down and his record clean, and turned to god in the hope he could save his soul.

when he got out, with no real prospects and no friends or family to turn to, eddie joined the church, and once ordained, moved out to CA to his first parrish, where he met a firefighter named bobby and struck up his first real friendship in what felt like a lifetime.

through this new kinship, eddie was introduced to another first responder: evan 'buck' buckley, who became determined to blur the lines between platonic and something more—setting eddie on a path that would lead him to forever securing a place for his soul in the fiery pits of infierno...

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

chronic pain buck not telling anybody (tommy!)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while, because I already had this WIP and initially wanted it to become a multi-chapter-thing. But, you know, life (and ideas)... so here's, finally, my humble offering of chronic pain Buck.

A Little Bit Off

Buck wakes up two hours before the alarm clock goes off, and he immediately knows what kind of day it's going to be. 

The world is still dim, a black veil of silence covering the loft. Buck squints at the ceiling until his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. There was a dream, what was it? It’s already slipping away from him, becoming transparent like a faded piece of fabric. It was at night, in a forest, I was running away from something, constantly looking back. Tripping over a root, I fell, I fell so hard – it was just a dream, but when I hit the ground my leg exploded. It wasn't the dream that had woken him, just a nightmare like many. It was the pain. In the past, Buck would have never believed that you can feel pain in a dream, so fresh and strong as if it wasn't just a memory, but had just happened. 

Now it's just a dull, throbbing pain, nothing like the tons of weight that crushed his leg back then. He has lost the actual memory of the fire truck on his leg, even though he knows exactly what happened, even though he was conscious. But those few minutes are missing from his memory, which is probably why he keeps hurting his leg in different, creative ways in his dreams. The pain, however, is real, both in his dreams and now. Not as bad as back then, no, but constant. This throbbing deep in his bones, it will stay with him all day. 

Buck has consulted three different doctors, he has googled his fingers to the bone, but there is no simple solution. This pain is chronic, and it doesn't really matter whether it's a nerve malfunction or a change in the weather. It comes and goes, flares up like a bush fire: quickly, without warning. And it’s just as difficult to extinguish. Buck debates with himself whether he should get up and take a pill, but painkillers often don't help, and he still has a shift. If he's going to gamble on his luck, he'd better do it later. 

All three physicians he visited are not LAFD contract doctors, for one simple reason: nobody must know about his problem. The days when he has no pain, when he can forget that he ever had it, it's easy to convince himself that it's not really a problem. It comes and goes, maybe at some point it will go forever. That’s a deceptive hope, and he knows it. But there’s a fear in Buck, deep down in his guts, that a permanent condition will destroy his career. 

He sighs into the darkness only to quickly turn his head. Did he wake Tommy? No. The sight next to him fills his heart, much more than the pain fills his thoughts, at least for a moment. A few tousled curls poke out of the blanket; they'll be gone in at dawn. Tommy is lying on the very edge of the bed – it's not necessarily too small, but for two such tall men, it kind of is. He has wrapped himself completely in the duvet. It would be nice if that was the real reason Buck woke up so early, wouldn't it? The guy keeps pulling the covers off him at night. He sighs again, quieter this time. 

Swinging his long legs out of bed, the treacherous mattress squeaks, and now Tommy is stirring, after all. 

"Evan?" 

He turns, squinting, but he can't keep his eyes open yet.

"S’it time yet?"

Tommy's sleepy voice causes a warmth to spread inside Buck, flowing through his whole body, lifting the corners of his mouth to a soft smile. 

"No, babe. Go back to sleep."

Was there something in his voice? Tommy blinks again, obviously not quite convinced. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face, opening his eyes. 

"Something wrong?" he asks.

How well he already knows him. Half a year of bliss, and this man notices nuances in Buck’s voice even when he’s not quite conscious. 

"I'm just going for a pee," he claims.

In the bathroom, Buck leans on the sink and looks at his reflection in the mirror. It’s strange that he looks so normal. A little disheveled, a little tired, but certainly not like a man whose leg feels like it's slowly being hollowed out from the inside. Thump, thump, thump, maybe there are little miners inside him, digging for gold. Buck grins at his reflection, but a smile that doesn't reach his eyes is just creepy. 

Thoughtfully, he runs his forefinger over the edge of the medicine cabinet. Should he take one now? Should he take it later? He feels like a drug addict, and that's an amazingly cold thought. Almost analytical. Because even if he only needs the pills sometimes, what if it gets worse? What if he needs them so regularly that he becomes really dependent on them? 

There is a whole spiral of thoughts that have just been waiting for Buck to let them surface. What if the pain gets so bad that he starts to limp? What if he deliberately doesn't put any weight on that leg and people start questioning his movement? What if he can no longer think straight because of the pain, ending up making a mistake?

Knuckles white, he clutches the sink again, gritting his teeth until his cheeks ache. Tommy, he thinks. If it has to start somewhere with nobody noticing, then it has to start with Tommy. The thought feels right and wrong at the same time. Buck lets the toilet flush, then runs cold water over his wrists. 

He returns with the vague hope that Tommy has simply fallen asleep again. Instead, the man sits upright in bed and says, "I've been thinking."

"It's like... 4:30 in the morning," Buck replies with a glance on the clock. "And you've got the whole blanket again." 

Snuggling up next to him, he tugs at the comforter until Tommy finally gives up a piece of it. 

"Yes, but I'm awake now," says Tommy. 

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Never mind," Tommy returns good-naturedly, "your shift starts much earlier than mine, I'm sure I can sleep a little longer."

Well, I won’t, thinks Buck, but he’s careful to not let his thoughts show. He buries his face in Tommys side, breathing in his scent. It's something he would much rather become addicted to, that peculiarly stimulating smell of sleep and masculinity. 

"And what were you thinking about?" he mumbles. 

"That we should move in together."

Now Buck is also wide awake, even more so than before, and for a brief moment, the pain is actually irrelevant. He sits up, looking inquisitively into Tommy's face. It's still dark in the apartment, the sunrise can only be glimpsed behind the blinds. So whatever he sees now, it may be easy to misinterpret. 

In fact, Tommy's sharp features are soft in these pale surroundings. He almost appears… insecure. Buck doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly kind of shaken, after all he’s moved in with some of his partners before, and earlier, even. They've just never talked about it, maybe because it wasn't necessary, maybe because Tommy still thinks they should be taking it slow. Every time Tommy's supposed confidence crumbles when they're together, in such small, very tender moments, Buck feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest. 

"Your place or mine?" he asks, and the smile he causes on Tommy’s lips is worth it. 

"Actually," Tommy returns, stroking Buck's hair, lost in thought,  "I thought we'd look for something new. Together."

"It's a big deal," Buck opines.

"Right, it's probably too soon."

There’s not even a hint of disappointment in Tommy's voice, he’s far too composed for that. Buck recognizes himself so much in this answer that it hurts, in a completely different way to his leg. It's easier to withdraw than to live with the disappointment of having your wishes ignored over and over again. Tommy knows this as well as himself, but it only seems to have made him stronger, while it made Buck sadder. At least until he met Tommy. And he doesn't want him to feel like that. 

"It's not," he says, leaning forward to brush Tommy's lips with his. "I'd like that."

"Really?"

"Really."

The sun rises, less outside the blinds but in Tommy's face. His kiss is unexpected and impetuous, regardless of the fact that they should both brush their teeth first. A second later, Tommy's lips graze Buck's earlobe, breathing a "This is going to be great" that sets his skin on fire. Tommy seems to sense this, he starts nibbling on the sensitive spot on Buck's neck.

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep," Buck mumbles, but his hands are already kneading Tommy's muscular back.

"Hmm," returns Tommy, shifting to manhandle Buck on his back. "If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping."

Tommy’s beautiful face above him, his hands all over his body, Buck knows that this will successfully ease his pain. For a few minutes, at least, he will no longer be able to distinguish between pain and passion. He will forget that he hurts, and it will be easy not to show.

Maybe, one day, he’ll be ready to tell Tommy about it. 

[babybucks]

so unsure of your welcome

pre-slash buck/eddie | gen | 461 words

s07e04 ficlet + jealous buck + insecure buck

There’s an itchy feeling that Buck can’t place. It started when he saw Eddie and Tommy leaving together on a helicopter, got worse when he had to hear about ringside tickets and muay thai and karaoke and trivia bars, and became impossible to ignore with when you meet somebody and you just click. Or: a ficlet of Buck spiraling up to the basketball scene.

read on ao3

[paperyowl]

Fuck it (Not-quite)-Friday!

Thanks for the tag @loulou-land :) I hung onto this because I wanted to actually post this on a friday, but oh whelp. Hope this still counts.

I'll give you a few different WIPs that hang out in my files.

+

1. Ruca long-fic, not sure yet if I can make this make sense, but it sits at about 3000 words. Premise: Rocker, Val and their marriage had all been for an undercover mission a decade ago, but no one knew that. Luca and Rocker are fairly new (after his divorce) still when Rocker just disappears one day.

"How are we playing this?" Hondo asked Luca when Deacon, Tan and Street had joined them in the locker room. They clustered around Luca in a way that felt protective, but that did nothing to calm Luca's frayed nerves, because Rocker was gone, might have been taken. And they had no leads, no nothing on him.

He was so caught up in that spiral that it took Luca a moment to get his meaning, and then he let his anger get the better of him. It was like all that worry came out of him in a changed form, an explosion.

"He's been divorced for close to a year. Just because he wasn't exactly forthcoming with that information-"

"Luca," Hondo raised his hands in the universal gesture of 'I mean no harm. "That's not why I'm asking. You said it's new. Do you want to keep it quiet? Does Rocker?"

Luca's breath caught. Oh. All of that anger fizzles away, and he felt guilty immediately at having assumed-

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't be," Deacon said. "This isn't exactly a normal situation. I don't know how I'd react if Annie was…"

He trailed off. They still had no idea. Had Rocker been attacked? Was he kidnapped? Did he escape and lie low? He had the skill set; he could vanish from the earth if he wanted to. But Luca knew Rocker wouldn't do that to him—not now.

Not willingly, at least.

There was a noise from the door, and they all looked up to see -

"Mumford?"

It wasn't exactly surprising that Higgs would have informed him. Mumford had been close to his former second before, and they certainly kept in touch. Mumford grimaced in sympathy when his eyes met Luca's. So Rocker had told him. Or Luca was such a sorry sight that he'd figured it out on his own.

"We might have a lead," Mumford said. "I think it's time to fill you in on some of the work Rocker did before joining SWAT."

+

2. Saltommy/Salbucktommy P3: Here's a snippet of chapter 2 of this fic

"Well, if you're going to replace me with a younger model, I should at least know about it," Sal said, and his humour was always a bit sharp, his teasing always hard to discern from something altogether angrier. But usually, Tommy was good at telling the difference. Not this time.

He wasn't sure if that was anger in Sal's voice-

"Hey, hey," Sal touched his shoulder first, then fitted a hand around his jaw. "I'm joking, I'm joking. Tommy. Breathe."

He took a shuddering breath, only realizing that the rhythm of his breathing had titled dangerously now that Sal pointed it out.

"Shit," Sal cursed, strangely in contrast with the gentle way he was touching Tommy. "I'm sorry. I know you're not going to replace me, babe."

"Do you?" Tommy asked. "Because I would never. I love you."

Sal always got a little quiet, when Tommy told him. His selfdefensive streak was a mile wide and it usually was the strongest when Tommy spelled out his affection so openly. But Sal had gotten better at it - and it showed when he smiled.

"Can you just. Not joke about this?"

"Yeah, sure," Sal said, agreeing easily.

+

3. Rockon, a kind of five times the fuck + one time it's more

Deacon hates him. He hated him with a passion despite the fact that the man was a total stranger. That didn't matter because he was flirting with Rocker, so he hated him.

It was childish. But worse: Deacon had no right to feel anything like this and much less act on it. That didn't stop him from tapping Rocker on the shoulder to get his attention, telling the stranger a firm 'excuse us' and bodily dragging Rocker along with him.

He only let get off the other's wrist when they had reached the men's room, which was mercifully empty. Deacon told himself that Rocker could have broken away from the hold easily and hadn't. It was such a stupid thing to take comfort in, but his mind wasn't all clear and clever around Rocker these days.

When Deacon turned to Rocker, he was met with a decidedly unimpressed stare. Rocker's arms were crossed in front of his chest, and nothing about his body language was forthcoming.

"What was that?"

He can't have you, Deacon wanted to say, barely managing to bite down on the words. But that also meant he simply kept staring at Rocker and the tight shirt he was wearing, the - was it anger? - radiating of him. Nothing about it helped Deacon's sanity even a little.

"The fuck, Deacon?"

Rocker stepped forward, decidedly into Deacon's space. He didn't move away, didn't back up. Instead, Deacon gritted his teeth before he forced himself to relax his jaw before he spoke.

"I didn't like that he was flirting with you," Deacon admitted. Not one bit of Rocker's demeanour softened at that. Of course, it didn't. What was Deacon doing here?

"Kind of ironic," Rocker said, voice sharp. "That you're jealous."