#maybe they stayed in el paso

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i need them to put eddie in a coma so he can have his own little coma dream realization

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[daffi-990]

Eddie says he’s looking at houses in El Paso and Buck is fine.

He sits down on the couch with Eddie as the realtor shows them houses and is fine.

He goes home and downs half a bottle of tequila, but he was just having trouble sleeping so it’s fine.

He goes to work, smiles and laughs with the team but he feels like there is a pit in his stomach, which is strange because he’s fine.

Maybe he’s getting sick.

Eddie rents a place in El Paso and Buck offers to help him pack, because that’s what Eddie needs and Buck is fine.

He drops Eddie off at the airport and suddenly he’s 26 and watching his first love walk away.

They hug goodbye, the embrace lingering much longer than a normal hug.

But it isn’t a normal hug, it’s a goodbye hug.

“This isn’t goodbye, okay? I’ll be back with Chris.”

Buck wants to ask when. Wants to be selfish and drop to his knees and beg Eddie to stay.

Instead he says “text me when you land” and then watches as Eddie disappears into the terminal, going where Buck can’t follow.

He leaves the airport feeling numb, driving home in a daze, like his body is on autopilot. It’s not until he turns off the jeep that he realises where home is.

Eddie’s house.

His hands shake as he pulls out his key and unlocks the door. 

The house feels empty. Most of the furniture is still there, but the magic that makes the house feel like home is gone.

Packed up with the man that Buck is realising too late is the love of his life.

He sits down heavily on the couch, the soft cushions doing nothing to comfort him.

Half his heart left 4 months ago and the other half just followed.

Buck takes a deep breath and breaks.

He’s not fine.

[dedeinthewild]

evan buckley x reader, roommates to lovers

“Feast your eyes on the newest star of the 118!”

summary : Halloween at the 118 firehouse gets hilariously spooky when Buck's quirky surprise steals the show...

The locker room at the firehouse had always been a safe haven for the crew, a place where they had grown up together and become a family.

How many times had they found themselves sitting on the benches after a tough call, the smell of smoke still clinging to their noses, their eyes burning as they tried to close them for just a moment? It was also where they often joked around, and where _____, the team’s star paramedic, would bring trays of cookies that Buck inevitably “borrowed.”

“Halloween,” she announced, stepping into the locker room, followed by the firefighter who had left the surprise they’d picked out for decorations by the entrance.

“Don’t say anything,” Eddie warned, knowing that a phrase like “let’s hope for a quiet shift” would jinx them and inevitably turn into their worst day.

“I wasn’t going to,” she replied, shrugging as she dropped her bag on the bench next to her roommate’s.

“Cap isn’t exactly fun when it comes to decorations,” Chimney said, sounding a bit disappointed as he sipped his coffee, the shiny name tag on his chest catching the light.

She looked over at Buck, already knowing that in ten minutes, the decorations they had chosen would turn Bobby’s plans on their head. Buck grinned, shrugging off his uniform shirt and stretching his shoulders, looking far less tired than he should have after a night shift.

“We’ll be The Wizard of Oz characters,” Hen chimed in with a smile, talking about her family, where Mara would be Dorothy and Denny the Tin Man.

The woman smiled, loving how proud and happy Hen sounded as she talked about her kids and Karen.

“Jee is Pluto,” Chim added, making Eddie bow his head slightly. Ever since his son had gone to stay with his grandparents in El Paso, he had felt alone, as if he were losing precious moments with him.

“You don’t have kids yet, so I won’t ask,” Hen teased Buck and the woman as they were changing out of their smoky uniforms into the clothes they had grabbed from home.

“You could always ask about our costumes,” the firefighter quipped, leaning against the locker behind him with a smirk.

“Guys, what’s with the coffin?”

Captain Nash had walked in through the glass door, pointing at the coffin the two had left by the entrance alongside a cart. Buck sprinted out, positioning himself behind the coffin to open it dramatically, excited to show the others what he’d found.

“Okay, everyone!” Buck announced, grabbing everyone’s attention as he wheeled the cart into view.

“Feast your eyes on the newest star of the 118!”

Buck opened the wooden sarcophagus to reveal a fascinating mummy, its head tilted to one side, draped in cobwebs.

“Good Lord, Buck, what is that?” Bobby asked, hands on his hips as he stared at the decoration.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Chim said approvingly, while Buck explained that he had picked it up from an old Hollywood prop warehouse near his apartment.

“Do the pow-pow thing,” the paramedic whispered in his ear, referring to the presentation they had rehearsed in the car on the way back to the station.

“I figured we could give him a cowboy hat and a vest, maybe even a six-shooter,” Buck added, his grin stretching ear to ear. “Pow-pow!” He mimicked firing pistols with his hands.

“It looks...” Hen rested her chin on the woman’s shoulder, tilting her head as if analyzing the mummy.

“Awfully real?” the woman whispered, arms crossed and feet slightly apart, dressed in the base layer of her black costume.

“Like he’s been dead for 200 years,” the experienced paramedic chimed in with a laugh, just as Eddie arrived carrying the last of the skeletons for the decorations.

It was the perfect opportunity to outshine the 126 and establish themselves as the best-decorated station, delighting the kids who would do anything for candy. Most importantly, it was a day to set aside their uniforms and enjoy some fun before their shifts began.

“They’re supposed to be for the kids.”

“God, Buck!” the woman exclaimed, clutching her chest in surprise when she turned around to find him standing right behind her.

“I’m a cowboy. I shouldn’t be scary,” Buck teased, stealing a piece of chocolate from her hand.

“Nice mustache,” she joked, running her fingers over the fake mustache, feeling the synthetic material against her fingertips.

He would let her touch him forever if she wanted.

The way she pressed her lips together, assessing the realism of the mustache, and those eyes—soft and sweet despite the bit of makeup she wore to look spooky—captivated him.

“And what are you supposed to be?”

“I literally told you two hours ago, dummy,” the paramedic teased, holding up the mask in her hand.

“A cowboy and a plague doctor. That’s... kinda nice,” Buck remarked, popping the chocolate into his mouth, unaware she hadn’t yet realized he’d stolen the whole thing. As he walked away, her laughter trailed after him.

“Welcome to the spookiest night of your short, little lives!” Bobby’s voice boomed as he welcomed the kids. “I am your guide, Cap Dracula.”

The team suppressed small chuckles at their captain’s enthusiasm as he grinned at the kids, fake fangs on display. Most of the children were entranced, though a few looked bored, which made her smile as she donned her mask and took her designated position.

The walls shimmered with colored lights cutting through fake fog, and amplified footsteps added to the eerie atmosphere. The air made the hanging skeletons sway, completing an impeccable setup that was sure to secure their win.

“Have a terrifyingly good time!”

As ultraviolet lights revealed Hen dressed as a mad scientist, the kids gasped, their white costumes glowing blue. The woman, already chuckling sinisterly, addressed them in her most haunting voice as they approached her station.

“Step closer, little ones... I see sickness in your eyes. Let me check...”

She examined their hesitant gazes, following them into the maze. “Beware, there are whispers of the dead... they’re calling for you!” she murmured into the ears of the older children, who appreciated the scare without being overwhelmed, while the younger ones eagerly pressed forward into the next section.

At the maze’s end, the team’s newest “member” awaited, holding a giant bowl of candy. Beside it, Buck stood tall, hands resting on his cowboy belt, his hat casting a shadow over his bright blue eyes. He tried a Texan drawl as he encouraged the kids, understandably hesitant about the mummy, to take some candy before heading out to trick-or-treat around the neighborhood.

“He’s creepy,” one little girl whispered, clutching her fairy wings.

“He’s not creepy,” Buck insisted, only to receive a pointed look from the paramedic. “Okay, maybe a little... but he’s harmless,” he conceded, kneeling to her level and offering to move the mummy’s hands so the kids could take candy without fear. His soft smile shone even through the large brown mustache tickling his lip.

But when he grabbed one of the mummy’s arms to move it, it came off in his hand, revealing something disturbingly lifelike.

“Are those worms?” a boy in a giant baseball helmet asked.

The paramedic stepped forward, removing her mask and crouching beside Buck to get a closer look. Her face hovered just past his shoulder.

“I think those are tendons,” she murmured, as if even she doubted her words.

“Oh my god, he’s real.”

The first time, it was as if someone else had said it. The second time was to process the realization. The third and fourth were for convincing themselves that what they held was, in fact, a real arm, complete with ligaments and tissue. The fifth time was purely instinct as Buck stood, tossed the arm to her, and screamed while running away.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the paramedic yelled, clutching the arm as if she too wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

By the time the police hauled the mummy away and the team glared at Buck, who had undeniably spiced up their Halloween, she was leaning against the ambulance, arms crossed, holding Buck’s fake mustache.

“Billy Boils, huh?”

“He was a showstopper, at least,” Buck said with a sheepish grin.

She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder before carefully reapplying the mustache under his nose, pressing the adhesive to his fair skin. Once again, her fingers brushed his cheeks, and he silently wished she’d run her hands through his hair and leave them there for as long as possible.

“Wait, have you washed your hands?” he asked suddenly.

“For what?”

“You literally held Billy’s arm,” Buck replied, horrified, stepping back.

“You’re such an idiot,” she laughed, chasing him with her “tainted” hand raised dramatically, just to see his mock-scared reaction.

The following evening, she was in the locker room with Hen, who seemed visibly shaken by what had happened to her son. Hen had come to talk to the captain but found her colleague sneaking snacks away from the giant firefighter with blue eyes.

“You know they say your hair curls when you’re in love,” Hen teased, leaning against the doorframe, noticing the oversized fire department shirt the woman wore—one she recognized as one of Buck’s old ones.

“Whose hair is curly?” the woman asked curiously.

Hen pulled out a photo from Halloween, taken just before the swarm of kids arrived and the chaos of Buck’s mummy erupted. It showed the woman sitting between Buck and Chim, smiling towards Buck as she held her mask. Her hair, resting on her silk cape, fell in soft curls at the ends, as if someone had gently twisted them.

“Maybe it’s the shampoo. I’ve been using Buck’s for a while now.”

“Is he trying to save on that?”

“I got tired of him using mine,” she laughed.

Hen was serious. She had practically watched those two grow together, despite the paramedic only joining two years ago. From the moment she arrived, she brought a unique energy to the station, seamlessly blending in as if she had always been part of it. Slowly, she had also changed Buck. He’d always been hesitant about relationships after so many failed ones and doubts about how he expressed love. But when it came to her, none of that mattered.

She was the one he’d asked to share his huge loft. She’d chosen the couch they often ended up napping on together, and she was the one who made breakfast for both of them every morning. They knew each other better than anyone else did, and despite spending almost every moment together, they never got bored of one another.

“I like your hair lately,” Buck said, seated in his armchair, watching the morning news with a cozy sweatshirt and a temporary leave for his sprained shoulder.

“Is that sarcastic?” she asked, tidying up the kitchen, organizing what had piled up during the past few hectic weeks.

“Why do you always think I’m being sarcastic with compliments?”

“Because you always sound like it,” she teased, approaching him with the little gift he had left for her on the kitchen counter.

But as she walked around to stand in front of him, the sight that greeted her left her stunned.

“Holy cow,” she whispered, wide-eyed, holding one of his dirty socks between her thumb and index finger.

“What?” he asked, reaching for the sock in her small hand, which seemed frozen in place.

“Are those boils?”

The first time was to convince herself. The second was to comprehend the hilarious coincidence between the mummy’s name and the rash erupting on his face. The third, fourth, and fifth were spent teasing him as her fingers brushed over his skin—despite her reluctance and a fair amount of healthy disgust at the blisters.

“You’re disgusted,” Buck said, smiling, ignoring the boils on his face.

“I’m totally not,” she lied, setting the sock down and abandoning the idea of scolding him for leaving it where she baked the cookies he always stole.

“I can see it in your eyes,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“Is my hair really that different?” she asked, changing the subject.

“You’re dodging the topic.”

She smiled, locking her gaze with his bright eyes.

“Say it—I’m disgusting.”

“Disgustingly irresistible, yeah.”

Buck, my beloved. This doesn't make sense, not even closely, and I'm not sure that I like it but I dreamt about this kind of fic last night and I had to write it down (it feels so dumb god). There are too few Buck fics! give me some recs pls

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Weekly Recap | January 20th-26th 2025

On time this week, woohoo! And less thsan 40 days until season 8B !!

Special mention to all of @tizniz's drabbles that I've been reblogging, which you can find on her tumblr or on ao3 at E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection !

Let me know if I'm missing a tag for someone!

Complete

home is where you've called my name by atlasblue85/ @atlasblue85 (Post-S8E8: Wannabes | 3K | General): Buck plays a game with himself. It goes something like this: for every house Eddie outright rejects, he adds an item to his list of why Eddie shouldn't move to El Paso. He doesn't know what the threshold is, that magic number that will make him finally speak up and express his thoughts to Eddie, but until he finds it, this is how he's coping. They're up to nine so far. Nine perfectly good houses, nine reasons Eddie shouldn't go.

you're a dog (i'm your man) by withmeornotatall / @chronicowboy (Dog Shelter AU | 3K | General): "Hey." He turns around, leans against the doorframe, tries to look casual. "Maybe, only if you're free of course, you could come round and let Chris pick out a band aid for you tonight. Don't want you bleeding out before you can get your Spider-Man band aid." Buck lights up like the fucking sun. Oh no. Eddie has one rule: never take a dog home. But he thinks Buck might be worth the risk. (OR: eddie is a dog trainer with patience, buck is a shelter worker with more bark than bite)

🔥 My Mouth Don't Move When I'm In Too Deep by taegyungie (PWP, Semi-Public Sex | 7K | Explicit): But here’s the thing: Eddie’s taken giant mouthfuls of life and chewed every last one of them up. He’s taken enough, he’s still taking enough - he doesn’t want to be the one to ask for it. All he can do is offer himself up, over and over, and hope that Buck will finally get the hint and dig his claws into what’s been his from the very start.

🔥 Five Years by aubrey_writes (Blip AU | 8K | Mature): Buck gets blipped. Eddie's left behind. A love story told through what Eddie did in his absence.

Liminal Space by ameliahart (NDE, Getting Together | 8K | Teen): Eddie Diaz dies on a sunny afternoon in January. It seems fitting, he thinks, that it should happen like this: trapped beneath three floors of a collapsed apartment building, a piece of rebar through his right lung, and his eyes on the love of his life. Because of course Buck is here with him, watching horrified as Eddie’s love and life bleed out around him.

Buck, Bedbugged and Bewildered by writedontfight (Post-S8A AU | 8K | Explicit): Buck gets bedbugs, so he's staying at Eddie's until they're gone.

🔥 everything you need (put all you need in me) by jaekyu (PWP, FWB | 9K | Explicit): Eddie imagines it. The faux-domesticity of grocery shopping with his best friend and full-time fuckbuddy, filled up with come like a jam donut or something. It would be kind of ironic. It would be definitely, wholeheartedly, totally erotic.

My boy only breaks his favorite toys by paleredheadinascifi (Amnesia, Post-S8A | 10K | Teen): Eddie wakes up five years in the future. It turns out five years is all it takes to ruin a friendship and run your life into the ground. Or, Eddie gets hurt and his apparently now ex-best friend Buck hops on a plane to El Paso. They figure out what the fuck happened together.

🔥 Firelight by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Post-S7, Monster Eddie, HOH Buck | 61K | Explicit): When, in the worst of missing Christopher, Eddie suddenly finds himself having literally turned into a monster, Buck - who is also dealing with a newfound hearing loss diagnosis - is willing to do anything to protect him. Even from himself. OR: Eddie is a creature from Swedish folklore, feat. HOH!Buck

WIP

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 35/? | 23K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

35. 44. A goodbye kiss, but neither of you can quite let go 

🔥 An Angry Blade by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-8x05: Masks, Cursed Buck | 1/6 | 8K | Mature): Buck finds out that the curse of Billy Boils is VERY real, and far more complicated and dangerous than he could have expected.

🔥 Gentle On My Mind by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, Shannon Lives, Buck/Eddie/Shannon | 12/? | 76K | Explicit): In which Shannon lives, tells a lie, and sends hers, Eddie's, and Buck's lives down a very different path.

🔥 Doe & a Drop of Golden Sun by ohstars/ @oh-stars (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 8/? | 37K | Teen): Buck doesn't mean to keep secrets from everyone, but he also can't talk about the pain he experiences on a day to day basis. With his nine-year-old living across the country and his custody limited to one monthly visit, Buck doesn't know how to share this part of himself. How does he tell his team of six years that he's had a kid this whole time? How does he tell his sister? How does he tell his Edd-- best friend? It's fine. The universe isn't going to give him a choice in the matter when the worst thing imaginable becomes his reality.

Podfic

Sunlight is Fire (Burning is a Matter of Degrees) by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Incubbi Buck, FWB | 1-1.5h | Explicit): In the wake of Buck's leg injury, Eddie learns that his friend needs some unusual methods to help him recover. Eddie's willing to do whatever it takes to help Buck, and it's not like this could make his quiet pining any worse, right?

Bed Sharing Concerto in Monsterfucking No. 3 by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Human Buck, Only One Bed | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck has the worst fucking luck. His only consolation here is that Eddie’s with him, so at least he’s not alone in a cabin with no Wifi, no central heat, no cell service, and no proper winter gear. The water works, the pipes haven’t frozen (yet) so at least he can get briefly clean. He’s so focused on scrubbing the day away that it’s not until he gets out and heads into the bedroom that he realizes— There’s only one bed.

A Chorus of Howls by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolves, PWP | 10-20min | Explicit): Buck is running through the woods. He’s on two feet, four, two again, dodging around trees, kicking up dirt, leaping and landing hard. Behind him, sometimes, he thinks he can hear another set of feet—a glimpse out of the corner of his eye, black on black, shadow on shadow— There. There. He can smell his pursuer’s blood and he runs faster, fast as he can. He’s not going to lose. His blood is up and running and so is he.

Duet for Two Monsters by Favourite_alias // fic by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Werewolf Eddie, Succubus Buck | 20-30min | Explicit): Buck’s been meaning to tell Eddie for a while, now. Especially now that they’re both single again. He needs to tell Eddie, because he’s pretty sure—he thinks he’s sure—that Eddie loves him back. And he won’t be intimate with Eddie without telling him. Of course, it’s a bit hard to start that conversation, on a logistical level. Hey so I have horns and a tail and feed off people’s orgasms, fun, right?

🔥 [Podfic] Buddie, It's Cold Outside by diazaster287 // fic by terranobis (Christmas, Hallmark AU | 1-1.5h | Not Rated): Big City businessman Evan Buckley travels to a small town Christmas Village in an attempt to save his personal and professional life, but when he meets the local father Eddie Diaz, he finds that he just might get the greatest present he could ever ask for.

[capseycartwright]

i’ll be home for christmas (if only in my dreams)

It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls.

Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

for @winterofbuddie week one, celestial creativity.

ao3 link

Eddie had wanted to leave El Paso for as long as he could remember. He had never quite been able to voice that desire, not when he lived under his parent’s roof, because it had never felt like he could have opinions of his own, under the grand authority of Ramon and Helena Diaz. It’s not as though his first choice would have been to run away to the other side of the world, with the army emblem on his shoulder, but at least it had been somewhere else, he supposed.

Then he’d been discharged, and he’d come home, and Eddie had been too afraid of his own shadow to want to go anywhere – and he’d had bigger things to worry about, frankly, like keeping his head above water and his son alive as he did his best to navigate single parenthood.

Eddie had gone to LA for Shannon – he could admit that. He had wanted to run away from El Paso, to take Christopher away from the suffocating grip of his parents, sure, but he’d picked LA because of Shannon.

He’d stayed for himself, though.

Sometimes, Eddie felt like the only selfish decision he had ever made for himself in his whole entire life was staying in Los Angeles and making a life for himself there. He had never been good at wanting things for himself, but Eddie had wanted, when he got to LA and he had joined the 118 and realised he could have a life he enjoyed, and not just one he survived for the sake of his son.

That’s what made him ending up back in El Paso all the more ironic, really. Eddie had made one selfish decision for himself in his entire miserable fucking life, and then he’d had to walk away from that one good, selfish decision for the sake of his son.

It wasn’t permanent. El Paso wasn’t permanent.

That’s what Eddie had to keep telling himself, as he lived in his older sister’s guestroom, and went knocking at his parent’s front door every morning to see if his son wanted to talk to him. It wasn’t permanent, he’d kept reassuring himself, as he sat across the dining table from his mom and dad every evening, and justified why he was there, why he was going to keep being there until Christopher decided he was willing to come home.

Eddie would have moved permanently – but as he’d started to look for houses in El Paso, and as Buck had spiralled, everything had come to a head, and he and Buck had an explosive argument that had ended with Buck’s tongue down Eddie’s throat.

Buck would get snippy, if he knew Eddie was misrepresenting the romance of the moment – but in Eddie’s defence, the romance had come after that first, messy, argument, life-changing, ending kiss.

Buck hadn’t asked Eddie to stay – he would never get between Eddie, and Christopher – but he had suggested maybe it didn’t need to be such a permanent move. Not right away, at least – that maybe Eddie could work on rebuilding his relationship with Chris, first, and they could discuss it, decide together whether to stay in LA, or make the big move to El Paso permanently.

(Eddie really hoped it would be the former.)

Eddie’s hands shook, as he shut the screen door behind him, the chill of the December evening a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of his parent’s house, and the festive celebrations happening inside that he wasn’t feeling particularly inclined to participate in.

He liked Christmas – really, he did – but this year, Eddie was struggling to feel all that festive. Things with Christopher were a little better, and they were getting better every day, but every inch of progress he made with his son seemed to drive an even bigger wedge between Eddie, and his parents.

Coming out to them hadn’t helped.

It hadn’t been an entirely rash decision, on Eddie’s part – he’d wanted to come out to them eventually. Between kissing Buck, and the six weeks he’d been in El Paso, Eddie had done a lot of soul-searching and had come to the somewhat startling conclusion he was absolutely, definitely, a thousand percent gay. It hadn’t felt world-ending, to accept it either – not the way it would have a year ago.

It had felt right. Eddie had tried the label out for size with Buck, in the first instance, his boyfriend smiling proudly at him from the tiny screen of Eddie’s cellphone as Eddie had said it out loud. He’d told Sophia, over dinner, one evening, his sister and her husband giving him similarly encouraging grins and embraces. Eddie had told Christopher, one quiet afternoon when they’d gone out for a walk, and Christopher had responded with a simple ‘thanks for telling me, dad’ and that had been that.

So, sue him, for thinking he could come out to his parents and have it not be an issue. Everyone else had been so accepting, and kind, and Eddie had let himself indulge in the false hope that he’d get the same from his mom and dad.

His mom had immediately started crying, wailing about how she couldn’t understand, which Eddie felt was, quite frankly, overdramatic, and his father had looked at him silently with an expression of complete and utter disappointment Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever forget.

It had sucked.

Eddie had excused himself from dinner, got behind the wheel of his rented car, driven to a Dairy Queen carpark, and had a complete and utter mental breakdown into a chocolate sundae. It hadn’t been his proudest moment.

“Hi, baby,” Buck’s voice was warm, as his boyfriend picked up the phone.

“Hey, honey,” Eddie tried to sound upbeat as he responded, wanting to rise to Buck’s sweet petname with one of his own. He liked the way Buck was so soft with him, open and honest with his affection even via words.

“What happened?”

Eddie should have known he was physically incapable of lying to Buck.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing – you sound sad,” Buck countered. “It’s Christmas day, and you sound sad, Eddie – so it’s something. Talk to me.”

Eddie settled himself down on the front porch steps, tucking his phone under his chin. “I hate Christmas.”

“You love Christmas,” Buck corrected. “Normally, at least. What happened, Eddie?”

“It’s just – everything feels weird, and awkward,” Eddie sighed. “Sophia and Adriana won’t speak to our parents directly – they’re just pretending, for the kids sake. Abuela threatened not to come for Christmas dinner, and only turned up because she, I quote, didn’t want my useless excuse for a father to pretend as though she wasn’t there because she had a problem with me being gay, when her real problem is with her own son being a bigot.”

This got a laugh out of Buck. “I love your grandmother.”

“Me too,” Eddie couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Christopher is…” he trailed off. “He’s okay. He liked his gifts – he seems to not know what to do, though, with the way my parents are being.”

“They’re different with you than they are with him,” Buck offered. “It has to feel confusing for him that the grandparents who treat him so kindly, treat his dad the way they do.”

That was putting it nicely. Eddie’s parents – well, they weren’t bad people. Eddie wasn’t going to claim they were. They just weren’t the best parents to Eddie. He’d been dealing with their expectations his whole life, and coming out as gay had upset their plan for the perfect white picket fence life they’d envisioned for – no, demanded of Eddie. Eddie had even heard his mother weeping in the kitchen, wondering how on earth she’d tell her bible group that her precious only son was gay. A practising gay, at that – because when Eddie followed up his disastrous coming out with the admission that he had a living, breathing boyfriend, that had sent his already hysterical mother to another planet.

“I feel like I made everything worse, by coming here,” Eddie admitted quietly, though he was certain no one inside of the Diaz household would hear him over the Christmas music that was blasting in the living room as his family played board games. “I don’t want Christopher to hate his grandparents. I just want him to want to come home, with me.”

“You haven’t made anything worse, Eddie,” Buck’s reassurance was gentle. “Baby – you haven’t made anything worse. Being there, working on things with Chris – that’s the right thing to do. You can’t control the way your parents act around you. If they want to show their ass and make their grandson mad at them for treating you badly after you came out – well, good. I hope he does hate them. They’re being shitty parents.”

Eddie knew he should talk about it. He knew he should – and could – sit and hash out all of his complicated feelings about his parents, and Texas, and the way El Paso made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, the town constricting around his chest, locking him in a cage he had so desperately tried to escape. A cage he had escaped, until Eddie’s own mistakes had driven his son back here, to the one place Eddie had hoped he’d ever be back in. He could do that, but –

“I miss you Buck,” Eddie breathed. “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” Buck’s tone was sympathetic. “But hey – if you look up at the stars, then you and I are looking at the same stars, Eds. That’s something, for now.”

Eddie smiled. It was a silly thing, Buck had started, right when Eddie first got to El Paso – we’re looking at the same sky, he’d quipped, on one of their nightly Facetime calls. Even when they were far apart from each other, they were still able to look up at the same stars, and if they just remembered that, maybe the distance between El Paso, and Los Angeles, wouldn’t feel so cavernous. That’s what Buck had promised him.

Eddie watched as a car pulled up across the street from his parents’ house. Someone visiting family, he guessed. “You can’t see the stars in LA,” he joked. “All that light pollution.”

“No,” Buck agreed. “But I can see them from El Paso.”

Eddie felt his heart shudder to a stop in his chest. “What – what?” he looked across the street and saw Buck emerging from the car – an Uber, clearly – his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, phone in hand.

Buck ended the call, looking left and right before he jogged across the street. “Hey,” he looked almost bashful, as he greeted Eddie.

“Buck? Are you really here?” Eddie couldn’t quite believe his own eyes. Buck was here, in Texas – not in Los Angeles, where he was supposed to be spending Christmas Day with his sister, and Chimney.

“I’m really here,” Buck promised, setting his duffel bag down on the pavement. He looked tired, but happy, all the same, wearing an LAFD hoodie and his familiar crooked smile. “Is it okay that I’m here?”

“Of course it’s okay you’re here!” Eddie shoved his phone in his pocket, jogging down the few steps between him, and Buck. “I just – why are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, I just – I don’t understand.”

“You sounded so sad, the last few times we’ve spoken,” Buck explained. “All I’ve wanted to do – since you left, really, but especially since you came out and your parents and everything that happened – is to hug you, Eddie. It’s our first Christmas together, and we weren’t spending it together, and it’s been killing me. I was sitting on Maddie’s couch last night, moping, and she just fixed me with one of those, I’m your big sister and I’m smarter than you looks, and she asked me why I wasn’t with you, and I didn’t have a good answer for why not. So, I booked a flight – and I’m here.”

“You booked a last-minute flight on Christmas Day to see me?” Eddie loved this man so much he could physically burst with it. No one had ever done the whole, grand gesture thing for Eddie – and now, here Buck was, having spent God only knows how much money for a Christmas Day flight just to come and see Eddie. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve a man like Evan Buckley – but Eddie would stand there and thank every star in the sky for sending him Buck if it meant he got to keep him forever.

“Eddie,” Buck’s expression was bright, as he answered. “I’d have walked from LA to El Paso if it meant I got to spend Christmas Day with you.”

Eddie would lie and argue the point with his sisters later, but he absolutely, definitely launched himself into Buck’s arms, there and then, wrapping his arms tightly around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Thank you,” he couldn’t hold the tears in, and they were happy-sad, the weight of an awkward Christmas and six weeks in El Paso not quite lifted, but the happiness of seeing Buck outweighing everything else.

“You don’t have to thank me for loving you,” Buck murmured, pressing a string of kisses to the side of Eddie’s head. “I’m here. I’m here, baby. Merry Christmas.”

Later, Eddie would laugh at the bravery it took to kiss Buck right there and then, on his parents front lawn, with his entire family looking out the living room window to see why Eddie wasn’t coming back inside – but there and then, he didn’t have it in him to care too much about the fact that all of his parents neighbours could see as he pressed his lips to Buck’s in a grateful, messy, somewhat salty kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” Eddie replied, cupping Buck’s face in his hands. He hadn’t gotten to have this, Buck, for long enough before he’d had to get on a one-way flight to El Paso, and so it still felt like a novelty to get to hold him. The blue of Buck’s eyes was brighter than any star, or moon, or planet. Eddie was big enough to admit that was dramatic, but entirely true. He was happy to be dramatic about Buck. “I love you.”

Nothing was better. Objectively, nothing was fixed. Eddie’s son still looked at him sometimes with a coldness that made Eddie’s heart twist in his chest, because he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to fix it, and Eddie’s parents were, well – they kind of sucked, if he was being honest about it – but Buck was there, and he was holding Eddie like he was something precious, and that was everything Eddie needed, there and then.

Buck pressed a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose, and Eddie couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bright, and light, in the midst of one of the worst Christmases Eddie had ever had. “I love you more.”

[queerfables]

I don't think it's erasing Chris' autonomy to expect the show to address both his understandable anger with Eddie and the possibility that his grandparents are exploiting that anger for their own ends. Their desire to keep Chris in El Paso, with or without Eddie, has been a source of conflict from the very beginning. It would honestly be a completely bananas narrative choice to ignore that entirely.

Not for nothing, Helena's behaviour towards Eddie during the call was a big flashing light that something is not right. In particular, her offhand comment about putting a pool in for Christopher, along with Eddie's reaction to it, tells us two super important things:

She intends Chris to stay with her for the long term, maybe permanently, to the point of basing major financial commitments and lifestyle decisions on it

She has not discussed this intention with Eddie and she doesn't feel like she needs his input

It's SHADY. The absolute best faith interpretation is that she was being thoughtless to the point of cruelty for bringing it up in such a casual way, focused so much on her joy at having Chris with her that she's oblivious to Eddie's feelings. I mean, compare Chimney's much less egregious comment, "I've got two kids at home." He immediately realises how this might be hurtful to Hen, and corrects himself to emphasise that it's only temporary and Mara will be back with Hen soon. Helena could have added that a pool would be a great reason for them to come and visit, once Christopher is back home with Eddie, but she didn't and I think we are meant to understand that this is not how she's thinking of it.

[mmso-notlikethat]

ten years (so sad) …. now what’s that you said about him dying and no one knows for 20-30 years…. 👀

(please please please i need more angst 🙏)

honestly i have no excuse except i wanted to write Tommy's pov and you wanted a longer coma-ish sorry no death (i couldn't)... but this is still way too sad even for me :)...

No MCD, but there is an OC death. / Heavy Angst :)

The first time Tommy realized he wasn’t dead—really knew he was still alive—was after what must have been weeks. Maybe a month. A nurse brushed his arm during a bed change, and he felt it. Faint, like a whisper on his skin, but enough to flood him with hope. He tried to speak, tried to move, but his body betrayed him. His voice was a phantom, his muscles silent.

The nurse left, oblivious.

He wanted to scream. He tried to scream.

Nothing.

After some time—Tommy couldn’t know exactly how much, a couple of months, maybe less or more—Buck showed up. Tommy thought, How…? But the question faded as quickly as it came. Instead, a warmth spread through him, a quiet, desperate relief.

Buck showed up almost every day. Tommy figured Buck must come whenever he wasn’t on shift. He could hear Buck’s voice, steady and warm, as he talked about everything and anything to fill the silence. He talked about Maddie having another baby, about Eddie moving back to El Paso for a while, and then coming back with Christopher.

Sometimes Buck would cry, his voice breaking as he whispered, “Please, Tommy, just wake up. Please.”

Those moments tore Tommy apart. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to wipe away Buck’s tears, to tell him he was still here. But his body refused to cooperate. All he could do was listen, helpless, as Buck poured his heart out beside him.

A year passed.

Tommy didn’t know how he kept track of time, but he felt it move around him.

The nurses would mention dates in passing, news reports played faintly on TV screens in the hallway, and Buck still came. Once or twice a week, like clockwork, Buck sat by his side, talking about the firehouse, Maddie, Jee-Yun, her sister, and the world outside. Tommy tried to listen, to hang on to those words. They were all he had.

But he also noticed the changes. Buck didn’t stay as long as he used to. Sometimes his visits were rushed, his words distracted. Tommy wanted to shout, Don’t go yet. I’m here! I’m still here!

But he couldn’t.

Five years passed.

The visits became less frequent. Buck came once a month now, bringing flowers that always wilted before the next visit. Tommy learned to brace himself for the quiet. He spent his days locked inside his own mind, desperate for some way to communicate, to show anyone that he wasn’t gone. The staff—the nurses, physical therapists, doctors—anyone… But especially Buck.

Whenever Buck came, he brought a presence to the room that Tommy clung to. He talked about everything: the 118’s updates, Maddie’s growing family, Eddie and Chris, and especially Alex, the little boy he had adopted last year. Buck’s voice lit up when he spoke about Alex—how he was starting to babble, how he smiled the brightest at bedtime stories, how he loved to play with his stuffed animals.

Tommy loved hearing about him. He loved Alex, even though he’d never met him. He clung to those stories like lifelines.

One day, Buck sat down heavily in the chair beside him, his voice quieter than usual. “I met someone,” he said, his words hesitant. “Her name is Amelia. She’s… she’s great Tommy. You’d like her.”

Tommy’s heart shattered, but he couldn’t blame Buck. What else was he supposed to do? They weren’t together when this happened. They hadn’t been for months. He shouldn’t have even hoped. Buck deserved happiness, even if it wasn’t with him. And Tommy had no right to feel like this—no right to feel the ache that settled deep in his chest.

Still, the words haunted him long after Buck left.

Ten years passed.

Buck came every three months now, sometimes less. Tommy had given up trying to track the days. He spent most of his time floating in and out of awareness, only rousing when someone touched him or adjusted his position. The staff rarely spoke to him except to comment on his care. He was just another body to them.

The next time Buck visited, his smile was softer, his voice lighter. “I married her,” he said, raising his hand instinctively to show the ring, even though Tommy couldn’t see it. But somehow, Tommy felt it. “Amelia. She’s amazing, Tommy. She’s good for me.”

Tommy’s chest ached, but also, he was happy for Buck. Genuinely happy. Buck deserved this, deserved someone who could be there for him—though he couldn’t move a muscle to show it. He wondered what Amelia was like, what it would feel like to meet her. But all he could do was listen as Buck described a life he would never be part of.

Buck stayed longer this time, the warmth in his voice pulling Tommy out of the haze he lived in most days. “Oh, and uh… I’m a captain now,” Buck said, almost shyly, as though he didn’t want to brag. “Took me long enough, huh? Bobby always said I’d get there. I wish you could’ve been there, Tommy. You would’ve laughed at the whole thing. I was so nervous.” He chuckled softly, the sound tugging at something deep inside Tommy.

Tommy wanted to tell him, Good job, Evan. You deserve that. I’m so proud of you. The words sat heavy in his chest, unsaid and unheard.

A few visits later, Buck shared something that lit up the room. “Amelia’s pregnant,” he said, his happiness spilling into the space like sunlight. “We’re having a baby, Tommy. Can you believe it? Me—a dad again.” He laughed lightly, and Tommy could almost picture the sparkle in his eyes. “I hope the kid turns out as awesome as Alex.”

Tommy was happy for Buck. He truly was. He just wanted to be part of it somehow, maybe in some small way he already was. But he wanted Buck to know—really know—how happy Tommy was for him. How much he wished he could say it, could share in this joy with him.

Fifteen years passed.

Buck’s visits came twice a year now. He still talked, but not as much. There were longer silences as he sat by the bed, looking at Tommy with guilt in his eyes. “Amelia and I… we had a little girl,” he said during one visit. “Her name’s Emma. She’s five now.”

Emma. Tommy committed the name to memory, repeating it over and over in his mind like a prayer. He imagined her laugh, her tiny hands. Did she have Evan’s eyes? His curls? Or maybe she had a birthmark just like him… His thoughts lingered. Maybe she looked like her mother.

He wanted to say, Tell me more. Don’t stop talking about her. But Buck’s voice trailed off, and the silence stretched between them.

Years continued to pass, and when Buck visited again, his voice carried the weight of something Tommy couldn’t place. Alex was 14 now, and Emma was 8. Buck sat heavily in the chair beside him, his words slow and uneven. “She left, Tommy,” he said quietly, his hands wringing together. “Another person left me. I know this time it isn’t anyone’s fault… but this hurts.”

Tommy’s heart twisted, confusion and worry gnawing at him. Who left? Buck didn’t say, and the silence that followed felt different—deeper, darker. He tried to reach out, to say anything, but his body stayed still, his voice trapped.

Frustration bubbled up in Tommy’s chest, followed by a wave of hot, searing anger. Why? Why can’t I move? Why can’t I tell him I’m here? He raged silently, cursing his own body, the years of silence, the cruel trap he was locked in. He wanted to scream, to reach out and shake Buck, to demand answers, to comfort him, to do something. But there was nothing he could do. Nothing.

The anger simmered as Buck sat there, quiet and heavy with grief. Who left, Evan? he thought frantically. What happened? I’m so sorry, Evan. Please, talk to me. Over and over, Tommy repeated the words in his mind, desperately wishing Buck could hear them. He didn’t understand what had happened, but he wanted to comfort Buck, to take away even a fraction of the pain he could feel radiating off him.

But Buck didn’t say anything more. He sat quietly for a while, then stood and placed a hand gently on Tommy’s shoulder. “I’ll see you soon,” he said softly before walking out of the room.

Tommy was left with his thoughts, his heart breaking for Buck. Whatever had happened, Tommy wanted Buck to know he wasn’t alone—even if he couldn’t tell him.

And then, as always, the helplessness crept back in, wrapping around him like chains. He was powerless, and that hurt almost as much as whatever Buck was going through.

Twenty-two years passed.

When Tommy finally woke up, it wasn’t dramatic—no gasp of air or miraculous surge of energy. His eyes simply opened, his body heavy and alien, and his first breath was shallow and labored. The nurse beside him gasped, calling for a doctor as Tommy’s gaze slowly wandered around the room. It was brighter than he imagined, and the world felt distant, blurry.

It took days for Tommy to understand just how much time had passed. He couldn’t walk. His muscles were too weak, his body unrecognizable. His reflection in the mirror was a stranger—lines etched deep into his face, his hair thin and gray.

The days that followed were a blur of tests and therapies. His muscles were too weak to move much, and his voice cracked like old paper when he tried to speak.

The doctor explained everything—how long he’d been in the care facility, the complications, and how much time had passed.

It wasn’t until the door opened, and Buck stepped inside, that it truly sank in.

Buck was older now, his face lined and his shoulders broader. His hair had streaks of silver, and his movements were slower but steady. He carried himself with a confidence that hadn’t been there before, though his eyes carried something else—something heavier. He looked just as Tommy knew he would—familiar in a way that was both comforting and heartbreaking.

Tommy couldn’t speak much yet, his throat raw from disuse. But he mustered all the strength he had, letting a faint smile curl across his lips. “Hey,” he rasped, the words barely audible.

Buck froze, his eyes wide, his breath catching in his chest. He blinked rapidly, his hands trembling as they curled into fists at his sides. “H-hey,” he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. He was holding back tears, but Tommy could see how close he was to breaking.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, two men who had been separated by time and silence. Buck pulled a chair closer and sat down, reaching out to rest a hand lightly on the edge of Tommy’s bed. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum and beeps of the machines tommy still needed.

After a long pause, Tommy rasped out, “She… left?”

Buck frowned slightly, confused. “What?” he asked, his voice unsure, like he didn’t quite remember. For him, he said that line years ago—he couldn’t know that for Tommy, it was as vivid as yesterday.

Tommy hummed softly, gathering strength. “You said… she left. Who?”

The realization hit Buck slowly, he sat back slightly, as though reaching into a distant memory. “Oh…” His shoulders sank, and his eyes grew impossibly sad. “Amelia—uh… my wife,” he said quietly, almost stumbling over the words, his voice hollow. “She died… a car accident.”

Tommy’s eyes softened, filled with sorrow. His throat ached as he struggled to speak, his voice hardly above a whisper. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Must’ve been… hard.”

Buck’s head shot up at that, his brows furrowing. He stared at Tommy, almost disbelieving, his lips parting in surprise. It was hard. It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever gone through. Losing Amelia had left him a widower, his kids without their mother. It had left a hole he still carried, even now. But for a moment, he couldn’t process that Tommy—frail and still recovering from decades of silence—was the one trying to comfort him.

A faint, disbelieving laugh escaped him, almost reflexive. He shook his head, his voice soft and tinged with disbelief. “Are you really saying that?” he whispered, a sad smile tugging at his lips.

And then he froze, his breath catching as his eyes widened. His voice faltered when he spoke again. “Wait… y-you… you heard?”

Tommy nodded faintly, a small, almost fragile smile on his lips. “Everything,” he rasped, the word carrying the weight of decades.

And it hit Buck—all at once. Everything. Tommy had heard it all. The stories about Alex and Emma, the confessions, the heartbreak, the joy, the grief. Twenty-two years of words poured into a void Buck had thought was empty, but Tommy had been there the whole time, trapped and silent. Listening. Always listening.

The realization broke something in Buck. His face crumpled as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, one hand covering his mouth as the first sob escaped him. His shoulders shook as he cried, the weight of twenty-two years crashing down on him in a way he hadn’t expected.

Tommy wanted to reach out, to tell him it was okay, but his body still wouldn’t cooperate. All he could do was whisper again, “Evan, it’s okay. I’m here now.”

But for Buck, the guilt and pain of all those years spent talking to someone he thought couldn’t hear him—and the thought of what Tommy must have felt, locked inside his own body—was too much. He thought how he had left Tommy alone longer and longer over the years, how his visits had decreased while Tommy was still there, still listening, still waiting.

He stayed there for a moment, head in his hands, as Tommy lay quietly, his faint smile never wavering.

Then Buck quickly wiped his face, taking a deep, steadying breath. He began to talk to Tommy about things—about Alex, about Emma, about life in general. He spoke softly, a little hesitantly, like he wasn’t quite sure where to start or how much Tommy could take. But he kept going, filling the space with the sound of his voice, just like he always had.

As Buck stood to leave, he turned back toward Tommy and leaned down slightly. “I’ll help you,” he said firmly. “No matter what, I’ll be here whenever I can. I promise.” He paused, his voice softening. “I’ll bring Alex and Emma to visit. They know you, Tommy. They love you.”

That lit something small in Tommy’s face—a faint glimmer in his eyes, the tiniest upward curve of his lips. He nodded weakly, his voice hoarse as he whispered, “Thanks.”

But later, when the room was empty again, and he was alone again… Tommy stared at the ceiling, his chest aching, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. He thought about the years he’d spent hiding behind lies, about the fleeting years when he’d finally embraced who he was, and about the decades he’d spent trapped in silence, invisible to the world.

He’d lost so much time. Too much time.

And now he didn’t know if he’d ever get any of it back.

Thirty-three years pretending. Seven years living. Twenty-two years lost.

What was left for him now?

[snowflake194]

As the Sky Split Open (~1300 words) x

“What are these?”

It’s been raining all week, the sky stretched grey and endless, and Eddie knows it’s just a matter of time before it starts to again. But right now—right now it’s not.

It’s not raining when Eddie takes the baggie of baked something from Buck and turns it over in his hands and so if the universe is giving him this small moment of peace before the storm, he’s going to take it.

“Chocolate chip peanut butter Snickerdoodles,” Buck tells him proudly before turning a little sheepish when Eddie gives him a look and then adds: “Jee came up with the recipe a few weeks ago. It’s actually not that bad. Surprisingly.”

And that’s just—well. It can’t be bad, can it?

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course,” Buck shrugs effortlessly and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. “Try not to devour them on the way, though. Save some for Chris. And—and text. When you get there.”

Eddie inhales sharply through his nose, frozen in it for a moment too long, so he might as well take it to make sure his early breakfast doesn’t spill out onto the asphalt when he eventually parts his lips and lets out a choked, “Yeah. I will. Thank you.”

“You said that already,” Buck’s brow furrows slightly and Eddie suddenly has the very real and very terrifying urge to let it anyway.

Because it’s impossible to look at him. At the bright blue of his best friend’s eyes that are daring to bore a hole in Eddie’s soul even on the greyest of days like this one.

“No, I mean—” he swallows instead, fingers tightening around the bag as he lets something else out: “Thank you. For everything. Honestly, I don’t know where I’d be right now without you. This move probably would’ve happened before I even finished my probie year.”

He laughs and it’s a self deprecating thing but it’s also the only kind he has right now.

“Yeah, same.” It’s quiet when Buck says it, not as self deprecating as Eddie was expecting but maybe just as honest. “I mean not with the move but um…”

He looks down, shifting on his feet, and Eddie is caught in this quiet moment before the storm, unable to do anything but watch it come closer and see the way Buck licks his lips, turning the words over in this overthinker brain of his before he lets out: “Can I say something? Since we’re here and… Can I say something and can you promise not to make it a big deal?”

Eddie shrugs. He doesn’t know he’s in the eye of it. ���Sure.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No—I mean. I love you,” Buck repeats but the words have an entire different meaning now. “I am currently in love with with you, and I know that’s weird for you to hear but I wanted you to… hear it. Probably not the best timing though, but y’know.”

And that’s not fair. Because How can Eddie not make a big deal out of it when he’s long since lost hope that Buck would ever love him the same way he does Buck? How can he not when he’s long since convinced himself that Buck would never be a part of that joy he’s learning to allow himself to want and to have, not in the way he wants him to be. But how can he let that confession out, when he’s the one leaving?

And when Buck shrugs, looks at the ground, rocking on his hills, Eddie doesn’t have the time to think of a better response than the one that inevitably leaves his lips and he knows he’ll regret it later when the one that finds it’s way out is:

“Buck I gotta go…”

“I know,” Buck nods. “You should uh—you should go. I just needed to say it to your face while you’re still here and—y’know, not over the phone.”

Eddie gets that. He wishes he was brave enough to do it himself. He thinks maybe if it was any other time he would find it in him eventually, but he does need to get going if he wants to be in El Paso before night comes.

So Eddie stays quiet, and then Buck’s shaking his head frantically but still doesn’t meet his eyes, and he must think Eddie is breaking his promise and he probably is but Buck doesn’t need to know that so when Buck says—

“No, hey. You gotta go. And you promised.”

—it breaks Eddie’s heart to just leave it at that.

It’s the coward’s move, but it’s better than Buck knowing the truth and watching Eddie leave him anyway. Because this thing Eddie is feeling—this thing he’s been carrying inside for longer than he cares to admit—it’s not the kind of feeling Eddie would walk out on. And it’s not the kind of feeling he wants Buck to think it is when he does.

It’s not raining but the air is thick and wet and cold so it’s a near thing, and when Eddie pulls Buck into a hug, forces his head up to rest over his shoulder, grips him tight and breathes him in for what he’d never want to be the last time—there’s dampness on his cheeks when he pulls away.

He chooses to blame it on the air and not the stinging of his eyes.

It’s not raining when he closes the truck door behind him after another promise to call when you get there, Eddie, but the cold doesn’t bite the same way anymore, and his cheeks are still wet, and his eyes still sting, and so he can’t blame it on the air anymore.

It’s not raining, but there’s this heavy cloud around him that refuses to let the sunlight in. The one that he left standing on the curb and knows would blind him if he was brave enough to send a glance at its direction in the rearview mirror.

It’s not raining when he leaves his quiet suburban neighborhood.

But it is when he makes a U-turn a few blocks later.

It’s raining hard when he slams the door closed and runs up the walkway back to his own front door and it’s raining hard when Buck opens it with wide eyes and a confused look on his face.

“Eddie—what—?”

Eddie still isn’t sure about a lot of things. About this move or about how he’s going to fix everything with his kid and get him to come home, wherever that might be, as much as Eddie wants it to be LA. He doesn’t know a lot of things but he does know one thing and right now it’s the only one that matters and it’s this:

“I’m in love with you too,” he tells him on a shaky exhale. “I think I’ve always been in love with you. And—and I’m coming back, I promise, and we’ll have all the time in the world to figure it all out, but I needed to say it to your face before—”

It’s still raining when Buck crosses the threshold, stepping into the pouring rain with him and it’s still raining when he grabs Eddie by the collar of his shirt, drags him closer like a promise of his own, and kisses him.

It’s still raining when Eddie feels Buck’s hands shaking against the nape of his neck and the warmth of Buck’s cheeks against the palms of his own. Feels the shape of plump pink lips curling into a smile against his.

And it’s still raining.

But Eddie’s not as cold anymore.

Not with the sun shining through his closed eyelids, wrapping him in it’s arms.

[leashybebes]

💭 💭 is causing me pain so obviously I need more of it please and thank you 🧡

pain, you say...?

He must drift off eventually, though, because Buck jolts awake in bed and can't figure out why. He stares up at the ceiling for a long moment but it doesn't feel like he's getting back to sleep any time soon. Fumbling for his phone, he sees that it's a little after four a.m., just gone five a.m. in El Paso. Too early to call, but he can get up, make some coffee, kill a little time, call Eddie as soon as it's even vaguely socially acceptable to do so and float the idea of coming to stay with him and Chris for a little while. He must have come to the decision in his sleep, because it feels like the most obvious thing possible, now. He has to get out of here and even if he doesn't remember missing Eddie, he knows he must have been.

Using the flashlight on his phone instead of turning on any lights, Buck pads out of the room, heading for the bathroom. It takes him a moment to register the sound coming from the spare room, and a moment more to decipher what it is. Quietly, muffled by something - his hands, or maybe a pillow - like he doesn't want Buck to hear, Tommy is crying. Buck hesitates in the hallway, listens to Tommy take a shuddering breath in. It hurts, suddenly and sharply, behind his ribs. But what is he supposed to do?

Buck has no idea what he's supposed to do.

[tommygotwrittenoff]

oh i love the idea of eddie getting most of the way through buying a house in texas before realizing the house has buck written all over it

[try-set-me-on-fire]

requesting hand kisses for all my life there you go if ur still taking :) that's one of my favourite ongoing fics in the whole fandom! every time u update I smile so big. - @team-118

@chaosandwolves also requested this one! Thank you so much omg 😳😳😳 Uhhhh sorry this is kind of stream of consciousness half tragic 8x08 reaction…. They’ll kiss for real eventually Eddie’s just going through it. On ao3!

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, backlit by the sun coming in through the window over the sink. Wrong sink, wrong window, so many many miles away from anything Buck knows as home, but also- maybe they’d fit into any kitchen like this. Eddie at the sink by the window, Buck at the table. So we just never leave the kitchen, Buck thinks. They never go back into the wrong living room of this tiny apartment 15 minutes from Christopher and 12 hours from Los Angeles. They never leave because Buck doesn’t know how to exist outside of this context, Eddie at the sink and Buck at the table. They just stay right here. They move kitchen to kitchen, it’ll all be okay.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says again. He looks tired. It’s January. He left before Thanksgiving and Buck couldn’t eat anything the whole day, pushed around turkey and mashed potatoes he helped Bobby make on the nice dishes Maddie got down from storage. It’s January but it's Texas, and it can get cold sometimes but it isn’t right now, so he’s in shorts and a worn out t-shirt, holes in the collar. His arms are crossed. Holding himself together. Buck knows the feeling.

“Buck,” Eddie says, stunned, broken open, dripping with guilt. “I didn’t know it would feel like this.” One hand wanders out from the knot he’s tied himself in and then quickly tangles itself back up again. “I don’t… know-” he laughs, this is stunned too. “You were there- you were always just there. I didn’t need to ask- there was nothing to ask. It’s just the way it was.” He looks up, guilty guilty. “I didn’t know it would feel like this. Leaving you.” All the air sighs out of Buck’s lungs, and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s never been hard to talk to Eddie, who’s always waited out his stumbled words and winding sentences easily and without judgment, but the only thing he has to say now is: I did. You were looking at homes and you said they’re in El Paso and I knew exactly what it would feel like for you to rip yourself out of me. I forgive you for not knowing — I didn’t understand either, until that moment — but I did know.

“And now I- Buck, I don’t want to live like that- like this- I don’t want a life without you in it. A-and I don’t know what that looks like.” Eddie’s face is helpless, begging. “I know you- I don’t know that I-” one hand reaches again, pulls back again. “You like men and I- I don’t know that I-” a furrow between his brows and he looks as scared as he only ever was telling Buck about people who died in a helicopter crash years after it went down. “I’d try. To be that for you. To- to do that with you. I’ll- we can-”

“Eddie,” Buck says.

“Can’t I just want to hold you?” Eddie demands it. “Can’t I- can’t you sleep next to me? Can’t I take care of you?” He looks near angry. “What do you- I don’t need anything else. I don’t need anything else. Just- can’t I have you?” Buck thinks it’s probably unnecessary to say you already do. In any way. Held and slept beside and cared for. What else is there? He’d live off far less.

“I’d marry you,” Eddie says. “I’ll marry you. You can- if you need- there can be other people but you can come home to me. I’ll- Chris- it’s getting better. We’ll come home soon, we’ll move home soon, and- and we’ll work together again and you come home to me-” hands uncrossed, hovering, shaking. “You can do anything, you can see other people, just- come home to me.”

“There’s only you,” Buck whispers.

“Buck,” Eddie says, a cry. He comes closer. “Please.” When his hands touch Buck’s face, warm, he almost flinches. It’s just that they’re so real, solid, impossible to dismiss as imagination or hallucination or dream or wishful thinking. Eddie’s hands, on his face, scratching into his hair, scrabbling over his back as the man collapses onto him smelling like deodorant and coffee and sweat, t-shirt cotton soft over the fat and muscle that presses into Buck’s face. Buck’s arms drift up to hold him back. This is a new place Buck could learn the context for. Kitchen sink and table, held in Eddie’s arms. The only two places in the world that make any goddamn sense. Eddie’s curled over him, a shelter, his body a home. But Buck already knew that, too.

“Sorry,” Eddie croaks. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left, I’m sorry I’m like this.” Buck holds tighter so Eddie doesn't shake so much. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I left you. I’m sorry you- I’m sorry I hurt you. God- Buck, it hurts, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry-” Buck shakes his head, face dragging across Eddie’s chest. He could fall asleep here. Rest until they go meet Christopher this afternoon. Rest until he has to get up at 4 to get to the airport and catch the red-eye and tear himself in two again. Visiting was a bad idea, maybe. He’s not sure he can survive that a second time. But Eddie said soon, he said he’ll come home soon, he and Chris. Buck and Eddie and Chris, who all come home at the end of the day, kitchen table kitchen sink Eddie’s arms sleeping and cared for.

“I love you,” Buck says. Why not. Why not.

“Buck,” a gasp, though surely Eddie can’t be surprised. He pulls back, face red and wet. His hands slide across Buck’s shoulders, down his arms, pull Buck’s hands up and press his knuckles to his mouth. Closes his eyes. Buck feels warm puffs of air against his fingers. Two lungs messy breathing loud in the small room. “Buck,” he says, and Buck knows what he means, knows the reply for what it is. He was wrong, the flight will be easy. The wait will be easy.

Eddie opens his eyes.

[dangerpronebuddie]

Throwing it back at you :)

#78 “That’s my shirt. So is that..wait?”

Look look look she finished one!!!

“But he's agreed to talk, that's a good thing,” Buck reassures Eddie from where he sits on the bed, “helping” him unpack at the rent house in El Paso. The key to Eddie’s house and the ticket back to LA burn in his pocket.  “I know, I just…” Eddie sighs and keeps rifling through his suitcase. “I just wish I could talk to him without mom always butting in.” “So take him to the lake- is that my shirt?”  Eddie freezes where he stands, teal henley clutched in his hand. He stares at it, almost like he’s hoping he’ll develop laser vision and disintegrate the incriminating fabric.  Buck looks into Eddie’s open suitcase. Mixed in with Eddie’s henleys and flannels are no less than a dozen shirts belonging to Buck. “That’s my shirt. So is that… wait?” Eddie spins to face the closet, searching for a hanger despite there being one right in front of him on the rack.  Buck stands and reaches around Eddie, handing him the hanger in question. “Eddie… why did you bring half of my wardrobe here with you?” “It… must’ve gotten tossed in with everything else,” Eddie shrugs, way too casually. “I was kind of in a rush.” “Eddie, you pack like I inventory the ambulance,” Buck points out. Sometimes, Buck thinks Eddie is more meticulous than Buck ever thought about being.  Eddie’s shoulders slump. “I wanted to ask you to stay, but I couldn’t, so I… made sure I had at least a part of you here.” Buck’s breath hitches in his chest. In the weeks leading up to the move, Buck had dreaded the goodbye. The sad, pitiful smiles and hugs that always mean more to Buck than the person leaving, the ‘take care of yourself’ that always leaves the ‘because I won’t’ unsaid.  But Eddie was different.  Of course Eddie was different.  He didn’t settle on a house until Buck approved. He convinced Buck to stay at the Diaz house while he was gone. He asked Buck to come to El Paso to help him unpack.  Like he didn’t want to leave Buck behind. “Eddie…” “I know,” Eddie says, ducking his head. “It was selfish. You can take them hom-” “Eddie,” Buck cuts in desperately. He takes the shirt and hanger and tosses them onto the bed so he can turn Eddie to face him. “Ask me to stay.” Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t, Buck, you know I can’t.” “I know you’re not letting yourself,” Buck persists. “And I know that if I go home alone, that house isn’t going to be enough for me. Is keeping a few of my shirts I hardly wear enough for you?” Eddie looks at his suitcase, at the shirt crumpled on the bed, at his hands fisted in Buck’s hoodie. “No,” he admits in a whisper. He shakes his head again. “Buck, you’d hate me if-” “I couldn’t,” Buck says, so positive in that fact there’s no way Eddie couldn’t believe him. “Ask me.” “You’d have to go back and get your other things,” Eddie reasons. “I couldn’t take everything of yours with me.” “You’ve got what’s most important,” Buck says softly. He doesn’t mean the clothes. Eddie smiles, that goofy way he does when he’s teasing Buck. “Really? I didn’t know you liked that white hoodie all that much.” Buck gapes at him. “You’ve had that all these years?!” Eddie chuckles. “Maybe for longer than I realized,” he says softly, pulling Buck closer.  Buck cups his face in his hands. “Maybe,” he says against his lips.

Send me a number!

[livesincerely]

Eddie leaves and Buck bites his lip until it’s bloody, holding back every single question that wants to burst out of him.

Doesn’t ask if he’s gotten any offers on his house here in LA, if there’s already a new family waiting to move their things into all the nooks and crannies he knows like the back of his hand. Doesn’t ask if Eddie’s already been assigned a station in El Paso, or if he’ll be on the roster as a floater, or if he’s going to take the opportunity to work on his Paramedic Certification.

Doesn’t ask him if he’s really, definitely, absolutely sure about this.

Because he’s learned—finally, finally, learned, like that saying about dogs and tricks, like a number that’s finally up, like seven years of borrowed time that’s finally run out—that it’s not his place to ask.

Maybe it’s for the best, since he’s not sure he can bear to hear the answers.

Instead he plasters on a smile and tells him to drive safe.

“I’ll call you when I get to the hotel for the night,” Eddie says.

Will you? Buck wants to ask.

Don’t, he thinks. Don’t drag this out. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.

Call me when you cross the state line, he wants to plead. Call me at every gas station and drive-thru, call me every hour, call me the moment you pull away from the curb and just leave me on speaker the entire way. We don’t even have to talk, I’ll just listen to your terrible oldies playlist in the background and the whisper of your breath and pretend I’m sitting there with you.

Block my number, he begs. Block my number because I’ll never be able to block yours, and I don’t know how to let you go without a clean break. Maybe not even then.

“Sure,” he responds aloud.

He can’t resist one last hug, but he makes himself pull away first. Lets himself wave goodbye but doesn’t stay to watch Eddie’s tail lights fade as he turns the corner.

He doesn’t turn back to look, no matter how much he wants to.

Eddie leaves.

Eddie’s gone.

And Buck bends at the waist and hurls directly into the bushes in front of Eddie’s house.

No, Eddie’s old house. Eddie’s old house, from Eddie’s old life.

The thought almost doesn’t hurt, funnily enough: like tissue so scarred that the nerves don’t register pain anymore.

Numb and sensationless.

Buck wipes his mouth. Takes a shuddering breath.

He’s always known that Eddie isn’t someone he’s allowed to have, allowed to keep. He knows he has to let him go.

So he does.

And whether Eddie knows it or not, Buck’s heart goes with him.

[ayyynne]

Eddie's house is gonna be too quiet. Too empty. Too everything is missing is nothing feel right. No one staying up past their bedtime to play more videogames. No movie nights. Just too much quiet.

So Buck starts coming over more. To check on Eddie. To cook him some real food. To being some noise and laughter and something to the house. Even if it's not all the right noise, it helps.

Meanwhile Buck's rent is going up, and we all know that loft is ridiculous. He only has to mention it in passing for Eddie to respond with "just stay here."

And we have Eddie and Buck roommates era. Buck was going to take over Chris's room, but Eddie had been sleeping in Chris's bed ever since his son went to El Paso. He's not giving it up. So Eddie has Chris' room, Buck has Eddie's room. They carpool to work, the split the bills and the chores.

Chris eventually calls his dad again. He's back in therapy. So is Eddie. Eddie tells him Buck has moved in, but that doesn't mean Chris can't come back whenever he wants. They'll make it work.

Eventually, a few weeks after Chris left, and after an espeot physically demanding call, Eddie finally realized that maybe Buck was right and a fully grown man sleeping in a twin size bed is not ideal. Buck had already offered to buy a full size bed and put in Chris's room, but for that first night after that rough shift they just shared Eddie's bed. Neither of them ever bought a full size bed. And neither of them ever slept anywhere else.

Summer in El Paso has been great, but he doesn't want to start over at a new school. He wants to come back to LA. His room is still there, basically just how he left it. And down the hall are Eddie and Buck, who finally admitted what they are to each other. It only took six years of friendship, multiple near death experiences, being dead for 3 minutes and 17 seconds, a hot pilot awakening a sexuality, and emotional affair with a dead wife doppelganger, a teenage son leaving for the summer, an overpriced loft, and being roommates for a couple months for them to finally figure it out.

[penpatronuswhump]

I’m angry at Eddie.

Right now I want the version of him who raised his voice when Chris stayed up late to play video games (and - for once - it’s not just because he was totally hot when he was so stern).

Moving to El Paso is - forgive me - a cowardly choice. He’s actually running away from his responsibilities, not relocating closer to his son.

He’s acting like Shannon, actually.

He’s letting his parents win. They’re spoiling Chris.

And Eddie is - forgive me - being a poor role-model for his son.

Has he even once asked, “When do you want to come home” or said “I want you to come home” to Chris? Let alone something like, “I will be picking you up and bringing you home on Saturday and, no, that is not up for debate”?

It’s been enough time. He’s given Chris enough space. Now is the moment when he should inform his child that he will be returning home where they will go to therapy together and work out their issues as a family.

And when his parents put up a fight, he should say, “I am picking up my son. I do not need your permission to bring him home. Chris is returning to LA.” And when they fight harder, he has his rights.

I want to shake Eddie and remind him that he’s not powerless. He is the authority in this situation. He is Christopher’s father. Chris is a child and it is Eddie who decides where he lives.

Coddling Chris, being overprotective, letting him call the shots and not talking about what happened is only making things worse. It will be painful to talk to Christopher about Kim and Shannon and his grief but that’s better for them both. Eddie wants to avoid that pain. I get that. But in doing that he’s teaching his son that we just ignore the elephant in the room instead of confronting it. Frank would not approve! Ha.

Eddie should inform his parents and son that he’s on his way to El Paso to bring Chris home. He should put Buck in his truck and drive.

And Chris will be mad. But, later - maybe years later - he’ll understand that was the right choice.