#buck begins coda

[sukunasstarlight]

i’m gonna be so real i’m . considering dropping a little coin for sethos....

#PROBABLY ONLY LIKE 10 OR 15 BUCKS BC I DO STILL HAVE SOME STORY&HANGOUT QUESTS TO DO WHICH WILL GET ME FUNDS BUT ATILL.... #i also need to log into my acc somehow on a pc to claim my coda shop shit....i had dropped 50 for arel’s weapon but. did not realize that #codashop topups do not apply to console acounts . which like u could’ve made that #clear from the beginning instead of hiding it in a 2 year old tab at the very back of the help section on the website 😭😭 #shouting in the void

[wikiangela]

I can finally breathe

7x04 coda, Buck's pov, 756 words

posted the beginning of it for fif, but I wrote more so here's the whole thing lol

[also on Ao3]

___

Oh. Oh. Oooh. So that’s- that’s what it was. Huh.

That’s the first thing going through his mind as Tommy kisses him. It’s like- it’s like a piece of the puzzle finally sliding into place, after years and years of searching, looking for something to fill that space with, that feeling of something being missing. It’s almost weird, really, how easy it feels, how he’s more relieved than freaked out. Because this- oh, this makes so much sense. He’s into guys. He’s been into guys. And right now, at this moment, he’s into Tommy. 

Holy shit, he’s into Tommy.

Buck’s mind has been a whirlwind of chaos and confusion and frustration for days, but now, when Tommy kisses him, it all silences. Just to start anew as they part, butterflies in his stomach so intense he feels like he might float, as a slow smile spreads across his face when Tommy pulls away. 

This is the part of himself he’s been looking for, he’s been denying himself, he’s been silencing for so long. He doesn’t know why now, why Tommy, what it all means and where it’s leading. But he knows that now he feels almost… complete, feels like himself, feels at ease. Feels like Buck.

He feels giddy with excitement when Tommy asks him out, and finds that as soon as the door closes behind him, Buck already can’t wait to see him again. Jesus, he has a crush. He’s a grown man in his thirties, just now finding out he’s into guys, and he has a goddamn crush on a guy, and that’s why he’s been acting like a teenager. It makes so much sense now, and Buck feels- well, he’s embarrassed because of his idiotic behavior, and guilty for maiming his best friend, but most of all he just feels relieved. Because he knows now, knows why he’s been so bent out of shape about this whole situation, and can put a name to those feelings. It’s like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest, that he didn’t even know was there.

He’s going on a first date on Saturday. With a guy. With Tommy. The thought makes a happy and a little dazed chuckle bubble out of his chest as he stands there in his kitchen, thinking about that kiss, his stomach doing flips. It was a nice kiss. A very nice kiss. He really wants to kiss him again. He wants to go on a date and kiss and hold hands, and do it all with a man he’s attracted to, and, god, he can’t wait. He’s also very grateful no one can see him or read his thoughts, because this crush deal is, frankly, embarrassing. He feels so silly, but he doesn’t even care, because he also feels over the fucking moon right now.

His face is burning and he can’t stop smiling as he goes about the rest of his evening, feeling weirdly light and relieved, like never before. He knows he doesn’t have it all figured out just yet, but at least he found out this one thing about himself, and it feels… it feels life-changing, in a way. It kind of is. This realization he just had, it’s- it’s huge, but instead of throwing him into more confusion, it settles him, tilts his askew world upright. Things are finally starting to make sense.

He’s into dudes. But he knows for a fact he’s into girls, too. So, what does that make him? Bisexual? Maybe? He already knows he’s going to overthink that and have to do some research to figure out what fits, what it all means, and reevaluate some of his past behavior in this new light. But for now- for now he’s just going on a date. He can take it one step at a time, both his sexuality and this new thing with Tommy, and figure it out at his own pace, and he hopes Tommy will be patient with him while he does that. Because- because he really likes the guy, and he wants the date to go well, and maybe, hopefully, it’ll lead to something more. He thinks he’d really, really like that.

Whatever the future brings, as of right now Buck just feels like something finally clicked and things started making sense for once in his life. He’s not as lost anymore. He feels like he can finally breathe. He found the missing piece of him, and he’s honestly excited, if just a little anxious, to explore that further.

#911 spoilers #7x04 coda #evan buckley #bi buck #bucktommy #<- kinda? it's supposed to be more about buck and his realization but tommy is a big part of that lol #wikiangela writes #911 fic #ficlet #bi buck fic #my writing #911 abc #the title took me longer than writing this and i don't like it but also can't come up with anything else and i don't care anymore lol

[theclaravoyant]

boyfriend material ~ a 7x06 bucktommy coda (T)

AN ~ inspired by this post ... ~1200 words of shamelessly self indulgent domestic bucktommy fluff

-

“I'm sorry we couldn't stay,” Tommy says again, as Evan helps him through the door. Going on hour thirty-something awake – and a pretty strenuous thirty something at that - is taking its toll, but his heart still flutters when Evan laughs.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Evan promises. “All the reception stuff's been pushed anyways. Tonight, I'm all yours.”

A smile lifts Tommy's weary lips. “I like the sound of that.”

Evan pauses a moment, hooked under his arm, to gaze admiringly with his beautiful blues. He likes the sound of that too, and he leans up on his toes to press a tantalising a kiss to Tommy's lips – a promise to pick up where they had left off earlier, but not right now.

“You want to shower first or eat first?”

“Uh...” What he wants is to collapse into a heap in the entry way and sleep like a log for the next several days. But Evan is right: if he doesn't eat something (other than that beautiful, light, fluffy, sugary cake), he'll be sick, and it's not like he can sleep in his turnouts anyway (although his heavy eyelids beg him to make an attempt).

“How about this,” Evan proposes. “You shower. I'll make us something to eat. Where's your bathroom?”

The words on the tip of his tongue are, you don't have to stay, but Evan is already leading him through the living area and toward the hall. His shoulders are steady bearing Tommy's weight. It's been a long time since he let himself lean on somebody like this.

“Second on the left.”

Evan steers them in and still doesn't leave. He helps Tommy shrug off his jacket and turnout pants, and heave off the boots Tommy's tired feet have swollen into. He turns the tap onto a hot, steamy setting and blasts it, then presses a drink bottle into Tommy's hands. “Get some electrolytes in you, too,” he insists. “When did you...” You know what, never mind. Tommy unscrews the lid and all but swallows the bottle in one go. It sends a tingle through him – he did not realise how dehydrated he was. It's also a little lemony, which is a nice touch. The lemon ones are his favourite.

“Take your time,” Evan instructs. “Dinner will be waiting when you get out. I'm right here if you need me.”

Only then does he finally peel away, leaving Tommy to extricate himself from his remaining sweat-slicked inner layers of clothing and stumble into the sweet beckoning call of the shower. With the help of the steam and citrus scrub he begins to wash the day – days? - off himself. It's a familiar ritual as the sirens and screaming and falling trees and the stench of melting asphalt fall away and leech out of his pores and wash down the drain. Even his head feels a little clearer, his limbs a little lighter by the time he's done and ready for the less familiar part... an enticing smell from the kitchen, something involving garlic, lime and chilli? His mouth waters.

-

Buck beams as a soft, clean Tommy pads back out into the kitchen in the soft, clean pyjamas he'd laid out for him. His soft, clean curls are even starting to puff back up already, and the promise of a meal has put a bit of pep back in his step.

“Feel better?” Buck asks. “You have no idea.” Tommy hums in satisfaction, deep and rumbling in his chest as he pulls Buck in for another kiss. Buck takes a deep breath and the musky deodorant that's meant to smell like some kind of forest – one that isn't on fire – makes his head spin. He very much does have an idea of Tommy's relief, is the thing, and the bone-tiring, soot-drenching work and the power of good old citrus scrub is something nobody he's ever dated can really understand. If Tommy's knees weren't about to drop out from under him, Buck thinks, he might just climb the man like a tree. But not tonight.

“You like stir fry?”

“God, yes.” Tommy all but snatches the proffered bowl. He moans as the first delicious mouthful forces him to savour it. It's positively indecent, but he's so hungry he's going to puke, so he continues between enthusiastically shovelled mouthfuls - “This. Is incredible. Where'd you learn to cook like this?”

Buck can feel himself blushing and puffing his chest up with pride at the same time. He humble-brags the best he can about how Bobby's taught him everything he knows. And about that one time he worked a kitchen in Phuket and learnt this killer Thai chilli sauce recipe. Tommy likes spicy food too apparently and jumps in with a story about how he, Chim and the other 118 crew back in the day had once challenged each other to eat prik kee noo and ended up with all of them (or as Hen would later correct it, all of them stupid enough to try) weeping over various sinks. It's easy, regaling each other back and forth and laughing until both of them are fed and blood sugar stabilised and Tommy's had as much water as he dares force through his poor kidneys. Still, the day they've had bleeds back through eventually – not least because Tommy sways dangerously with exhaustion on his way back from the bathroom, and Buck takes this as his cue to make his exit. He offers for Tommy to text when he's up, for a lift to Harbor for his truck, to do the dishes sometime the next day, but Tommy counter-offers;

“Stay.”

Yes. Buck's already thinking about what to make for breakfast tomorrow. Or today. Or whatever it is. But he manages -

“Are you... sure?”

“Evan,” Tommy scolds, with a fond, fatigue-addled smile on his face. “You've been up over a day and a half too, you know. And no, passing out in Chim's hotel room doesn't count. Frankly, it would be counter to my sworn oath to let you drive home. Please. Come to bed.”

“Oh, well, if it's for the greater good...”

They didn't get a wedding dance, but there's something of a whisper of it in the way Tommy reaches his hand out to lace his fingers through Buck's and draw him into the bedroom. It's so pleasantly dark in here on burning eyes, and the pillow is so blissfully cool on Tommy's face, that by the time Buck has kicked off his shoes and pulled his belt from its loops the time for any more flirting or kissing or talking has well and truly passed. Nevertheless, he smiles to himself, and settles in beside Tommy, and finally falls asleep to the sound of gentle snoring.

#bucktommy #tevan #buck x tommy #tv: 911 #911 fic #clara's fic tag #with a healthy side of God I Wish That Were Me

[fiona-fififi]

Quiet

Rating: G

Fandom: 9-1-1 

Pairing: (pre-relationship) Evan Buckley/Eddie Diaz

Summary: Christopher leaves, and everything is endless quiet.

Notes: angst with a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort, 911 spoilers, canon compliant to 7x10, episode coda, Buckley Diaz family, pre-relationship buddie

—

Ao3 Link

—

It's late when his phone rings. The screen displaying Eddie's name and a photo of a smile Buck feels like he barely remembers.

A desperate pain squeezes at his chest, and Buck thinks he might die for the return of that smile, even though he knows he'll never be able to bring it back on his own.

He answers. Stays quiet for long moments. Then, “Eddie?" he murmurs, and it's a careful plea. One full of misguided hope that it might be something good for once. Knows that’s wishful thinking.

Eddie doesn't answer. Long moments pass with nothing but the sound of his breathing to keep Buck company in the cold of his empty bed.

“It's quiet.”

Eddie's voice finally breaks the silence. It's barely a whisper, but it's broken in ways that slice open every old wound Buck had thought was beginning to heal, and suddenly he's flashing back to Christopher’s cries for help and to the ruined walls of Eddie's bedroom and to the way he'd thought, for too many fearful moments, that he'd find a body instead of the broken gaze of his best friend.

“Eddie?” He asks, a careful, quiet thing of his own. All his vulnerability betraying him as he begs for Eddie to be okay, even when he knows better.

“It's quiet like—like the middle of the night, when he's fast asleep. Except—” Buck hears the break in Eddie's voice, the way the pain he'd been trying to hold back had flooded all at once, leaving his voice so choked it's near unrecognizable, “—except he's just not here.”

Buck swallows hard against the emotion that threatens to spill over in his own voice, tosses the blankets off himself and finds his feet in one smooth motion he's not sure how he manages with the shake of his hands. “Eddie, I'm coming over,” he chokes out with the kind of conviction only Buck can manage through the tears that threaten.

“No,” Eddie begs on the other end of the line. And it's a harsh and broken thing—wet with tears but hard with anger Eddie's trying to use to mask it. “No. I told you, I don't want you here."

Buck has to bite his lip to keep the whimper of pain from dripping out around his own conviction. Holds his breath until it clears and then hangs up the phone without another word. It feels cruel, to cut Eddie off like that, but he won't argue. 

He'll break down the goddamn door again if he has to.

—

The moment he's in the car, he finds himself taking a deep breath, hands gripping too tight to the wheel as he debates his next move.

He knows he should go. Or maybe stay.

But either way, he knows he needs to make a decision and he knows that decision will always be to go to Eddie.

But there's one more thing he needs to try before he can.

He's calling Christopher before he's even processed the thought. It's late, and he shouldn't, but the line is ringing before he can manage to stop himself, and then Christopher's picking up, sounding somewhere between groggy and irritated, and Buck knows he shouldn't have called. Still can't bring himself to regret it.

“Is everyone alive?” Christopher asks first, through a yawn, and he's trying to hide it, but Buck can hear the legitimate worry there, and a pang of guilt hits him as he cringes in response.

“Yeah! Yeah, bud, of course everyone's alive,” he promises, all false cheer and forced smiles he hopes makes his tone sound just a little more convincing.

Christopher sighs, and Buck can hear him shuffling around a bit. Thinks maybe he's sitting up for what he's worried is going to be an argument. “Then why are you calling, Buck?”

And, okay, that tone cuts deeper than anything Buck's heard from Christopher in the past. He finds himself fiddling idly with his car keys, trying to keep his hands busy as he tries to choose his next words carefully.

He's quiet so long, Christopher has to reset him with an irritated “Buck.”

“Right, uh,” Buck begins, squeezing his eyes shut and scrubbing a hand over his face. “Buddy, your dad's not doing well.”

“No."

“Christopher,” Buck pleads, voice betraying all his frustration and pain because he understands, he does—he knows why Chris is angry and why he's not ready to talk. But he also knows how much Eddie is hurting and how little of it had actually been Eddie's fault. And it doesn't change the hurt it caused, but Buck needs Christopher and Eddie to be okay, and right now, he's not sure Eddie's going to be. “Look, I know you don't want to talk to him. And I know it's unfair of me to ask. But Christopher, he needs to at least hear from you. Just. you don't even have to call. Just—just text him. Tell him you love him.”

“Buck—"

“Please, Chris.” 

Christopher's silent for long moments. They stretch through the darkness. So long Buck thinks he's hung up the phone. In the end, though, a tiny voice breaks the silence—one full of a softness Buck hasn't heard in far too long. “Are you with him?”

Buck sucks in a shaky breath. Guilt flooding him at the question. “I'm going to him now.”

Buck thinks he hears Christopher breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay,” he says, sure in a way Buck knows neither of them feel. “Stay with him?”

Buck swallows hard. Fights back the tears. “Until you come home,” he promises.

And he means every word.

It's quiet for long moments again. Buck swears he can hear Christopher thinking. “I do still love him, you know,” Christopher promises. And there's that guilt that just keeps circling between the three of them.

Buck feels a sad smile tilt his lips. ���I know you do, Chris. He knows, too. But I think he needs to hear it right now. From you.”

Quiet again. Buck thinks for a moment he's pushed too hard.

“I gotta go,” Christopher says, then. Sad, but sure, and Buck feels like his heart has been crushed. “Bye, Buck.”

“Bye, bud,” Buck chokes out. He thinks Christopher's already gone before he says it.

Tears cling to the corners of his eyes as he wills himself not to let them fall. Doesn't want to put anymore hurt on Eddie when he gets there. Tries to prepare himself for all the pain he knows he'll always take on to support the weight of Eddie's own because he knows he can't add to it now.

So with a heavy heart and a little extra hurt, Buck turns the key in the Jeep's ignition, buckles himself in, and wipes harshly at the tears blurring his eyes. 

Eddie needs him, and he won't wait another moment.

Before he can go, though, his phone dings with a text message, and when he checks it, it's Christopher. 

Tell dad I love him.

When Buck sees it, a harsh breath of relief catches in his throat, and a couple of stray tears manage to sneak out the corners of his eyes as he huffs a laugh devoid of any real humor.

Still, there's relief there. A huge, heavy weight lifting just the slightest as he snaps a screenshot and sends it to Eddie with a message that reads I'll be home in 20. Leave the door unlocked.  

And then he waits.

Stares at the phone in his hand, even when he knows he should already be on his way. But he doesn't have to wait long.

It's only seconds before the word okay comes through, bright as daylight. An invitation and a surrender Buck won't take for granted.

Instead, he swallows the sob that threatens to choke him and points himself in the direction of home.

—

#911 spoilers #buddie fic #my writing #my fic

[hippolotamus]

another installment of what I'm calling the cleopatra series. this time from Eddie's POV because I got in my Buddie feels. part 1 here 💙

late for the love of my life | 7x06 Coda | 912 words | G

“Hey, how was it?” Marisol wraps her arms around his waist, giving him a peck on the lips. 

Eddie barely suppresses the urge to flinch and turn away. Which is maybe a tad dramatic, except for the way it isn’t. Because the past 24 hours have held more than a few revelations. None of which Eddie is ready to share. 

Despite the layers of clothing between them, his skin tingles and crawls where she touches him. If he didn’t have years of experience being exposed to fluids, substances and people he didn’t want anywhere near him, he thinks he would have wrenched away from her by now. No, he definitely would have. But he’s a professional at hiding his personal reactions, both on and off the job. 

Yes, he’s made progress in therapy, but the instincts to hide himself, to put up walls and masks, are still easily activated. Handy for moments like now, when he can’t escape his girlfriend. Or when he has to smile big for the crowd and pretend the perpetual feelings for his best friend don’t exist when said best friend barrels back into the room all lovestruck and covered in soot from his boyfriend. 

“It was good. Really nice, actually.” That much is true. Because it was. Honestly, the whole hospital room chic was perfectly Maddie and Chim. 

“Nice?” She asks in a teasing tone, squeezing tighter and clinging to his torso like a koala. 

His breathing is acceptably even but the urge to peel her off, to tell her that she should probably go home because his heart rate is skyrocketing, his fingers and toes are tingling, and he’s beginning to feel claustrophobic is anything but. His built in panic mode suspects there isn’t enough Jell-o in the universe to undo this. Again, dramatic, but he thinks he’s within his rights to think so right now. 

“Yeah, I-” He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezes his eyes shut and inhales as deeply as he can manage. “Y’know, I’m, uh, still feeling a little worse for wear from last night. I should-” He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just points vaguely in the direction of his bedroom. 

Marisol’s relaxed ‘welcome home’ look turns concerned as she furrows her brow and holds the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stay? I should probably stay over in case you need–” 

“Really,” he interjects, backing out of her hold, “I’ll be fine. Just need to sleep it off, I think. You should go. Home. To your place.” Smooth, Diaz. “I mean, because I’ll probably be restless, y’know?”

“I can sleep on the cou-”

“No,” he says more forcefully than intended. He should be grateful she wants to stay and take care of him. He should. He is. But not the couch. Not… Buck’s bed. His place. Their place.

“Oh.” She takes a step back and he should probably feel worse about the way she looks so dejected. “I, um, I understand. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yeah, talk tomorrow.” 

Tomorrow when I’ve had a chance to reset. When the twin alcohol and love hangovers have hopefully, finally died off. When I’m not seeing an endless mental projection reel of reminders like Or, y’know, you could have mine. Then why are you in hospital jail? Stay with me, Buck. Him choking on blood. You saved him. Abby. His fiancee is Abby. Showoff. My blood on him. Hey, Buck. You think you’re expendable. They’re all dead. I, uh, misunderstood the assignment. Three minutes and seventeen seconds. She sees me. It was a date. 

The front door clicks in the latch and he immediately turns the deadbolt, noting how his pulse drops to a debatably more normal range. He wants to settle on the couch, under the covers in his bed, both and neither all at the same time. In the end he migrates to the kitchen, which really shouldn’t surprise him. 

He runs his fingers over the backs of the chairs, circling around until he’s standing between the table and main counter. Am I one of the things that makes you sad? So now am I allowed to ask how you are? But you do eventually - you process it? 

Eddie turns toward the fridge, drawn to Shannon’s photo. He plucks it from under the magnet, running his thumb over the glossy print. 

“Can never quite get my timing down, can I?” He huffs out a wet chuckle. “God, I wish you were here right now. I could really use someone to talk to.” 

If it wasn’t after midnight he would probably drive himself to the cemetery to sit on the stone bench. To talk to someone that can’t talk back but would nonetheless tell him what an idiot he is. To unfairly water her grave with tears shed because he always thinks he has more time. You might have noticed I almost died. Again. And then I thought, this is it. This is the last day of my life. We’re all going to die alone. That’s what she said to me and Hen. 

Truthfully he’s not sure who he’s thinking of more — Shannon or Buck — as he slides to the floor, still clutching her picture, beginning to sob and shake as the words I love you so much flash like a neon reminder of his poor timing. Does it really matter? Because either way he’s missed his chance. 

But I guess it’s your mess now. 

Part 3 (Buck's POV)

#hippo writes #911 spoilers #i guess? #tw marisol #coda fic #911 7x06 #yes another one #eddie diaz #he's a sad boi #the cleopatra series #buddie ficlet #kinda #in a way #if you squint

[wildlife4life]

Fuck-Friday Coda

Tagged by the always lovely @theotherbuckley @perfectlysunny02 @cal-daisies-and-briars @aroeddiediaz @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus @loserdiaz @wikiangela @daffi-990 @tizniz and @diazsdimples Thank you all so much for all the tags throughout the week and today! I have eased back on working NFL Buck because I am absolutely swamped with school. I have started clinic rounds and somehow the classwork has doubled for the next set of courses. Which holy crap. So a lot of my days are for studying, homework, and quizzes. Add on being a mom/house wife and yea, not a ton of time to work on my favorite WIP. But I am making time on Thursday to watch the newest 9-1-1 episodes and write codas, because I started them in the final episodes of season 6 and really enjoyed it! So I made a goal to make a coda for most if not all of season 7 episodes! 2/2! I will try my absolute damnest to get some work into NFL Buck because it is my baby and I know how much it is beloved. Until then, enjoy the season 7 codas. Posted to ao3.

7x02 Coda

“We-I…” Buck tries to find the right words again, but he has no idea what they should be.  He doesn’t know if he should be defending himself along with Eddie and Chimney, proclaim that they were just being honest with internal affairs. Or if he should defend Hen and the betrayal she felt when they couldn’t back her up.

Rock and a hard place, with Buck being squeezed tightly in between.

Chimney left the locker-room soon after Hen, with the passing false hope comment, “She’ll come around.”  His phone was half-way to his ear before disappearing around the ladder truck, most likely spilling the entire ordeal to Maddie.

Buck slumps back down on the bench and leans his head against the lockers, closing his eyes with a defeated sigh. Still standing close by, Buck hears Eddie hum in agreement. Yea, tonight was very much a downer.

“We should have had her back.” Buck finally says.

He feels additional weight added to bench and pressing warmth along his arm and thigh when Eddie sits beside him. “We did. We just all put our foots in our mouths trying to show her.” He assured.  He gives Buck knee a gentle squeeze, “You more than me with that whole ‘right call’ comment and wanting to give Captain Collier’s a hard time.”

Buck groans in embarrassment, “I was trying and horribly failing to lighten the mood.”

“The mood was dead on arrival; you had no chance.” Eddie chuckles.

They both go silent, stewing in the hurt emotions left behind by Hen and Chimney, mixing with their own anxiety and worry. It kind of reminds Buck of the last time Hen was captain and that man died at the happiness convention. God that felt like so long ago, when really is less than a year.  Yet here they all are, questioning themselves on the job after losing a patient and without Bobby’s steady leadership to help guide them through it.

Buck could only hope this didn’t send him or anyone else on the team into a spiral of questioning their purpose in life. And he really hoped it didn’t lead to another brush with death, for anyone of them.

The hand on Buck’s knee never left and gave another squeeze, pulling him from his past wallows and has his eyes fluttering open. He looks over at Eddie and sees an understanding smile gracing his lips. “That man’s death isn’t on us. We we’re working on the worst of the crash, and we saved that girl and her mother.  Hen made the right call, the same one Bobby would have made and when those lab results concur with her story, she’ll be back, and we’ll find a way to make it up to her.”

Buck takes a moment to let Eddie’s words sink it and pull him from the beginnings of a self-deprecating spiral. He did his job, he gave his facts of the event truthfully, and Hen would come around. In all regards, Buck just needed to learn how not to put his foot in his mouth, because at the moment it really was a nasty taste.

Slowly most of the tension that had built up during Hen’s confrontation eases away and Eddie felt it through the press of his shoulder into Buck’s, “That has to be a record.” He comments before getting to his feet and reaching a hand out.

Buck doesn’t even hesitate and tries his damnest not to flush too red as Eddie hauls him to his feet with little to no effort. The man has a girlfriend and Buck was done chasing. “Uh yea. Turns out when you stop trying to search for the life’s great moments and instead live in them, internal spiraling is easier to pull out of.” He explains. Eddie also is a big contributor, but Buck isn’t going to admit that to said man.

“Well… At least those self-help books will make good kindling for the next campfire.” Eddie cackles and Buck swats at his shoulder which only makes him laugh harder.

Eventually Buck joins in and the pit of dread dwindles further. He embraces this moment and knows eventually everything is going to be okay.

Short but somewhat sweet I hope! Tagging (no pressure): @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @rogerzsteven @lemonzestywrites @evanbegins @buck-coded @devirnis @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @hippolotamus @sunshinediaz @watchyourbuck @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @bekkachaos @buddierights @try-set-me-on-fire @rainbow-nerdss @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @prosperdemeter2 @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @dangerpronebuddie @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather

#fuck it friday #tag game #coda fic #7x02 #my fic #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #chimney han #happier buck #pining buck

[ghosthunterbuck]

6x10 Coda

if that episode wrecked you as bad as it wrecked me, this won't help

Thirty seconds before Eddie got to Buck. 

Maybe another minute before they got him in the ambulance. 

Three minutes to the hospital. 

Five minutes without oxygen before the brain begins to take permanent damage. 

Eddie presses the gas pedal all the way to the floor. It’s still not fast enough. 

He can’t look at Bobby. Can’t risk taking his eyes off the road for even a split second because Buck is in the back of this ambulance and if Eddie loses his concentration for a moment it could cost him his life. 

Drive, he thinks, the only thought that’s safe. Drive. 

Eddie eases off the gas as they enter the ambulance bay, but doesn’t touch the brake until the last possible second. He jerks on the parking brake before the ambulance rolls back even an inch and throws himself outside. He sprints around to the back, and as soon as the gurney’s wheels touch the pavement, he jumps on and begins compressions. 

Eddie doesn’t think. Doesn’t allow himself to think because if he thinks it might occur to him that Buck’s odds of survival are worse than his were when he was shot. It might occur to him that this could easily be the last time he ever touches Buck’s still warm flesh. It might occur to him that Christopher is expecting them both to come home tomorrow, because Buck promised to make them Bobby’s famous chili and Buck never breaks a promise where he and Christopher are concerned. 

Eddie doesn’t think. 

Eddie can’t think. 

They burst through the sliding glass doors of the hospital, and in moments, someone is pulling him off Buck. He fights back. He keeps doing compressions. Buck needs him. 

“Eddie!” someone shouts. 

Eddie ignores them. 

“Eddie, you have to let them do their jobs!”

For the briefest of moments, Eddie falters. Hands find his shoulders and pull him back. 

“We’ll do everything we can,” a woman in scrubs says, and then he’s gone. 

Eddie heaves in a ragged breath and sags against the person behind him. Strong arms hold him up. 

“Eddie, they've got him,” Bobby says. 

I can’t do this again, Eddie thinks. 

…

The waiting room is cold and unnaturally quiet. Eddie’s uniform is soaked through. There’s a dull pain in his arm, one that’s been growing with each passing minute. 

Someone needs to call Maddie. 

Selfishly, Eddie hopes Chimney is the one to do it. He knows he’s going to have to say it out loud eventually, but he can’t. Not yet. Not until he knows exactly what he needs to prepare himself to say. 

Buck’s in the hospital. Again. You’d better bring some of that sparkling water he likes so much. 

Buck’s hurt. He’s going to be fine, but the doctors say he should rest until tomorrow. 

No, Buck’s not okay. The doctor’s don’t know when he’ll wake up. 

No, Buck’s not okay. The doctor’s don’t know if he’ll wake up. 

Buck’s dead. 

A sob jumps from the back of Eddie’s throat, and once the first one is loose, there’s nothing he can do to stop the ones that follow. Eddie hunches in on himself and squeezes his eyes shut. The room around him is closing in, and knowing he’s having another panic attack doesn’t make it any easier to handle. 

Arms encircle his shoulders and pull him tight against a chest he’s cried into before. 

“I– I can’t,” Eddie gasps. 

“I know,” Bobby whispers. 

His voice is wrecked. He sounds just as bad as Eddie, maybe worse. And Eddie– Eddie should be doing something to comfort him, too. Buck is Bobby’s just as much as he’s Eddie’s. But Eddie feels like a child, wrapped in his father’s arms, unable to do anything except cry. 

“It’s Buck,” Eddie sobs. 

“I know.”

“Bobby, I can’t lose him,” he admits. It feels like he’s saying more than that, but he can’t keep it in. “I can’t,” he repeats, over and over. 

I can’t do this again.

#911 #911 spoilers #911fic #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #5x10 coda #abbie writes #i'm feeling so unwell #so so unwell #i'm gonna write at least seven fics in the next week fight me #userceecee

[gatheringbones]

robert f. reid-pharr, from living as a lesbian, from Sister & Brother: Lesbians and Gay Men Write About Their Lives Together, 1994

["In 1985 Barbara Smith came like a fresh wind into Chapel Hill. She brought with her a vision of home unlike anything I ever had imagined. It was then that I began the process of being a lesbian. It is only recently that I began to understand lesbianism as a state of being that few of us ever achieve. To become lesbian one has to first be committed to the process of constantly becoming, of creatively refashioning ones humanity as a matter of course.

Coda

By becoming a lesbian, I have done nothing more nor less than become myself.

I had expected to end this piece with these words, forcing all of us, myself included, to reevaluate what it means to be labeled lesbian, gay, straight, bi, transgendered, asexual. And yet, this is not enough. For even as I recognize the difficulty of giving definition and meaning to our various identities, I also realize that as I struggle to lay claim to my lesbianism I am always confronted with the reality of my own masculinity, this strange and complex identity that I continue to have difficulty recognizing as privilege.

It was a Friday afternoon in September when I had my first bathhouse experience. I'm not sure what I expected, or wanted. In truth, I was compelled more than anything else by Samuel Delany's description in The Motion of Light in Water of his visit to the St. Mark's Baths in the early sixties. I thought that it would be exciting, that perhaps within this outlaws' territory I could throw off the stifling fears and anxieties that shape and constrain our lives, sexual and otherwise. I even felt that, given the name of the enterprise I was about to visit— "baths"— there had to be something intrinsically cleansing and healing about it.

Now I find myself asking if in the bathhouse— the most sacred of male enclaves, where my masculine body and affected macho style increase my worth in the sexual economy— I am still lesbian. Is it lesbianism that spills out of the end of my cock as bald-headed men with grizzled beards and homemade tattoos slap my buttocks and laugh triumphantly? Is it lesbianism that allows me to walk these difficult streets alone, afraid only that I will not be seen, accosted, "forced" into sexual adventure?

All my bravado, my will to adventure is caught up, strangely enough, with the great confidence I have gained from "The Lesbian." And yet, this confidence, this awareness of my own body, of my own independence, takes me to places where she dares not go. Perhaps then I am not a lesbian at all, but rather like a drag queen, by day a more or less effeminate, woman-loving gay man, by night a pussy, a buck, the despoiler of young men recently arrived from the provinces and the careful tutelage of their loving mothers. What I know for certain is that this self, this lesbian-identified gay man, is in constant flux. I live like a lesbian, as a lesbian, because I know no better way of life. Still, I live beyond her, in a province that continues to be reserved exclusively for men, all the while reaping the many fruits of sexual apartheid.

Me, I want to escape…. this dirty world, this dirty body. I never wish to make love again with anything more than the body.

Perhaps in my next life I will be done with these questions of identity altogether, will cherish fully the body that I am given, begin to see it neither as burden or weapon, but only as the vessel of my existence. Perhaps in my next life I will have given up finally this constant struggle to explain who I am not— not woman, not white, not straight, not you— and start to revel in the limitless of my boundaries. Perhaps each one of us will recapture that which has been lost, start again to accept and acknowledge the profound ambiguity and uncertainty of this existence. It is then and only then that we will find home.

In 1985 Barbara Smith came like a fresh wind into Chapel Hill."]

#robert f. reid-pharr #gay literature #lesbian literature #gender stuff #history stuff #terra preta #transcribed

[disasterbuck]

5 times Buck didn't break

7x10 coda

When Bobby didn't text him back that morning, Buck didn't think much of it. It had been a while since the lightning strike and he was a lot more settled in his own skin again; he didn't need quite as much reassurance from his checklist to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

And then Eddie called him, sounding panicked and stressed, and all other thoughts fled from Buck's mind as he rushed over to help his best friend.

When he got the call at Eddie's house that Bobby was in the hospital, his mind was still too full of everything Eddie had just told him to really comprehend the news. He switched over to first responder mode, gently interrupting Eddie's conversation with his parents to tell him they needed to go.

Standing in the hospital with his true family, staring at where Bobby was hooked up to a ventilator, Buck felt himself begin to crack. A ringing started up in his ears, silencing everything, and a tightness began squeezing his heart painfully. He couldn't lose Bobby. He just couldn't. He felt his fingers start to tingle and knew they were a warning sign, but he couldn't —

Then the others were talking again, and he forced himself to snap out of it so that he could listen to what was going on. He forced himself to focus on the mystery of who had set the fire, allowing it to distract him and bring his body back under control.

He held himself together the whole day. Before he knew it he was letting out a quiet sigh of relief as Bobby smiled up at him sleepily, and then he was stepping back to let Athena through, and everything was going to be okay so he didn't need to worry anymore.

When Tommy asked how he was on their date that night, he shied away from telling the whole truth. So he only told some of it, just touching the edges of his fear and his love for Bobby, and then allowed Tommy to steer the conversation onto solid ground again – flirting was much safer than admitting he'd almost had a panic attack.

And then Chris was leaving, going with his grandparents to stay in Texas for a while because he was angry at Eddie and Buck had failed to talk him round.

Buck had failed, and all he could do was put a hand on Eddie's shoulder and hold himself together so that if Eddie needed him, he could be there. He could be Eddie's rock. He needed to be Eddie's rock.

There simply wasn't time for him to think about anything else.

-

Tags & end note 👇

I hope I've used the term coda correctly! It's my first time doing anything like this.

Originally I was going to make it a "5 + 1" thing but in the end I couldn't see Buck allowing himself to break down, not with Eddie so fragile as well. So for now... he's holding himself together. I guess we'll have to wait and see what happens.

Tags 💕

@dluoser @taketheplanspinitsideways @loudenthusiastic @wallywise @mxrcjqckspnchqsc

@i-am-married-to-my-fandom @therosesaredying @stillfuckingtired @classtrialguru @speggle

@awesome-igi @natnuszsstuff @olliesrants @crazyfangirlallert @delirium1995

@brah3280 @meanceclosetohell @anythingeverythingallofthetime @izzysbeans @jesuiscenseedormir

@darkrose6578 @veronae-buddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @loveyouanyway @inell

@spicyrottingbrains @gnoeltop @idealuk @donationwayne @lemotmo

@firefighterevandiaz @realpersonwithrealfeelings @superlock-in-the-tardis @mjthe14thdoctor @strxwbereee

@idontknowwhatimdoing777 @ashleigh2658 @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @mineyneedsmoney @faithhopeandmisery

Let me know if you'd like to be added or removed 💕

#911 fic #911 coda #911 s7 coda #911 s7 #911 spoilers #evan buckley #eddie diaz #bobby nash #christopher diaz #911 fanfic #ficlet #911 ficlet #usermoonsharky

[tenebrous-academic]

I think starting off with bucktommy having so many scenes focusing on them just made us greedy (Understandable, how could you get enough of them?😭). Like I'm mourning tommy's scene with henren. It's already established that chimney is bucktommy warrior but I really wanted to see how things between hen and tommy are. Like damn, there's no way we're finding out huh?

But considering how short the season is I think tim is doing a good job at establishing bt. We've seen tommy in many 118 important moments (the rescue, madney's wedding, the ceremony, even mentioned in Bobby's goodbye 😭, and the hospital). It's safe to say that tommy is like no other love interest. And buck already knows/feels that much. We only need the little nudge that makes him go: "yes, he's is the one for me". Could be in the hospital scene, could be not.

But the desperation is felt and REAL, like it's our last chance to get any substantial bt scenes to live off during the hiatus. It's gonna be wild out there

Anon, we were given a FEAST at the start of this season. The soft conversations, the chin grabs, the promise of something more beginning to blossom???? We had everything we wanted in the start of their relationship. The queer awakening of Buck was given so much attention and screen time (as it should) and, once the storyline focused on other characters (as it also should because this isn’t just the Buck show), we had to make do with small interactions and background scenes. But oh my, what we were given to begin with was almost too good to be true. It was such an authentic start to a relationship. The chemistry, awkwardness, earnestness, and desire was so amazing to witness because it felt so real and lasting. And it’s created such a believable couple that we’re still here, even though we’ve basically had nothing else to go off of since the kiss in the hospital.

It absolutely makes sense that people are saying it doesn’t feel like we’ve been shown enough of an established relationship because we were given so much of the start of the relationship. There seems to be a disconnect now where, if people aren’t shown it, then it just doesn’t exist. I don’t agree with it, but I understand why some fans are upset or are claiming it’s not there.

And, because this fandom is amazing, we’ve thought of all the scenes and interactions we want to see. Just look at A03 for the sheer untapped potential of Tevan content. But we’re not getting them because this show already has so much to showcase. RIP Hen and Tommy discussion scene, RIP Hen and Buck heart-to-heart over Buck’s newly discovered bisexual identity.

I completely agree that Tim is doing his best to give everyone equal screen time. We already know he’s returned from his Lone Star vacation with a determination to bring Buck back to former glory and I think the journey he’s on now is going to be incredible to witness. Tim is laying a foundation for Tevan in a way that isn’t monopolizing the screen (which we know Buddie fans would also complain about if that were happening) and he’s giving us just enough crumbs to keep us fed. The scenes you highlighted are so important and it’s weaving Tommy into the fabric of the 118. You’re so right that it’s unlike any other love interest. Taylor was there but we know she was there for the stories and the exploitation. Tommy is there for Buck.

Depending on what we get next episode for the finale this hiatus is going to be so wild. If we’re lucky, we’ll get some truly sweet moments between Tommy and Buck. If we’re not lucky, Tommy will only be there briefly (or maybe even only mentioned) and we’ll have to rely on fanfics to sustain us with codas and AUs.

Either way, what a way to go.

#I have a post in my drafts that I’m hesitant to post about all the ships I have that have less canon support than Tevan #but more fandom support #but I don’t want to out my ships like that lmaoooo #even though I think it’s insane that this ship is getting razzed on for not showing enough to be valid #when there are insanely popular ships out there where the characters barely interact #for now I’ll just enjoy answering these asks #keep them coming bby #911 abc #911 spoilers #911 speculation #Tevan #bucktommy #kinley #tommy kinard #evan buckley #evan buck buckely

[half-bakedboy]

everything stays unsaid

Buddie | 1.5k | general | 7x4 coda

After Tommy leaves his apartment, all Buck wants to do is talk to Eddie. He wants to apologize for making Eddie collateral damage to his stupid crisis. But he feels like he's broken some unspoken agreement between them or betrayed Eddie by feeling something other for Tommy. It doesn’t make sense because it’s Eddie, but he doesn’t feel like he can trust his gut feelings right now.

read the rest on ao3 or under the cut

After Tommy shuts the door gently behind him, all Buck wants to do is tell someone why he has been such an asshole.

But when Buck thinks about calling Eddie, the person he’s hurt most, he doesn’t know how he would even begin.

Hey, remember how I body-slammed you into the pavement and sprained your ankle? It’s apparently because I wanted Tommy to kiss me and I didn’t know that until he did. So sorry about that. I’ll bring you takeout next time we hang out.

No, of course he can't do that. He has to prepare for this conversation, right? He has to figure out what he’s feeling, put a label on it so it’s wrapped neatly in a bow when he finally tells his friends and his family.

He’s seen movies where nerves are haywire and difficult sit-down conversations lead to teary-eyed pride and general… emotions. He’s supposed to say the term and let a few seconds of silence worry him before the people he loves remind him they love him back, whether he’s into men or not.

“I’m—” he begins to say into his now empty apartment. He’s not sure what to follow it up with.

“Gay?” He tests. He thinks about how Abby’s soft voice made his skin simmer, how chasing Taylor had sent thrills up and down his spine, the instant connection he had with Nathalia. No, he doesn’t think he’s gay.

“Straight?” He tries. The thought of Tommy’s lips on his, the gentle power behind the fingers on his face, the scruff on their chins velcroing together. The heat that catapults straight to his stomach tells him he can never call himself that ever again.

He knows there are other words. Bisexual, pansexual, demisexual… But he doesn’t want to dwell any longer on what he might be, not when who he has been over the last few days has been so awful.

The last thing Tommy asked before he left was for Buck to call Eddie and that’s all Buck wants to do.

But he still isn’t exactly sure what to say.

I’m sorry I put you in the hospital. I’m sorry I’ve been such a possessive asshole. I’m sorry I put you in the middle of whatever my feelings were doing. I’m sorry you became collateral damage when all I’ve ever wanted was to make sure our relationship never changed no matter what.

Luckily—or unluckily, he’s not quite sure—his phone is ringing before he can talk himself out of finally reaching out. His entire body freezes when he sees Eddie’s name flash across his screen, but it relaxes almost instantly when his picture comes into view.

A few months ago, Christopher decided he was too old to be the background of his dad’s contact, especially now that he has his own phone. When Buck left his phone on the dining room table to clean up dishes, Christopher took it upon himself to snap some pictures of Buck and Eddie at the sink. They’re hip to hip, almost like one of them pushed the other in jest, and Eddie’s smiling over his shoulder like he’s caught Christopher in the act.

Usually, seeing the picture sends a warmth through him at the friendship he’s created and cultivated throughout the years. One of domesticity and care that almost no other relationship in his life can match.

Today, the picture ties his stomach in a knot—like he’s broken some unspoken agreement between them or betrayed Eddie by feeling something other for Tommy. It doesn’t make sense because it’s Eddie, but he doesn’t feel like he can trust his gut feelings right now.

He can’t really trust any part of himself, not until he clears the air with Eddie and figures out where the Hell things are going with Tommy.

Caught in his spiraling mind, Buck almost misses the call and answers abruptly with a choked-out, “H-Hey!”

“Hi, Buck.” Eddie’s words exhaled like he wasn’t convinced Buck was going to answer. “I’m sorry to call so late, but Tommy called—” Buck’s heart leaps into his throat before dropping into a pit in his stomach— “and said that he’d been there to see you and that he told you to call but he wasn’t sure if you’d actually do it. He said you guys talked and you seemed worried that he was replacing you in my life?” Buck didn’t have time to breathe, let alone speak before Eddie continues. “You have to know that’s not true, Buck. Tommy could never replace you. You have a permanent place in my life and you always will. Tommy can’t even begin to change that—”

“I kissed someone!” Buck blurts out.

Buck didn’t know what he was going to say to Eddie, but it sure as hell wasn’t that. Eddie is very aware of the fact that Buck has kissed people before.

There are a few moments of silence, and Buck can hear Eddie pull the phone away from his ear like he has to check the caller ID to make sure it’s Buck he’s called.

Eddie clears his throat before he asks, “Am I supposed to be surprised, or…?”

“I—” Buck inhales deeply and lets out a shaky breath. He figures diving headfirst into this is the best way to go. “It was a guy,” Buck says as steadily as he can. He doesn’t say Tommy’s name. He’s new to this whole sexuality thing but he’s pretty sure that outing someone is a big no.

There’s more silence. It’s not unusual, really. Eddie’s never been one to jump to words before thinking them through. That was typically Buck’s job. But that doesn’t make it any easier for Buck to wait it out.

There’s something about the pause that makes Buck’s insides feel like tinder just waiting for a spark to ignite him from the inside out.

“And how do you feel about that?” Eddie asks slowly.

“Surprisingly normal,” Buck answers.

“Congratulations?” Eddie sounds unsure, but honestly, Buck is pretty unsure of most everything himself so he can relate.

“I was going to wait to tell you, figure out what this thing between Tommy and I is but—” Fuck.

“Tommy? My Tommy?”

Buck ignores the way his heart stings at Eddie’s choice of words which makes no sense because all they’d done is kiss. He shouldn’t be so easily soured at the mere thought of someone else having Tommy. Unease settles somewhere between his heart and his stomach like his mind has decided he can’t unpack all his feelings in one night.

“Your Tommy?” Buck tastes the bitterness on his tongue like he’s got a mouthful of Eddie’s too-hoppy beer that refuses to settle in his stomach.

“I just meant—” Eddie cuts himself off as if he knows it’s too late for excuses. “I didn’t think you guys were that close.”

“We ended up real close,” Buck jokes, an attempt at pushing down the awkwardness in the conversation. He swears he hears Eddie inhale sharply like there’s something painful in the words. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t know what to do with this feeling, and all I wanted to do was tell you.”

Buck doesn’t know what he expects. For Eddie to have the answers, for Eddie to know him better than he knows himself like he always does, for Eddie to tell him that he’s always known or that nothing is going to change.

Then Eddie says, “I’m glad you told me.”

The sentence holds more weight in Buck’s heart than it should. It’s everything Buck imagined and, I’m glad you trust me with this part of you and I’m here for whatever you need to do next, just like I always am.

So why does Buck still feel like it says so much more?

“I’m sorry I knocked you down and sprained your ankle because I was having some sort of crisis,” Buck tries again to make Eddie laugh and this time, it works.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to injure me to get my atte—” Eddie trails off, and Buck’s heard this sentence before. He heard it right before Tommy’s lips connected with his.

Whose attention had Buck truly been trying to get?

Why is it so hard for him to answer that question when the answer should be so… obvious?

“Next time, can you knock me over on grass or into some water? It’d be a lot easier for you to forgive yourself if I could walk away if this crisis of yours keeps going.”

Eddie’s joking, and Buck laughs. Eddie’s joking, but there’s something else there. There’s something underneath Eddie’s words that feels like hope. It can’t be hope that Buck hurts him again or hope that Buck continues to plunge deeper into crisis. It’s like an acknowledgment that Buck is going to continue to hurt him, but he’s okay with it as long as Buck cushions the blow this time.

He doesn’t know what it all means, what unspoken conversation they're having that feels half-finished but barely begun. But he does know that if he’s going to figure anything out, it’s going to be later.

For now, he revels in the feeling of Eddie’s forgiveness and the excitement of whatever is to come.

#911 on abc #911 spoilers #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #911 coda fic #7x4 fic #i feel like i never write from bucks pov #this fic started because i feel like im cheating on eddie #when in reality #he'll catch up eventually #and we'll all be happy again #my writing

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

In light of this episode and my inability to resist temptation... what if Eddie found out about Buck's little predicament? Shameless smut, that's what if. Feel free to blame @extasiswings, I know I do.

6x07 coda/alternate scene.

Eddie was sure, at this time of night, he’d be the only one awake. Everyone’s asleep in the bunkroom, or so he thought until he emerges from the bathroom and heads up the stairs to settle an unusually demanding stomach.

The only light is the small lamp by the couch, and he figures someone just forgot to turn it off until he hits the landing and hears the slow, desperate whine and freezes.

Buck is on the couch, or rather, he’s spread out on his stomach on the couch. His hips move restlessly against the cushions, his lip caught between his teeth, his face flushed.

Eddie should move. He should say something. He should do anything other than continue to stand here, frozen, heat sliding down his spine as Buck whispers yeah, yeah, yeah and slides his hand in between his body and the couch, hips moving faster—

And then Buck stiffens and shakes, mouth falling open.

Eddie knows that movement. He’s done it himself, when he’d be alone in bed at night, stroking his cock, and thoughts of Buck would filter in. He’d squeeze the base of his cock viciously, cutting himself off, trying desperately to wean himself away from what felt like a betrayal.

He no longer feels that way. He lets himself think about Buck. He knows it’s all right. Hopes, even, that soon it won’t be a lonely fantasy but a reality.

The question right now, though, is—why the fuck is Buck doing this here, now?

“Y’know,” Eddie comments, “you’re lucky I’m not someone else. I think Chim would blind himself.”

Buck jumps to his feet like the couch is on fire. Oh fuck, his pants are tenting obscenely. Eddie wants to suck him through the fabric. “I—I’m—”

“You don’t have to explain what you’re doing. I’m just confused why you’re doing it here.”

Buck’s face flushes and a small, helpless noise escapes him before he begins to pace. “Because I can’t—I can’t fucking help it. I know, I know it just makes it worse to start and not finish but I can’t make myself stop, either. It’s been four weeks and I tried going today and—”

“You ever heard of putting the cart before the horse?” Eddie holds up a hand. “What do you mean, it’s been four weeks? Four weeks of what?”

“Celibacy,” Buck snaps.

Eddie blinks. “Even with yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Buck, No Nut November started last week. Not four weeks.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” Buck runs a hand through his hair. “It’s—it’s not some challenge or something. I was supposed to have this taken care of a few weeks ago.”

“What, a weird dare with yourself?”

“The donation,” Buck replies.

That brings Eddie up short. He crosses the space, something in Buck’s face open and raw and making him want to comfort, to hold—

Buck turns away and addresses the brick wall. “The, uh, sperm donation. You know Connor? The guy I met in Peru?”

“…yeah.” Eddie remembers Connor, all right. Like he was going to forget the person who fucked Buck so silly he followed him from Peru to Los Angeles.

He doesn’t generally like to think of himself prone to envy, but in those moments, he’d been greener than goddamn Astroturf.

“He—we caught up, and I met his wife, Kameron, and they—they can’t get pregnant. So he asked if I’d be willing to—uh—contribute his part of the equation.”

He can feel his eyebrows climbing. “And you said yes?”

Buck nods.

“And how does this translate to…” He has questions, a lot of them, but first he needs to address the bulge in Buck’s pants before he does something stupid like try to choke himself on it.

Buck turns to finally look at him again, leaning back against the wall. “I had an appointment to go to the clinic, use the cup, the whole thing, and every single time something’s gone wrong and I can’t do it. And I’m—I’m doing everything I can to give them their best chance, y’know?”

“That’s what the juices are for.”

Buck nods.

“And part of this is… refusing to finish?”

“I want to go in with a full tank of swimmers, y’know?”

Eddie almost laughs, but he has a feeling Buck would die instantly of embarrassment. “That’s not how it works, Buck.”

“It—” Buck’s voice cracks a little as he stammers. “It’s not?”

Eddie shakes his head. “That’s just an old wives’ tale. You can finish anytime you want.”

Buck’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Yeah?”

Eddie inhales. It feels like fire. “You could finish right now.”

Buck’s tongue darts out over his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

It’s not the first time Eddie’s looked at Buck like this. It’s not even the first time he’s looked at Buck like this and let Buck see it. It’s been a slow process, relaxing, letting Buck see everything he feels, everything he wants. But now, it’s almost easy—easy to take a long, slow look that drags down Buck’s body, easy to let his teeth scrape over his bottom lip, easy to let his gaze linger between Buck’s legs before sliding it back up again to Buck’s face.

“I could help.” He pauses. “If you wanted.”

He wants to help. He wants so fucking badly his mouth is watering with it.

Buck nods a fraction of an inch, like he’s worried if he’s too enthusiastic that Eddie will change his mind. “Yeah. Yeah I—please.”

He takes a step forward. Buck holds. “Are you sure?”

Buck’s nod is a little more forceful this time. Eddie dares another step. There’s barely an inch between them now and his entire body feels like it’s stuck in a light socket, tingling and immaterial.

He leans in and ghosts his lips across the curve of Buck’s jaw. His fingers brush against the bulge in Buck’s pants and he can practically taste the whimper that Buck lets out. Buck’s entire body shudders, starting in his toes and working its way up.

“Eddie…” It’s barely a whisper. “Pl—”

Eddie’s not sure if this makes him a greedy man or not, but he doesn’t wait for Buck to finish the word. He seals their mouths together, swallowing the rest of it.

Buck’s hands clamp around his shoulders, his fingers digging in tight. He’s practically vibrating. When Eddie finishes fumbling with Buck’s pants and gets his hand around Buck’s cock, Buck whines and bites down hard on Eddie’s lip.

Fuck, he’s thick, and Eddie can feel heat pool in his own cock, making his pants tight. He strokes Buck slowly, his hand instantly becoming slick. “Oh, fuck, sweetheart, you really are desperate.”

Buck gasps and shudders, arching subtly up into Eddie’s hand. Eddie kisses him again, the kind of deep, sucking kiss he’s imagined giving Buck when they wake up in the morning, legs tangled, sheets half off the bed. He didn’t mean for the endearment to slip out, but Buck isn’t objecting. He keeps his strokes nice and slow, from base to tip. “So wet…”

Buck’s head falls back and Eddie happily drags his mouth over the smooth column of his neck. “I… I’m…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Eddie swipes his thumb over the head, loving the way Buck’s hips twitch. “I’ve got you.”

Buck gasps, rising up onto his toes as Eddie speeds up. Eddie can feel Buck’s pulse jumping under his lips, can smell traces of Buck’s coconut shampoo and taste his sweat. It’s making him lightheaded, the fact that this is all real, that this is actually happening.

“Eddie…” Buck’s voice is high pitched and reedy. “I’m… hhnngghh…”

“That’s it.” He speeds up even more, keeping his grip nice and tight the way he likes it. He’s never done this on another guy before but following what he enjoys seems to be working. Although he suspects a stiff breeze would do it for Buck at this point. “You’re so pent up, it’s okay, you can let it all go. I want you to do it, I want you to come for me, come all over my hand.”

His teeth scrape over Buck’s skin. He wonders… “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Buck chokes on a moan, his fingers bruise-tight on Eddie’s arms, and he spills all over Eddie’s knuckles, thick and hot and—

Eddie shivers. “You always come this much?”

Buck whimpers and nods.

Jesus Christ. “I’m going to get you into my bed and I’m not letting you out for a week.”

“That works for me,” Buck pants. “Seeing as my appointment’s not for another week now.”

“Being called a pet name really does it for you, huh?”

Buck’s face goes pink and he looks shy, his shoulders hunching a bit.

“Hey, hey.” Eddie’s sick of people training Buck to think wanting affection is asking for too much. He catches Buck’s chin between his fingers. “I like it.”

His thumb runs over Buck’s lower lip. Buck’s tongue darts out, wetting the pad of it. “Yeah?”

Eddie nods and pulls his hand out of Buck’s pants. Fuck, where are the tissues…

Buck grabs his wrist and pulls Eddie’s fingers into his mouth, sucking them clean.

Eddie’s cock practically sits up and begs like a dog. Buck looks at him through his lashes, purposefully coy.

Eddie has to swallow a few times before he can get any words out, as Buck’s tongue moves down to get his palm. “Yeah, sweetheart, get me nice and clean.”

Buck shivers. “I want…”

He reaches down between them and cups Eddie through his pants. He massages a little, and oh fuck that’s tempting.

“Not yet.” Buck’s not the only one who can wait. “I think I can stick it out until after the shift.”

“But you don’t have to stick it out…”

Buck’s mouth on his is very persuasive, but. “It’s worth it, if it means you fuck me later.”

“Fuck.” Buck’s head drops to Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah I can—I can do that. We can—we can go to my place—”

“I was thinking mine.”

“Chris…”

“Will be at school. And besides.” Eddie coaxes Buck’s face up. “I’m the one with the couch.”

He doesn’t see Buck’s smile, since his eyes are closed, but that’s fine. He can feel it against his mouth as they kiss.

#mads writes stuff #buddie fanfic #buddie #911 fox #911 fanfic #what can I say #I can resist everything except temptation

[shehungthemoon]

My bucktommy coda that I sat on for days before crumbling over my love for them (read on ao3)

buck makes a phone call 🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

It’s been a good couple minutes and Buck still hasn't found the strength to push himself away from the counter.

It's a good counter, he thinks, supporting all his weight like it is. He’s a heavy guy, it can't be easy. In the far reaches of his mind, he’s aware that that's really a very weird thing to be thinking about his kitchen countertop. But his brain feels like it's being tossed around in a whirlpool at the moment, so he's decided to give himself a pass.

He can't bring himself to move yet he’s still antsy—antsy to sprint out the door and run after Tommy as fast as he can, to call him even though he hasn't been gone five minutes just so he can hear that ridiculous low voice again, to turn back a clock and kiss him just one more time before he walks out of Buck’s home.

His thoughts are spinning like he’s six shots deep, fuzzy like they’d been sweetly wrapped in a wool blanket, wired like the electric hum of a neon sign, everything and nothing all at once.

His hand shakes just slightly as he lifts his fingers to his lips, itching for some kind of physical feeling to ground him. He presses down, into the slight swelling of them, relishes in the tingling and the warmth that spreads. He feels like a teenage girl, giddy after her first chaste kiss at her doorstep. Buck presses harder and smiles. He really can't bring himself to care.

He pushes off the counter in a sudden rush of adrenaline, grabbing the sweating, abandoned beer bottle off the counter as he goes. He doesn't want it anymore, didn't really ever, but his hands need something to mess with or else he might start pulling at his hairline, which is a habit he'd worked very hard to break.

So he plays with the label and half focuses on the stickiness of the paper that rolls up in between his fingers and half focuses on preserving the memory of Tommy’s strong fingers pulling impatient, commanding, oh-so-wanting on his chin.

He paces his apartment, bottom floor and top. Stares at Hen’s contact on his cellphone, finger hovering over the screen. Bites his lips when the blood starts leaving them as if it could preserve the kiss. Breathes in the cologne he tricks himself into thinking he can still smell in the air. The cologne.

Buck eventually comes to the conclusion that for the moment he's happy—genuinely, unreservedly, proudly happy—and with a heavy sigh that feels like dropping a firehose off his shoulders he heads up to the loft to get ready for bed. He leaves his phone charging downstairs.

Buck falls asleep with his body flushed pleasantly warm under the blankets and his mind not quite settled but not quite not, a phantom throbbing across his lips. He doesn't dream that night, for the first time in a while.

---

He wakes up alongside the sun the next day with his internal clock. It doesn't take more than a few moments for the memories of the night before to come flooding back. He pulls off his sheets and begins going through the motions of his morning, and catches a small smile on his face in the mirror when he goes to brush his teeth.

Huh. So that's what he's feeling. He didn't know if it would last.

He lets the smile grow as he bounds down his steps and starts on breakfast. He finds himself pausing every few minutes, rushes of emotions washing and breaking over him again and again, coming like waves and leaving his heart racing.

“Well,” he says to himself, into the empty sun-strewn air of his apartment. “This is new.”

He decides to go out for a run, and thinks about calling three people.

He needs Hen. He doesn't need Hen? He wants Hen’s advice. Her support. As he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, shaking off his stretches outside of his building he realizes that maybe this time, this once… maybe he’s got it. Maybe this is something he’d actually look forward to tackling alone. Like an adventure.

Buck starts off running down the sidewalk.

Eddie deserves his apology, more than anything. It's not his own voice in his head joking about the dwindling pain killer windows of opportunity. He thinks about what to say, how he’d explain it, how he'd confess it. The worst thing he’s felt so far comes crawling up his throat, scratching and tightening. Panic, and he hates it, hates that it makes his brain race toward nebulous thoughts and fragments of feelings that scream danger and loss and guilt.

Buck does not want to call Eddie right now, just as much as he wants to, needs to. Both things make his legs falter and feet stutter on the concrete, so he turns left into the neighboring park to distract him and give him something softer to trip onto.

This… this, with Tommy, wasn't the same. Wasn't the same as his previous relationships. Obvious reasons aside, of course. Tommy took those steady steps across his kitchen floor. Tommy pulled him in. Tommy asked if the kiss was okay and told him with no room for argument that he was going to pick Buck up for a date.

Maybe he was supposed to feel demeaned or insecure or a million other things that should make him want to back far away from the unfamiliarity, but he couldn't find it in himself to. Instead it just felt… nice. Felt like someone wanted him, really wanted him, in the way he always wants other people.

He’d almost feel like he didn't deserve it, if it weren't for the way he remembers Tommy’s voice shaking just slightly when he asked Buck if it was really his attention that Buck had been after.

Buck can remember everything about it. The way his heart had leap with startling joy in his chest when he saw who was on the other side of his door, not who he was expecting but entirely and completely who he didn't know he wanted.

He remembers the way Tommy had ribbed him about Eddie being able to have multiple friends, and how it didn't feel mean-spirited or judgemental at all, somehow.

He remembers how he’d felt something shift, silly teasing turning to warm tension thrumming in the air around them when they talked about Muay Thai and flying lessons. Something different in Tommy’s voice. In the way his gaze had dropped to Buck’s lips for just a second, maybe something he imagined.

The way Tommy had looked into his eyes and had a wordless conversation with him so fluidly, understanding and wanting just as much as him, asking Buck if it was ok before he ever said the words out loud. The way his eyes softened and his lips pressed together when he realized that Buck was only ever going to say yes.

The way he’d kissed him, chaste and promising and heavy, meaning more than any kiss in his life had ever meant, and yeah, that had really, really been okay.

The way Tommy had hid his excitement from his voice but not his eyes when he’d said “8 o’clock—”

And wait. Shit. 8 o’clock. Saturday. Shit.

Well, here’s his excuse.

He slows down to a less strenuous pace and reaches for his phone, fumbling a bit with it as he tries to slide it out of the tight shorts pocket.

He doesn't give himself time to overthink before he presses dial.

The third ring was barely beginning before the person on the other end picked up with a cut-off hello.

“Hey, hi,” Buck says with a nervous laugh into the mic. “It's me Buck.”

“I know,” comes Tommy’s voice, amused. When Buck hears it it's like his legs turn to jelly, has to stop where he stands on the sidewalk or risk taking a tumble. He clears his throat and tries to catch his breath without sounding too loud.

“I, uh, promise that this isn't me freaking out, or being insanely clingy, or anything like that, I just. Kinda got, distracted, last night and totally forgot that I already promised to babysit my niece Saturday evening? I don't wa—need to cancel, just maybe, um, does 8:30 work instead? If that's no trouble?

There's a beat of silence over the phone in which Buck guesses Tommy's taking it all in. He tends to babble when he's nervous, unfortunately. He can only hope that Tommy finds that charming.

There's an exhale from the other end and a short, humming laugh. “I was really worried you were going to back out. 8:30 is no trouble at all.”

Buck can't help the relieved grin that spreads over his face.

“Ok, perfect, great, uh. Thank you,” he barely gets any of it out coherently through his grinning and his pounding heart. He doesn't know why he still feels so wired.

“Hey, Evan, for the record?”

Something settles low in his stomach when he hears his name. He hasn't named the feeling yet, but he doesn't hate it. “Uh, yeah?”

“That stuff you said before, about freak-outs and clinginess?” Buck presses his fingernails into his palm and rolls his shoulders tightly, the giddiness tilting toward that awful panic. He hums shortly in acknowledgement. But then Tommy says: “You can do all those things with me, if you want. Or need. Any time.”

Buck wishes there was a bench nearby. Something to brace himself on, because those weak knees come rushing back and he’s never felt like this, ever. He doesn't know what to say—what does he say? If Buck didn't know Tommy, he’d half think he was lying. But does Buck actually know Tommy? Better question, why does Buck feel like he knows Tommy so stupidly well already?

Buck believes him. That's the thing. He believed him completely and entirely. Worst of all, Buck trusts him.

He doesn't know what to say that wouldn't scare any normal person away.

Tommy isn't looking for him to say anything, it seems.

“I really want to kiss you again,” is what Tommy finally says into the quiet, murmured and breathily genuine. It carves into Buck's heart and twists his stomach, so beyond butterflies at this point it's ridiculous.

“Yeah,” Buck sucks in a breath. “Me too.” He hates that his voice is shaky when he says it, so far from suave and too close to vulnerable. And then Tommy laughs bright and fond and real and Buck feels free even when the line goes dead and all he's left with is the sound of Tommy's laugh ringing in his ear and the promise of 8:30, Saturday.

Tommy beat him to the punch with his last words. The same thing had been in the back of his throat waiting to be whispered out since the night before.

Nobody's ever said them first before. Not like that.

He stows his phone and picks back up his jog. He’s not… worried, like he'd thought he'd be. Not in the ways that swarmed his mind last night, not in the ways that he'd ignored when they appeared fleeting over the years.

Buck remembers stubble against his cheek and calloused fingers along his jaw, new sensations so foreign, so searingly new. Buck likes new, he thinks. Especially now that he’s realizing that doesn't mean you erase the slate and start over. Sometimes, maybe new is building and altering and learning and becoming who you want to be with all the pieces of who you used to be building you up. Maybe it's figuring out that all the things you want to be were already within you after all.

He lets the worry and panic fade, drained out of him. Instead he feels calm like low tides, gentle surety and excitement for the future flowing through easy breaths.

He'll talk to Hen after the date, after he's gone in on his own, probably fumbling and nervous and all-too-excited. For some reason he feels like all that might be ok, this time.

Eddie… he'll talk to Eddie at work. He'll apologize in person. They both deserve that much. He’ll face the panic and the fear and the overwhelming love with as much strength as he can. It's what Eddie is owed, and it's what he owes to himself.

And Tommy, he'll see Tommy soon. He'll find his nice shirt from the back of his closet, he’ll plan to argue over the bill before letting him take it, and he’ll keep Tommy's laugh in his head until he hears it again in person.

And he'll kiss Tommy first.

Buck smiles. He thinks he's gonna like new.

#911 #911 abc #bucktommy #fic #tommy kinard #tevan #tuck #bucktommy fic #ao3 #coda

[hippolotamus]

Apparently I had one more in me. So, I present Part 3 (Buck's POV) of the cleopatra series (my 911 7x06 codas). This takes place just before Part 1.

my flesh it was my currency | 7x06 coda | 1k | E Part 1, Part 2

“Ohgodohgodohgodohfuck!” Buck babbles, clawing at the bed sheets, panting and gasping, his words slurring and blending even further into a single high-pitched incoherent whine. He’s on that desperate edge, so close to tipping over, all he needs is a little push. 

“Christ, Evan.” Tommy adjusts, reaching forward to stroke Buck’s cock in time with each thrust. 

After a grueling shift of fighting wildfires, Buck doesn’t even know how Tommy is still standing let alone fucking him into the mattress like it’s his job. It takes three pumps at most before Buck’s vision whites out and he’s clenching around Tommy, starlight and fire and lightning coursing through his veins. 

The next thing he knows he’s being gingerly rolled on his side. He doesn’t know which direction he’s facing, is barely conscious enough to open his eyelids more than a fraction of an inch. He clumsily paws in front of him until he’s wrapped around his partner’s torso, one leg slung over Tommy’s thigh. 

They haven’t actually defined what they are and Buck finds himself too nervous to ask after blurting out the invitation to Maddie’s wedding. (Thankfully one of the less embarrassing phrases to impulsively leave his mouth.) Regardless, he and Tommy are still getting to know each other, and the idea of coming off as too much, of losing this (again) before it really begins, is terrifying on a different level than he’s experienced in the past. 

He nuzzles into sweat slick skin, simultaneously fighting the urge to back away because too many people have labeled him clingy after sex. Not that Tommy’s made him feel that way. Far from it. He hasn’t given Buck the impression that clinging like an affectionate octopus is anything other than normal and appreciated. In fact, he regularly seems to pull Buck closer, inviting him into sharing personal space. But old habits tend to die hard.

“This okay?” Buck murmurs.

“Mmm? Is what okay?” 

“Um, cuddling.” Buck feels his cheeks heat, flustered that his insecurities make him want to check in.

The length of Tommy’s body seems to stiffen against Buck and – oh no – he can’t have messed up that badly. 

“Evan.” Tommy lightly sweeps his thumb over Buck’s birthmark before tilting his chin, coaxing him to look up. “Look at me.”

Buck complies easily, following the soothing command, meeting bright blue eyes that he’s sure he could stare into for hours. 

“Of course it’s okay. I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clearer before.” 

“No, it’s not you. It’s not that. It’s- this is probably gonna sound really dumb.” Tommy arches one eyebrow, as if challenging Buck to say anything worse than he did on their first date. It’s enough to ease the tension and make Buck smile. “In the past, people have made it seem more like an imposition or obligation. Like once the actual, y’know, sex part was done that the touching was, too. Sometimes – a lot of the time – I felt like that’s all anyone really wanted. Like they didn’t actually want…. me. Just something I could do for them. Like I said, it’s- it’s dumb.”

“It’s not, though.” Tommy counters, beginning to trace random patterns on Buck’s back, using just enough pressure so it isn’t ticklish. “Even though it very much can be, sex shouldn’t be transactional. Unless there’s money changing hands. Well, not really even then- the point is that it shouldn’t feel that way. It’s perfectly normal to want intimacy and closeness. I mean, I certainly do.”

“Yeah?”

Tommy gives him a lopsided smile that never fails to make him feel like a swarm of butterflies have come to life in his belly. “Hopefully I have made it clear that I don’t do casual. I may be a bit older, and not racking up phone numbers or dates quite like I used to, but I promise you wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you to be.” He joins their hands, interlacing their fingers and seems to search Buck’s face. Similar to the charged, nervous, hope filled moments after their first kiss. Just like then, Buck wants Tommy to find what he’s looking for. “Can you trust that, Evan?” 

The ‘can you trust me?’ goes unspoken, but Buck hears it anyway.

“Yeah,” Buck whispers. “I can. I can do that.”

“Good.” Tommy’s grin widens, and he scrunches his nose adorably as he leans forward to capture Buck’s mouth in a kiss. It’s slow and languid, but still has his heart fluttering and skipping a few beats. 

They wind themselves further together as they continue kissing, creating a cocoon that makes him feel safe and comfortable. Maybe even a little bit wrapped in something that’s far too early to name. Whatever it is, Buck likes it. Likes the way he feels emboldened to take more, attempting to press their bodies even closer despite the clear disagreement from the laws of physics. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Tommy says, smirking when Buck chases his lips. “It’s been a long-” He pauses, glancing towards the golden gray light creeping into the room. “Night, apparently.”

“Oh, shit. Didn’t realize it was so late. Early?” Buck giggles, suddenly recognizing how physically and mentally exhausting the last forty-eight hours have been. “Seriously, how are you even awake right now?”

“Well, rumor has it I’m a beast.” 

Buck ducks his head, blushing as a thrilling jolt runs up his spine at the memory. 

“Don’t get any ideas,” Tommy warns, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. “Sleep.” 

“Sleep,” Buck agrees. He studies Tommy’s features for a moment longer, wanting to capture one last glance before he gives in. He wonders if the kaleidoscope of joy, awe, excitement and optimism that’s been building, painting every moment since an apology and incorrect coffee order, transfers to his skin with the same intensity. If Tommy can see the effect he has on Buck with this new facet of himself that’s been opened up. He hopes so. 

“Not late. Right on time,” he sighs, turning in Tommy’s arms, situating himself as the little spoon and finally submitting to an easy, peaceful slumber.

#911 spoilers #hippo writes #911 7x06 #coda fic #bucktommy #tevan #bucktommy ficlet #tommy kinard #evan buckley #the cleopatra series #i swear i'm done now

[wildlife4life]

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the super lovely @prosperdemeter2 @gayedmundodiaz @lemonzestywrites @rainbow-nerdss @devirnis @cal-daisies-and-briars @buddierights @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @dangerpronebuddie @daffi-990 @tizniz @try-set-me-on-fire and @rogerzsteven Thank so much! Go check out all their snippets and works!

Well would ya'll look at that... I'm actually participating in a tag day with an actual wip and not a coda. Whoa. And even better... Its an NFL Buck snippet! WOOOOO! Want to see more NFL Buck? Please check it all out here!

"So." Karen begins, pulling Hen's attention from the book she's been trying to read for the past week. She quirks an eyebrow at her wife, "So?" "So my boss's son's, partner broke their leg Tuesday after tripping over their 15 year old terrier." Karen explains and Hen can't help but look back towards where Paisley is lounging on the arm chair (Hen's favorite seat that she has lost to that sassy fur ball) with worry. Her wife chuckles reading Hen's internal concern, "Babe, Paisley is as pure bred as they come. We'll be lucky if she makes it to 10." "That pure bred survived an earthquake and a collapsed building. I wouldn't put it past her to make it way past 10 out of spite alone.” Hen remarks, turning back to Karen. Karen rolls her eyes, but gets back on topic, "Anyway. Harris, that's the partner, got their hands on some passes to that super exclusive gay club, The Green Carnation for this Friday." "You mean the place that runs a background check rivaling the FBI, makes every patron sign NDA's, and will blacklist a person from every gay bar from here to Vegas if they break said NDA? The place that is rumored to host not only out celebrities, but also the deeply closeted, tilt the world on it's axis if they ever came out, big names? That gay club?" Hen questions, her excitement starting to rise. Her very sexy and somehow very connected wife smirks, "The very one. And poor Harris just can't fathom trying to hop around on one leg and not drink thanks to their newly acquired pain meds. So they had their partner-" "Your boss's son." Hen remembers, leaning towards Karen, who instinctually gets closer as well. "Karson, with a K, starts to asks around his dads work because you know, we're literal rocket scientist working on very classified information." "Who better to invite to a secret club than those who work on secret projects." "Exactly." Karen's smirk becomes wicked (and very sinful), "And wouldn't you know, the only non-straight and married person around is yours truly." Hen honest to go squeals, loud and bubbling with elation, "You got us passes to The Green Carnation?!" "With a pre-paid drink package. All we have to do is agree to the background check and sign the NDA." Karen replies with a broad grin. Hen can no longer hold herself back and practically tackles her wife with a teeth clattering kiss. Karen, as always, catches her and kisses back 110%. ("So, my 48 off falls on the weekend." Eddie states and he takes notice of Buck's sly grin forming, his boyfriend most likely on the same train of thought, "And since it's still your bye week..." "You want to dance the night away with other secret gays." Evan finishes. Eddie smirks, "And get a private room blow job." The quarterback's smile is almost feral like, "I'll make the reservation." And Eddie watches Buck tap on the contact Florists with the green clover next to it. The phone rings twice before a deep voice comes through the speaker, "State your member id." "Buckley, 201-09-18." "Diaz, 201-09-19." A quick moment of silence, then, "What can The Green Carnation do for you today Mr. Buckley and Mr. Diaz?")

Hmm... Is a certain run in going to happen???? We'll see!!! Hope you all enjoyed!

Tagging (no pressure): @hippolotamus @theotherbuckley @watchyourbuck @perfectlysunny02 @aroeddiediaz @loserdiaz @diazsdimples @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @evanbegins @buck-coded @glorious-spoon @thekristen999 @spotsandsocks @sunshinediaz @lover-of-mine @hoodie-buck @elvensorceress @gayedmundodiaz @giddyupbuck @goforkinard @bekkachaos @thewolvesof1998 @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @eddiiediaz @honestlydarkprincess @doublecheekeddiaz @transboybuckley @nmcggg @monsterrae1 @missmagooglie @thebloomingheather @bigfootsmom

#seven sentence sunday #tag game #my wip #911 abc #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hen wilson #karen wilson #henren #quarterback buck #firefighter eddie #nfl #secret relationship #secret club #gay club #green carnation symbol

[ghosthunterbuck]

nothing's the same except everything

(buddie) (1.1k words) (6x15 coda) this started as a 6x15 coda and ended as spec for the rest of the season so ?? pls enjoy whatever it is i just did

On average, adults spend two hours per night dreaming. 

Ever since his coma, Buck’s wondered if that statistic is skewed. Were coma dreams counted? If they weren’t, should they have been? And even if the statistic is right, does it take into account the way he is now?

Because he’s different. Buck knows he’s different. Eddie knows too, apparently, but it’s not just the him that interacts with the world every day that’s changed, it’s the him that lives in his dreams, too. 

His dreams, jagged and sharp where they used to be soft and hazy. Buck’s different, and god, he needs to understand why. 

Natalia helps, in a strange, roundabout sort of way. Not because she understands him, no, though he’s embarrassed to admit it took him four entire dates to figure that one out. 

(And honestly, in what world was someone he just met going to get him like that?)

Anyway, it’s not what she sees in him that helps, not really, it’s what she asks when, at the end of their fourth ‘date’, Buck tells her he doesn’t want to see her again. 

“What is it you’re still trying to figure out?” She tilts her head to the side in that enigmatic way of hers, and though she doesn’t explain herself further, Buck knows what she means. 

You’ve seen what happens at the end, what else is there to know?

“What happens now,” he replies. 

No weight falls from his shoulders when he ends things with Natalia, not like it did with Taylor. He thinks maybe it’s because, for once in his life, he let things run their course. Chose not to cling to a sinking ship. 

It doesn’t really solve anything, anyway. 

He says as much to Eddie one night, clutching the neck of a bottle tight between his fingers. 

“So what now?” Eddie asks, leaving him all the room in the world to deflect. He finds he doesn’t really want to. 

“I think,” Buck says, frowning, picking at the condensation-covered yellow label of his beer, “I think I’m going to start therapy again.”

A line of tension seems to release from Eddie’s shoulders and he nods. “That’s good, Buck,” he says, “I’m glad.”

There’s something else he wants to say, needs to maybe, but the words don’t come. It’s a feeling, and for the moment it’s vague. He’s got time, though. Enough time to find the words. 

Buck wakes with a start. It’s hard to say, these days, whether he’s had a dream or a nightmare. The scenes are always disjointed, riddled with faces he doesn’t recognize wearing expressions he wishes he could forget. 

Have you figured it out yet? They ask him. 

How much longer do you think it can wait?

“You know,” Eddie says as they survey the remains of a burnt out house, waiting for the okay to begin overhaul, “it’s okay if you don’t have all the answers.”

Buck turns to him, cocks his head to the side in a silent question. 

Eddie shakes his head. “I just mean– you can ask. Whatever questions you’ve been sitting on. Maybe Bobby’ll know, or Hen. Or– maybe I will.”

Buck swallows harshly. “I’m not sure I even know where to start,” he says. 

“That’s okay too,” Eddie replies. 

That night, he dreams of water. He claws at it, desperate to pull his way to the surface. The scene fractures, and he’s dangling from the top of the ladder truck. It groans loudly and begins to tip, slow at first, then fast, until the ground is hurtling towards him and–

Buck!

He wakes with a gasp and reaches for his phone with trembling fingers. 

He dials and waits. Waits until–

“Buck?” Eddie’s voice is sleep-rough and worried, but Buck can’t bring himself to be sorry for calling. 

“What happened?” he asks, so quiet he can’t be sure Eddie hears him. 

For a moment, only the sound of breathing reaches his ear. 

Then, Eddie tells him. 

It’s strange, in hindsight, that Buck never thought to ask whose hands he came back to life beneath. Stranger still, the way his heart seems to react to the news. 

Every time he sees Eddie, it gives a little jump, a small acknowledgement of the man that saved it. 

Nothing’s the same but everything is, and the only constant in the universe is change but statistically, things always regress to the mean. 

On average, adults dream two hours per night, and now, Buck only ever seems to dream of Eddie. 

“What do you think dreams mean?” Buck asks Hen one morning, apropos of nothing. 

“Why?” she asks, “Have a weird one last night?”

Buck shrugs. “Something like that.”

Hen pauses for a moment, takes a moment to look at him, really look. “I’m not sure they mean anything,” she says finally. “But how you feel in the morning… that’s got to be worth something.”

“Do you think I’m looking for the right things?” Buck asks Maddie.

 

“How do you know when you’ve found what you’re looking for?” He asks Chim. 

“Are we clear to head out?” he asks Bobby. 

The roads are always bad after an earthquake, but Buck navigates them carefully, driving slowly around old potholes and new cracks in the asphalt. None of the traffic lights are working, so Buck takes a circuitous route to the loft, making only right turns where he’d usually go left. What’s usually a twenty minute drive takes over an hour tonight, but they make it without incident, and that’s all Buck really cares about. 

“I’ve got him,” he whispers to Eddie, nodding towards Christopher, who’s half-asleep in the back of the Jeep. 

Eddie smiles tiredly at him and shoulders his bag. 

As they wait for the elevator, another question occurs to Buck. “How did you know?”

Know what? Eddie should probably ask. Because Buck hasn’t really asked a question. He could be asking about anything. Could be asking–

How did you know I needed the jaws earlier?

How did you know what I wanted for dinner last night?

How did you know you could trust me with Chris?

How did you know I wasn’t the same?

How did you know I needed permission to ask?

Could be asking any of it. But he’s actually asking all of it. 

Eddie smiles at him, tired but warm, wearing that soft expression he only ever seems to direct at him or Christopher. “Because I know you,” he says simply. 

Buck’s eyes snap to Eddie’s, because suddenly, he gets it. I know you, Eddie says, and he’s right. Eddie knows him, and he knows Eddie. 

All those weeks ago, he’d wondered aloud: what happens now? And this– this is the answer. Him. Eddie. 

“Oh,” he says softly, a little awestruck. 

Impossibly, Eddie’s expression softens further. 

For once in his life, Buck knows exactly what happens next. 

The ground shakes beneath their feet. Eddie’s eyes widen and he reaches for Buck, even as the shifting concrete has him stumbling back. The building around them groans and screeches, and Buck pulls Christopher tight against his chest. 

Fear twists its way into Eddie’s expression. It’s the last thing Buck sees before the world crumbles around them.

#911 spoilers #911 #911fic #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #uhhhhhhh idk what happened here but sorry!! #abbie writes #fic #userceecee