Harry being a firefighter is really cool but he’s still a teenage boy and sometimes when he’s at work and is supposed to be sleeping he gets his laptop out of his locker and logs onto the old minecraft server he started when he was 11 and Chris and Denny were 8 and plays on it and only gets caught when Chris texts his dad asking why harrys playing minecraft on shift
hurting myself and keeping myself alive by thinking about platonically married buddie rommates raising their two kids together. camped out at the dining table discussing the meal plan for the week. them trying to figure out who’s going to drive theo to soccer practice on wednesday and who’s picking chris up from his robotics workshop on thursday. very seriously wondering if they should adopt a cat or a dog in-between sips of lukewarm coffee. eddie’s hand high up on buck’s thigh and buck playing with eddie’s fingers instead of filling out their whiteboard weekly planner. just platonic stuff like that
Eddie Diaz immediately sending his sweet angelic perfect baby child to therapy when christopher is struggling and then turning to fucking street fighting when he’s the one struggling is the epitome of eddie’s character
been off and on with writing lately but got inspired for some smut and have a backlog of writing game tags I’ve wanted to fulfill so here’s some buck, somewhere between s3 and 4, going through a bit of a crisis. thanks for the tags @344j3 @zinnydark @fastcardotmp3 @sintari !
Merriam-Webster herself couldn't begin to dream of supplying the right adjective from her vast online database of synonyms. No earthly tongue spoken by mere mortals could put it into words, because even looking at it, it doesn't make sense. The way it dips in, angles up, then curves out and around? It’s ridiculous! It bends spacetime. And as hard as Buck tries not to look, its gravitational pull always drags his eyes toward it, and if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t stay diligent, his hands will find their way there, too.
Eddie's ass. It is singular. Incomparable. Perfect.
And it's ruining Buck's life.
No pressure tags @exhausteddiaz @buddieloustat and @sinnabonka but if you're reading this and have something you wanna share, consider this your tag n tag me back so I can read what you got 💖
listen, sooooooo i've not been doing much writing this week because work has gone kind of nuts. i'm pretty much getting home and shutting off my brain until i have to go back to work again bUT i've been tagged by a bunch of people this week so even though i don't have any writing juice to write anything for any of my thousand WIPs i did a lil free write exercise then tidied it up into a little something something
tagged by @diazboys @eddiesstabwound @circledwithaheart @sunflowerbuckleys over the last week, consider this a tag back 😉
Buck was hogging the firehouse couch.
It was cheeky really, they didn’t have much comfortable relaxing space in the firehouse loft, just the three recliners and the sofa, so usually he wouldn’t monopolise it like this, but right now everyone else was either holed up in the bunk room or busy showering so he was trying not to think about it too hard. He’d move if anyone came up.
The last call had been long and tiring and difficult in all the wrong ways, and now Buck’s mind was running too fast to sleep. If he went into the bunkroom he would inevitably annoy Hen into banishing him away again anyway, so he was doing the rest of the team a kindness and letting his brain wind down before bedding down for the night.
He was typing his disordered thoughts out into his Notes in an effort to calm down when a familiar hand batted his arm out of the way, long fingers and calluses on every edge, followed by the heavy weight of a body laying down on top of him and curling into him.
“Uh, Eddie?”
Eddie huffed, eyes closed already. “You didn’t come to bed,” was murmured into his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Buck heart clenched. He’d carried a little girl no older than six out of the apartment building. She’d succumbed to smoke inhalation before the ambulance could set off. They couldn't bring her back.
“No, I– I know,” Buck replied. “I just– I’m not ready to sleep yet. Need to think it through, I guess.”
Eddie hummed, and the vibration warmed Buck’s chest. He shuffled slightly so that Eddie was cradled on top of him.
“Okay. You can carry on, I’ll just… be here a minute,” Eddie said as he slid his leg between Buck’s for stability and buried his face into Buck’s neck. Barely ten seconds later his breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep.
Buck gently hooked his arms around Eddie’s sleeping body and carried on typing, warm and a hell of a lot more settled than he had been before Eddie arrived.
An hour later, Henrietta Wilson shook awake from a nightmare, desperate for company and a glass of water. Heading through the common area, she was greeted with the sight of Buck snoring lightly into Eddie’s hair, cuddled into each other, dead asleep, and completely and entirely hogging the couch.
She grabbed a drink and padded quietly up to the roof space, settling in on the deck chair next to Chim. He clinked his glass on hers. She looked up at the star-less Los Angeles sky, considering.
“D’you think they know?”
Chim scoffed, “No. I think one of them might actually have to die for them to figure it out.”
“You would think that.”
Chimney laughed, “Hey,” he shrugged, cheery grin across his face, “It worked with you and Karen.”
“Eddie,” Buck says, voice echoing out from the bathroom. Eddie blinks against the light, brain a second too slow to pick up on the tone of Buck saying his name, but body aware enough of the lack of omega in his bed to get grumbly about it.
He shoves himself out of the tangle of sheets and pads over to the bathroom, blinking away the crust of sleep.
Buck meets his eyes in the mirror. Watches as Eddie steps up behind him, drapes his arms over his waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. They make a pretty picture in Eddie’s bathroom mirror, and Eddie looks hungrily. Buck’s pale skin and bright eyes, his messy curls, the bruises and bite marks scattered down his neck and chest.
“You’re an animal,” Buck says. It’s the same tone as before, Eddie recognizes. He’s trying to sound annoyed, but there’s a pleased little him to it that ruins the effect. Eddie sweeps his eyes over Buck’s body again. Hums appreciatively. He pushes Buck’s boxers down with his thumb and finds another mark over Buck’s hipbone, and he has to press a grin into Buck’s shoulder when he groans at the feeling of it.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right,” Buck huffs. “We’re going to have to get a collar. Or a muzzle.”
thinking about buddie stick&poke tattoo again. they're deciding on the design and because neither of them can draw they're throwing out suggestions and buck says that if eddie didn't already have it christopher's birthday would've been a good choice and eddie pauses for a moment then goes 'huh. that's not a bad idea.' and buck squints at him and says 'i thought you already had chris' birthday tattooed?' and eddie's like 'no not that,' and scribbles down another date. and buck looks at it and it looks familiar and his heart skips because it can't actually BE that, right?? and he forces a light voice as he says 'what's this?' and eddie gives him an incredulous look and says 'are you saying you don't remember the day we met, buck?' and buck tries very hard not to pass out.
they could’ve had way more fun with the eddie uber driver thing post return to la if everything else didn’t happen. the whole team are on a night out and when it’s time to leave buck is like i think i’ll just book an uber home and gets his phone out smiling to himself. two minutes later eddie’s phone goes off and it’s a venmo notification from buck for $5 and a note with his address on and an obnoxious smiley face :))))). eddie’s just like get in the damn car. he drives buck to bedford street though. obviously.
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