This wasn't my planned writing drop for the day? I'll probably still drop the other piece but I was going through Missing Tommy Hours and also Give Buck a Hug Hours, and this tiny little thing was born. 🤷♀️🤷♀️ Titling these the Buck Gets a Hug Collection if I ever make more.
Enjoy ❤️
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He waits in the truck for the rest of A shift to leave. It doesn't take long, and if anyone sees him fall behind he gets no call or message about it. C shift buzzes around the station, pulling out the engine for a quick scrub down in the hour they're offline between the shift change.
The sight of a familiar truck pulling in across the lot thaws the biting chill that had settled in his chest during his shift. Not for the first time, Buck almost chokes on the ball of emotion that comes with the implications that chill carries, how quickly this home had become just another house. Maybe he could ask Carerrah if she'd let him join C shift; he'd meshed well with the crew the few times he's subbed in, maybe he could get them to throw in a good word.
The truck eases into the open space next to his quietly — an impressive feat given Buck knows the amount of work and time that had gone into supercharging the engine — before the motor cuts off with little more than a purr.
"Sorry I missed the dedication," Tommy offers when they meet in front of his truck, cardboard drink tray set against the hood. "Search and Rescue took longer than we thought."
The apology dances through the syrupy warmth spreading through Buck's chest, drawing himself closer with a quick shake of his head. "It's fine, I knew you'd come when you could."
"Of course," Tommy's arms are barely open before Buck's bullying himself into the space, his own arms wrapping tight around broad shoulders. He settles into the still damp skin between Tommy's neck and shoulder, letting the familiar scent of soap and sweat leech the remaining tension from his shoulders. Tommy squeezes tighter, and Buck fights not to go boneless. "You okay?"
"Long shift," He makes no move to pull away, greedy for the contact, grateful that Tommy seems content to just hold him together for a bit. "Lot of… it's just been a lot."
Tommy plopping down next to Harry as he's taking a breather, handing over a water bottle as Evan's busy with his clipboard or something. They sit in momentary silence, only broken by the crinkle of thin plastic. They both wince as Evan brings the whistle up to his mouth again, at the shrill note that slices through the air.
"I'll distract him, go for the whistle," Tommy mutters into the mouth of his bottle. Harry has to double take because that not only sounds like a horrible idea, but he has to be sure he heard Tommy right.
"What? Dude, no--"
"If you're quick you can grab the board too," Tommy hedges, standing up and brushing his wet palms against his jeans.
"That's..." A bad idea, right? It certainly seems like a bad idea, but Harry's losing the battle on why. Maybe he'd get points for teamwork or something for working with Tommy. "Just... I don't really need to see everything, you know?"
"Thirty seconds," Tommy promises, already making his way toward where Evan is. Harry plans his attack.
....there was some magic in PQ's post or something because one minute I'm reading it and the next I'm staring at 900 words of fluff. This is so entirely self-indulgent, just cozy fluffiness that just... oozes, you know? Anyway, it's been a while so I hope you enjoy!!
🪻🪻Amrálime🪻🪻
The silver metal dances warm against his cheek, and not for the first time, Buck has to stop himself from reaching up to fidget with the thick band of it. He still hasn't gotten over the newness of it, how it catches the light just so when he turns, the glance of it against his skin in the blowing winds. He loses the battle, thick fingers tracing down the surprisingly delicate braid to the small mithril bead at the end, nail catching on the fine etchings laid around it. He doesn't need to see them to read what they say; doesn't even really need to know the language — though Tommy had been trying for years to help him learn some phrases in the dwarvish tongue — to know what it means. He doesn't think he'll ever get over the way his heart swells at the mere notion of it, and he hopes he never forgets the near-sacred ceremony of receiving it — though, he highly doubts that will ever be a possibility.
Buck is drawn from his reverie by the scent of caramelizing sugar and cinnamon calling for his attention from the hearth. Another echoing chime of metal against metal floats in through the opened window, and it's a conscious decision to check on the baking pies instead of following the hypnotic pull the rhythm carries.
Later, he reminds himself with a smirk, pulling each of the six pies from the heat to rest and cool on the thick dining table. He steps back to admire the batch, nodding with satisfaction at each of their golden brown tops and sticky drippings.
The loud tink-tink-tink stops almost as if on cue, the sudden silence of it drawing Buck's attention to the setting sun outside. He moves another large pot onto the stove with a huff, shuffling the soup pot already simmering away there carefully when two broad hands reach in front of him to stabilize the copper pot.
"I believe this was my part of the deal?" Tommy's amused rumble echoes against Buck's back. Buck gently knocks the sides of their heads together when Tommy's chin settles against his shoulder.
"I can manage a few pots and pans," He defends, playfully glaring at Tommy's hands as he rights the water pot, "quite well, actually."
"I've no doubt," He purses his lips against his smile at the feel of Tommy's smiling kiss against his clothed shoulder, "though," he can hear Tommy's barely concealed laughter as his hands trail to the cloth mits still covering Buck's hands, "I can't help but notice something—"
"Don't you dare —" Buck laughs, already pushing back and away from the unyielding wall of Tommy's body. He tosses the mits onto the table next to the pies, turning a hauty eyebrow toward the dwarf. "You are just as susceptible to burns and fire as anyone else—"
"And yet, here we are," Tommy demonstrates by again adjusting the steaming pots with ease, bare hands grasping the heated metal like it were room temperature.
"Impossible," Buck scoffs, exaggerating the noise just to hear Tommy's warm laugh again. It's an old argument, one they've had for years, and one he hopes they never stop having. Tommy follows him as he drifts around the kitchen, smiling fondly as he carries on his faux-disgruntled ramblings.
"Evan," Buck stops, chest fluttering with the name. It too hadn't lost its newness, and Buck doubted it ever would — doubted he'd ever get over how Tommy would ever be the only one to use the name he'd been gifted. "Come here, please?"
And who was Buck to deny such a request? Especially when his — his, in every way, down to the smallest, most insignificant pieces of their very spirit just like their vows had said — husband stood against the dining table, thick arms opened wide and eyes pleading.
Really — Buck challenged anyone to deny it, just to prove it's impossibility.
Buck's barely within reach before he's positively engulfed, Tommy's arms wrapping tight around his waist and shoulders to draw him in close. He goes easily, any guise of playfully fending his husband off suddenly so very unappealing. Buck relaxes into the warmth and comfort, luxuriating in the familiar scent of fire and sweat and smoke and metal — of Tommy, as a whole.
"You've been busy." Buck hums in affirmation. "Are at least one of those for us this time?"
"Yes, you impossible, gloating, smelly—"
"You like the way I smell, I have that on good authority." Tommy pulls back just enough to look at the self-satisfied smirk Buck meets him with. He moves quick, leaning up to peck a quick kiss against Tommy's lips before retreating and dropping his chin against Tommy's chest.
"— husband of mine, one of these pies is for this house." This close, it's easy to catch the small silver bead buried amongst the dark curls of Tommy's hair, the metal sparkling in the warm light of their kitchen, just like the blue of his husband's eyes. Buck rises up to kiss him again, lingering and slow so he can try to push every single emotion swirling through his chest into it. He pulls away reluctantly, resting his forehead against Tommy's while they catch their breath. "Yes, unfortunately I do like the way you smell."
"Evan," Tommy breathes it into the space between them, eyes darting between the silver bead Buck can feel against his temple and his eyes. Buck smiles into the next quick kiss, pulling back with a soft chuckle as Tommy tries to chase him.
It's here!! The first lovely chapter of The Big One, aka working titled 3 Hours Ahead and Still Trying to Keep Up, aka the 3hrs verse, aka my pride and joy is finally posted!!! After months and months of planning and drafting, I'm finally putting the pieces together and out there!!!
if the bright lights don't receive you (3180 words) by ThatOneNerdGirl
Chapters: 1/16
Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard, Sal Deluca/Gina Deluca, Maddie Buckley/Howie "Chimney" Han
Characters: Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard, Sal Deluca (9-1-1 TV), Gina Deluca, Original Sal Deluca Children, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Maddie Buckley, Howie "Chimney" Han, Ravi Panikkar, Lucy Donato
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Episode: s08e15 Lab Rats (9-1-1 TV), Bobby Nash Dies, Grief/Mourning, Tommy Kinard Needs A Hug, Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Breaking Up & Making Up
Summary:
Somehow, with thousands of miles between them, they've never been closer.
The surrealities are this:
Bobby died.
Evan breaking down in that concrete corridor had been playing on repeat every time he closes his eyelids for the past two weeks.
He's suspended.
LA has never looked quite this bleak, and Sal's offer is starting to look better and better the more he thinks about it.
... whines about not having inspirations, creates a 2.7k word fae-tommy fic for the @btmonsterfuckermonday, go figure.
Anyway, here's a preview for this fic featuring Fae!Tommy! (It's posted now! You can go read it in its entirety!)
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One of the other trainees gives him the location, conspiratorially slapping it into his hand with a handshake like they're friends. They aren't, not really, Evan doesn't even think he knows the guy's name. Maybe something with a B— it didn't matter. What mattered, was that Evan was guaranteed to get through the academy — relatively unscathed, if the guy was to be believed — with one little visit to the location detailed on the tiny slip of paper burning a hole in his pocket.
There's no address, but then again Evan hadn't thought there would be — who'd ever heard of a Fae living in suburbia? — so when the directions tell him to pull off of the main road onto a smaller, dead-end, side street, that's exactly what he does. The forest bears down on the small houses in front of it, hedging into back and side yards, grown old and miraculously untouched. They blot out the moon as he idles down the street, throwing streaks of pale light through the windows of the Jeep. Even in the swelling nerves, Evan can feel the itch of magic calling him forward into the dark.
He parks where the note says to park, makes sure to leave his phone in the center console and that his headlights shut off before venturing into the thicket at the end of the block. The tiny flashlight they'd given them as part of their training kits throws just enough light to show him where he's going, guiding him through patches of moonlight or misdirected streetlight. There is no path, no foot traffic to knock back the weeds and ferns making up the undergrowth here; he'd been warned of that going in, ever-so-glad his hiking boots had made the trip with him from Peru.
"Left at the little clearing," Evan mutters to himself, a reminder of the final instruction that what's-his-name hadn't written down. It shouldn't be hard to find, given the dense population of growth, but after nearly twenty minutes of navigating the forest, his hope dwindles. It would make sense if he'd been given a fake location, all things considered. If he'd had a wellspring of Fae magic at his fingertips, he definitely wouldn't want to share it with anyone, let alone another would-be firefighter. Then again, Evan hadn't wanted to be the best in the class, he'd honestly just wanted to make it through the tougher parts. He wanted to help people, it was a driving factor for trying out for the Navy, and he wanted the assurance he wouldn't wash out like he had before. He was doing it as kind of an insurance policy against himself — his first born or whatever for the opportunity to help people and do some actual good with his life. It was a small price to pay, he supposed, given that he hadn't really planned on having kids anyway.
The small clearing comes into view in a beam of cold, pale moonlight; a small circle of empty space on the forest floor, lined with small white flowers that mysteriously sway in the windless night. Evan chews at his lip; he'd been told left at the clearing, but had that meant through and left, or around and left? Was the circle a portal? The entrance to the Fae Domain? The test of his resolve that —
"You look lost," The deep voice trickles down his spine, kindness warming his chilled fingertips from inside out. Evan doesn't turn, tries hard to recall any instruction about how to deal with random strangers in the directions he's been given. It was common knowledge to be weary of anybody you met in the woods, Fae woods especially, but he was here to make a deal.
Evan turns slowly, shining his light first at the stranger's feet, relieved to see a pair of light brown boots and jeans instead of hooves or fur. He trails the light up slowly, over the man's — that was most definitely a man — chest and shoulders until he could see the stranger's handsome face; the amused smile looking like it belonged there, a matching amusement sparkling in the man's blue eyes.
... I don't know if I'm entirely happy with the rework, so, I'm gonna let y'all decide. Here's a preview for the next chapter of 'if the bright lights.' Trigger warning for some dissociation and emotional backlash from that, also trigger warning for the whole kitchen scene and the angst surrounding that. I'm hoping to have the chapter up by the time AO3 comes back ❤️❤️.
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Eddie snaps at him, and somehow Eddie's the one that breaks.
Buck keeps silent, lets himself be told how he's spiraling, how he's spinning out and nobody knows how to deal with him like he's some kind of disappointment child—
All while Eddie breaks.
He doesn't know what's worse, the five points of aching pressure throbbing against his shoulder, or having to watch Eddie's anger shift into fear and remorse from mere inches away. His finger never leaves Buck's space, kept there until Eddie himself breaks away and has to turn entirely.
Buck listens, turning himself so that his belly and chest stay guarded against another possible attack. He stares at imaginary patterns in tiles as Eddie speaks, affirming his friend's grief. His hip aches from where he'd flinched against the counter top. He listens, apologizes in the right spaces, keeps silent because this isn't about him—
"— could I have made a difference?" Buck straightens against the counter, the world slamming into complete and totally clarity for one horrible moment.
"You, uh…" The gnarled mess of a knot that he's been ignoring in his chest tightens — threatens to choke him entirely. He swallows hard, shifting so that Eddie's force to meet his eyes when he asks, "you don't think I did everything I could to save him?"
Eddie pauses, pained expression morphing into a mask of irritation and annoyance.
Right, he was… he was making it about him again, wasn't he? Buck bit at the inside of his lip, the fragile skin there irritated and raw already.
Eddie doesn't need to say anything — he does anyway. "I don't know Buck," His skin crawls with the venom dripping form his own name. Not for the first time, he finds himself missing his real name, the way Maddie would use it when she was happy or proud of him, the way Tom— "I wasn't there."
The horrible clarity stretches on long after Eddie's escape from the kitchen, leaving Buck standing, hunched over the island. He hates how he flinches when the front door slams shut when Eddie decides to 'get some air,' figures that's here to stay for a while too — adds it to the growing list of things to bring up with Dr. Copeland.
The tangled web of emotions swirls higher and higher in his chest, and farther up his throat until he can practically feel it dancing on the back of his tongue. He stops counting the tiles of the island, somehow managing to escape into the bedroom — not his, not really — all the while forcing himself to ignore the acrid taste of bile threatening his gag reflex. He wonders, sardonic and cynical, if this counts toward act ninety-eight in the 'Trials and Tribulations of Evan Buckley,' or if this is just another shitty anecdote they'll tack on to something else later.
Something like anger, hot and shameful swirls through the mess, compounding and rolling over itself until it's impossible to ignore the booming thunder of blood rushing through his ears. His head throbs with it, and he childishly buries his head under his pillow to hopefully drown out the din of it. It only serves to make the echoing voices louder.
Eddie was right: he hasn't been grieving right, busying himself with everyone else's and ignoring his own for as long as he possibly can. He hasn't cried since that night — refused to let the tears fall at the funeral, but lets them drop freely now — hasn't let himself face the reality of the situation because he doesn't know if he'll come out of the other side the same. He doesn't know if he can take that risk, doesn't even remember what operating system he's supposed to be running on anymore, doesn't know if this is an upgrade or if he's reverting back to old habits —
The front door opens and closes softly, followed by the quiet rustle of Eddie's jacket being hung on the coat rack by the door. The couch creaks, leather on leather, as he settles in for the night.
.... this fae universe has its grips on me, so have this preview for sylphs love honey and chamomile.
second part of the fae!Tommy universe you can read on AO3 here (it's posted now! You can go read it!)
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Buck hummed, drizzling another thin line of golden honey over the bright yellow centers of fresh chamomile flowers. Outside, the autumn wind carried the familiar melody of the wind chime Tommy had set near the back gate as a makeshift doorbell.
"I know, I know," Buck smiled, grabbing the now thoroughly sticky plate, along with the small kettle of warm tea. He's swarmed the moment his foot touches the first of the garden pavers by hundreds of tiny wings. Carefully, he makes his way toward the small pedestal set next to the metal table, filling the small well there with the contents of the kettle and setting the floral plate on the table.
Sylphs, as Tommy had explained, often needed to recharge during the season changes. He'd typically open the back gate to allow them to rest and eat what they wanted from the garden, but now that they were living together Buck wanted more than anything to make a good impression. It was rare for a Fae to take a human partner, rarer still that the partner be one of their own pacts; he didn't want any of that to reflect badly on Tommy.
3 hrs teaser drop? On my blog, more likely than you think. ❤️❤️ Introducing two of my favorite background characters, Deuteronomy the cat, and his reluctant new owner Shelby. Deut'll pop up a few more times through the story, because of course he will. This does take place after the whole Eddie-Kitchen-Bullshit Apology Using His Kid thing so, just be aware of that.
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Buck doesn't flee when Chris goes to bed — he waits for Pepa to text that she's home safely before walking out the back door to 'get some air.' He tells himself it's not relief that washes over him fifteen minutes later, driving down familiar highway lanes- that the idea of being trapped in close quarters with his 'best friend' doesn't cause an uncomfortable surge of anxiety.
He's on autopilot, turning down familiar roads and passing familiar gas stations on his way to a very familiar driveway. It isn't until he parks that his brain finally reboots, staring at the overhanging leaves of Mrs. Hardy's meyer lemon tree. Somehow, he's not surprised to have ended up here; it probably should- ending up at an ex's house didn't usually end well- but Tommy's house had always seemed so inviting.
However, now it sits dark. The only light illuminating the place comes from the motion light on the garage, casting the truck and driveway in that strange yellow haze that always gave things an odd sense of nostalgia.
Buck winces at the familiar and loud thud that bounces off of the truck's hood as soon as he cuts the engine.
It had been a joke, back when he and Tommy were together, that his poor truck would develop a decent sized indent in the hood if he kept leaving it outside instead of pulling into the garage, especially with how often he'd been visiting at the time. It usually led to Buck finding any flimsy excuse to throw back at it, until Tommy finally relented.
In truth, Buck almost didn't mind developing a dent, and the fat gray beast currently making himself comfortable on the truck's hood would mind even less.
"Hey, bud," The cat meows at him as soon as he opens the door, walking close enough to headbutt the driver side mirror.
"Can I help you?" Buck jolts at the deep feminine voice. He searches for the source, unable to find anything until Mrs. Hardy's front door opens with a squeal. The young woman that emerges couldn't have been older than twenty-five, hair tucked neatly under a backwards baseball cap revealing her young face. For a moment, Buck's sure Candice had somehow found a time machine to take herself back sixty years, the resemblance simply uncanny the closer the young woman gets.
"Can I help you?" She repeats, with no apprehension. Her head tilts at his lack of answer. "Dude, you okay?"
"Y-yeah — Buck, uh I-I'm Buck." Buck offers his hand, relieved when the young woman accepts the handshake. "I'm uh… I'm a friend of Tommy's?"
