Mich_96
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Summary
"Buck?" Eddie called as he walked further into the firehouse. He cursed the blackout and wanted nothing more than for Buck to pop out, wearing his signature smile and laughing off Eddie's concern. The alpha felt something twist sharply inside his chest as panic started to crawl in his veins. It was the panic of an alpha acknowledging that their mate was missing. Mate, because while he was trying to make things work with Ana, his true mate had been right in front of him.
Slowly, Eddie rounded to the front of the firehouse and white nosie filled his ears as he picked up the ebbs of Buck's scent. Followed swiftly by two more scents; an unknown alpha and the metallic taste of blood. Something old and ancient woke up inside Eddie as the others crowded around him, faces pale as they spotted the blood on the ground.
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Or, instead of Harry being taken, its our favourite blond. Now, Eddie must race against the clock to save his mate from Jeffrey. -
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Captain Buckley, who is steady, who has his shit together, who definitely does not recognize his new probie because he spent a night eight years ago with his hands in that man's hair whispering things against his skin that would get him fired on the spot if anyone in this building ever found out.
"You must be Eddie Diaz." His hand goes out. Not shaking, by some miracle that deserves its own cathedral, its own patron saint, the patron saint of men who are dying inside and shaking hands about it. "Welcome to the 118. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Captain Buckley."
Eddie takes his hand. A firm grip, calloused in places Buck doesn't remember, but Buck's skin recognizes him anyway, every nerve, all at once.
"Captain." Eddie's voice is level, pleasant, perfectly neutral, and Buck would buy it completely if he couldn't see the tension bolted into Eddie's shoulders. "Thanks for having me." A beat. "You got a first name, Captain Buckley?"
"Evan. But most people just call me Buck."
"Buck," Eddie repeats, tasting it, dragging it out, and Buck's stomach drops through the floor. "Suits you."
Or,
Captain Buckley WILL NOT fuck his new probie, okay? At least, not again. -
Summary
a series of short one-shots about married buddie :)
- Words:
- 18,193
- Works:
- 8
- Bookmarks:
- 79
Bookmarked by Mich_96
21 Mar 2026
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Summary
“So…” he drags out the word, long and languid, taking another pull from his bottle. Pushes harder. “That’d be okay with you?”
“What would?”
“If I… you know, brought someone here?” Buck drapes his arm over the back of the couch, expectant. Eager for Eddie’s answer.
Eddie just shrugs.
So Buck shoves. “Maybe we need to make some rules?”
“Rules?” Now Eddie’s frowning.
“Y-yeah. Or, like, a system. For… guests?”
Eddie’s eyes narrow in confusion and then widen. He chokes a little, coughs, and when he speaks, his voice has dropped an octave, husky at the edges. “What’d you have in mind?”
or: Buck and Eddie implement a system for sexiling each other. Except it only works if you respect the system.
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"I'm kidding, relax." Buck grins at him, radiating false innocence, and takes another sip. "Although I bet if I really wanted you to do something, I'd just have to ask nicely. Say please."
He pauses, Eddie can see the mischief brewing, can practically see the gears turning in Buck's head. "Or maybe just call you sir. That seems to work pretty well."
Eddie stops breathing. So much for trying to act natural.
Buck is watching him now, really watching him with sharp curious eyes and Eddie can feel himself being catalogued, examined, picked apart and analyzed like a bug under a microscope.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Eddie says, which is a blatant lie and they both know it.
"Sure you don't." Buck pushes off the counter, still smiling that infuriating smile. "Whatever you say, sir."
Or,
Eddie Diaz and the three letter problem.a 9x08 coda