Happiness is overrated.

Chapters: 6/6

Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan “Buck” Buckley, Christopher Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta “Hen” Wilson, Karen Wilson, Howie “Chimney” Han, Maddie Buckley

Additional Tags: Fire family appears briefly in a few chapters, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard Break Up, Tommy is only mentioned but he isn't a character in this story, Tommy is not a nice guy in this story, This story is set around Christmas time but it isn't necessarily connected to the holiday, This story is kind of an AU but at the same time it isn't 🤷‍♀️😏

Summary:

In a snowglobe spell we're cast.

Underneath the Christmas moon.

This is a story about breakups, curses, attraction, loneliness, falling in love, finding happiness and joy, but most of all this is a story about a snow globe and how it changed the course of Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley's life forever.

Notes:

2024 was an interesting year in the Buddie fandom. There were some very big highs, but also a lot of lows. I went through a lot of fandom shit I could have done without— we all did. But we kept on supporting each other and it was because of the lovely people in the Buddie fandom I was able to stay somewhat sane. Thank all of you for that.

This fic is for you Buddie fandom! Enjoy! 🤗❤️

I'm reblogging it, because the message still holds true. 2025 was tough in the 911 and Buddie fandom. We had some incredible highs and deep deep lows, but we got through it. I gained so many new mutuals and friends throughout the year. I'll forever be grateful to this fandom and the joy it continues to bring me.

Ryan and Aisha via Ryan’s story.

*yes, dedicated main blog(s) to topic

*Yes, dedicated side blog(s) to topic

*no, we ball, multi-fandom/topic blog

*Other? (elaborate)

hello hellooo! tysm, this was a great one and i loved writing this!! 🫶 buddie | g | 617 words | #37 "Wanna dance?"

“Wanna dance?”

Eddie knows that hand, the one stretched out towards him with its palm up — an offer, an open invitation. He knows those fingers, knows those calluses, knows that silvery white scar along the side of that thumb, but he follows the length of the arm attached anyways, over the smooth expanse of forearm; the swell of a well-maintained bicep; a solid, dependable shoulder — until his eyes land on Buck’s face.

Smiling. A little flushed in the cheeks from the sun, maybe a beer or two. From asking Eddie to dance, even.

“Thought you didn’t do that,” Eddie muses. It’s not a no — it won’t be a no, he already knows that. But, he can have some fun with it first. Give Buck’s pigtails a little tug.

“Dance?” Buck asks with a huff of a laugh. “I don’t. I mean, I can’t. But — you do. Can. Want to, right?” His smile tucks itself into the corner of his mouth now, and he jerks his chin towards Eddie’s torso. “You’ve got—” he chuckles; a dimple pops, “you’ve got wiggly shoulders.”

He does a little shoulder shimmy of his own, a little stilted, a little awkward, and somehow his whole body moves with it, shoulders, hips, and knees. It makes Eddie laugh, and judging by the way Buck’s eyes sparkle at the sound, that might’ve been the goal.

“Was that supposed to be me?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because, frankly, I’m offended. That was…” he makes a face, eyes squinting, mouth curving into a playful grimace, “yikes.”

“Ouch,” Buck replies, smacking his hand to his heart and staggering back like he’s just taken a physical blow. “I guess it wasn’t you,” he concedes. “You’re much less rhythmically challenged than me.” Another laugh. “But, you were doing that — something like that. Dancing in your seat, I mean.” He bends over to set his beer in the grass near the foot of Eddie’s chair, then straightens and holds his hand out again. “Come on, I know you like this song,” he says and wiggles his fingers.

Eddie has to bite the inside of his cheek. He does like this song — is pretty sure it’s something Buck introduced to him too, which maybe feels sort of incriminating. Then again, so does the way he’s already peeled himself away from the back of his chair, sitting right on the edge of his seat like he’s planning to abandon his post at any second now. His hand twitches against his thigh.

God, he’s so easy.

He glances out at the yard, at Jee-Yun and Mara playing some hand clapping game set to their chanting chorus of rhymes, at Chimney and Karen trading stories by the cooler of drinks. Athena ladles another scoop of fresh fruit from the salad Maddie put together, while Maddie shows the birthday boy off to a cooing Sue and Linda. Denny and Christopher sit at the bistro table, Christopher teaching Denny the card trick he learned from Buck. May and Ravi have found a semi-private corner of the garden and are tucked together like parentheses with their heads bent close and laughter on their lips.

“No one else is dancing,” Eddie points out, fixing his gaze back on Buck. 

Buck, who only has eyes for him. Has only had eyes for him since he first approached — since maybe even longer. Probably definitely longer.

“So what?” Buck asks. He shrugs. Smiles, boyish and sweet. “C’mon, Eddie, dance with me.”

Eddie breathes in. Lets his own smile break free from its restraints, wild and unruly as it stretches across his face.

It was always going to end this way. 

using my mid-week day off to actually write?? at least a little? thank you @hawkslonggoodbye for the ghost tag <3

something something the dashboard asked for eddie in a crop top, so here's the first 600 words

---

For what it's worth, Buck's blaming May for this. Completely and whole-heartedly.

It's her fault for throwing her end-of-the-semester party at the country western bar that opened a few months ago that she's been dying to go to and it's her fault that she practically begged everyone to dress in theme. It's her fault that Buck outed himself (again) and his fruitless, long-term, definitely unrequited crush on Eddie at Bachelor-turned-Love Island night last week, and it's especially her fault that Buck's learning—for the first time—what his best friend looks like in...

Whatever.

…

Okay, so maybe none of that is actually her fault. Maybe it's mostly Buck's fault. Maybe he felt safe with May, talking about this bottle of feelings that's been shaken so many times he's surprised it hasn't exploded already. Maybe she loves him in spite of it. Maybe because of it.

And hey, maybe Eddie's just being a good friend, showing up to support May.

In his boots and—

Buck sighs, long and deep, determinedly looking back at the bar and the beers on tap. The round, oblong, and frankly far-too-phallic-for-Buck's-fragile-mental-state beer pulls stare back at him. He can feel Eddie approach from behind him, like he's got on a pair of jangly spurs that only Buck can hear, but it's more likely to be because Eddie'd have to pass the bar to get to the table where May is cheering Eddie! Eddieeeeeeeeeeeee! really, really loudly.

He's pretty sure the spurs aren't real, but the distinct clack of cowboy boots are, getting louder as Eddie gets closer, and Buck, for reasons he will not be disclosing, is pressing his fingertips into the bar top with hydrolic intensity. In fact, as Eddie slides up next to him, Buck's pretty sure he can hear the wood of the bar crack beneath his hands.

"Hey," Eddie says, knocking his hip into Buck's, "grab me something?"

Buck mumbles, "Sure thing," before Eddie knocks his hip again and moves away. By the time the spurs stop jingling, Buck takes a glance down at the bar top.

No holes or cracks in sight. How about that?

He looks across to the bottles on the shelf, knowing he doesn't actually want any of it, and goes back to the beers on tap. His eyes scan up and down and down again and around and mostly it's a distraction to get his breathing back on track because Eddie's… he'd…

He'd shown up in theme, all right.

Buck's seen Eddie in all kinds of situations and scenarios. Covered in his own blood? Check. Covered in someone else's blood? Check. Drunk, disorderly, and pink as a tomato? Absolutely. Chocolate sauce on his cheek, toothpaste on his shirt, sweat on his forehead, sleep-rumpled and exhausted in the middle of the night, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first thing in the morning, he's seen it all.

Except when his eyes moved from the bar to the front door of Boot Scoot, in a way that he himself can neither describe nor explain, he'd never seen Eddie quite like this. On his head, a broad, white Stetson, fitting perfectly on his head and probably just as well in his hand. On his feet, a pair of red cowboy boots with intricate white stitching, pointed at the toe. His jeans were Wranglers, a mid-range wash with a belt buckle that could give someone a concussion, and Buck would bet all the money in his pockets that Eddie's ass looked plump like an apple.

But none of that, none, measured up to the…

Well.

How do we put this.

"Hey, Diaz!" Josh yells from the table, far enough away that he ends up announcing it to the whole side of the bar. "Save some skin for the rest of us, why don't you?"

Buck can hear Hen and Karen laugh loudly and Buck's fingers go back to doing something to the bar top he hopes doesn't cause permanent damage.

settle your weight on my lap

settle your hands on my waist

had the urge to draw buck straddling eddie’s lap, so i drew it. that’s it.