Mapping_Marauders
Fandoms
- 9-1-1 (TV) (4)
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Eddie Diaz and Evan Buckley
@10:10
Buck: do i tell them you were sick or just leave it as is
Eddie: Leave it
Eddie: It's funnier this way
Buck: see, this is why i married you
Eddie: And because of my arms?🫠
Buck: you know it, baby ;)
Eddie: 🕺
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Eddie Diaz and Shannon Diaz
@16:24
Eddie: You didn't tell me Buck is with you??
Shannon: I didn't🤐
Eddie: ...is there a reason for that?
Shannon: Yeah. We're fucking, so I thought it might get a bit awkward x
Eddie: WHAT
Eddie: Shan you're joking
Eddie: I'm coming back in there
Shannon: You're half pulled out of the driveway??
Shannon: Eddie
Shannon: Eddie go away, I was joking🤦♀️
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"Eddie," Bucks says softly, carefully. Eddie can practically hear the frown in her voice, the concern she's trying to pack away and seal behind a locked door. "What's wrong?"
"'S hot," Eddie repeats. A broken record because her brain isn't working and somebody needs to go put out all the raging fires before they swallow up everything.
"Hot? You're shivering, Eds."
Eddie frowns. Concentrates and finds that Buck is right. She is shivering, tremors running down her spine, goosebumps decorating the length of her arms. "Oh."
Buck sighs, leaning over Eddie to stroke a hand down her back, a little too warm but comforting all the same. "Eds, come here."
"'M tired."
"I know. I know, just—I need to make sure you're okay," Buck reasons, voice deliberately level, but there's an edge to her tone, one that Eddie recognizes. One that means she's scared, for some reason, and trying to hide it, for some other reason Eddie can't work out right now. And if there's one thing Eddie responds to, it's a frightened Buck.
Or,
Eddie is feverish and Buck still hasn't processed Bobby's death. -
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Summary
"Eddie. Eddie, wait," Buck calls after his retreating form. He watches as Eddie's shoulders stiffen, the muscles of his back tightening before he turns around once more, jaw and fists clenched.
"I'm not going to tell you again—"
"What year is it?" Buck asks, swallowing harshly against the taste of his own panic. It's just a precaution. Most likely, there's a perfectly normal and logical explanation for this.
The question makes Eddie pause, expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "What?"
Buck exhales harshly, breaths ragged and forceful. "Last time I—uh, you didn't have a moustache the last time I saw you."
The silence is fucking loud. So is Eddie's face, because it's doing a weird hop-skip-jump between about seven conflicting emotions, screwing up and relaxing and squinting again.
He chuckles nervously. "What do you mean? Buck, I had a moustache yesterday. It hasn't grown in overnight, you've seen it before—"
"No, I haven't."
Or,
After the lightning strike, Buck finds himself cycling though a select portion of possible lives he might have lived. Coincidentally, they all seem to have one thing in common...
Recent bookmarks
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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.Bookmarked by Mapping_Marauders
21 Apr 2026
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“Did you know the clitoris has over eight thousand nerve endings?” Zoey remarks, her hands sliding up Rumi’s thighs again. “Some studies indicate the number might be over ten thousand, even.”
“I am aware,” Mira deadpans, holding Rumi in place as she squirms and whimpers under Zoey’s ministrations. “I just had my mouth on all of them.”
(OR, touch-starved sexually repressed half-demon attempts self-pleasure, fails miserably. Mira and Zoey reap the rewards)
Bookmarked by Mapping_Marauders
21 Apr 2026
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Summary
Eddie knows he’s been through a lot of horrible shit before. He’s been shot - multiple times, he’s been buried alive and clawed his way out of the mud, he’s grieved more in his late twenties than most people do in a lifetime.
But this? This is worse than all of that combined.
Because he’s in El Paso, listless and lonely, with the cold to end all colds.
And Buck isn’t answering his texts, or his calls, or his Facetime requests.
So, yeah, Eddie thinks this might be the worst day of his life.
Or: While the 118 fight for their lives in a disease-filled lab, Eddie suffers equally as hard with a sore throat and the sniffles.
Bookmarked by Mapping_Marauders
20 Apr 2026
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love will call (love will make you fit it all in the car) by beetlesandstars
Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)
15 Apr 2026
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Summary
Eddie Diaz: father, veteran, firefighter, gay. It’s that easy. A descriptor, a word that Eddie’s spent his entire life running from.
It’s a fucking relief to realise now that he’s stopped running. The burn in his muscles will linger, but it’s okay. It will serve as a reminder of how far he’s come.
Beside him, Buck huffs a laugh. “I can’t believe you did a honky tonk dance.”
Eddie laughs, startled. “I can’t believe you didn’t."
Or: on the drive back to Los Angeles, Eddie works up the courage to tell Buck the truth.
Bookmarked by Mapping_Marauders
15 Apr 2026
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Summary
"Hey," Eddie says. "Can we go outside for a minute?"
Buck looks up and his face is carefully neutral, which on Buck is the equivalent of a five-alarm blaze because this man has never been neutral about a single thing in his life.
"Sure."
They leave cash on the table and step out into the parking lot. The air is heavy and thick with honeysuckle and asphalt and the far-off electric promise of rain. The cat is gone and the neon sign buzzes above them, pink and sputtering.
"I don't want to stay here tonight," Eddie says.
Buck’s eyebrows tick up. "Okay?"
Hesitating, cutting a look back at the diner, Eddie says, "Look, I know we were gonna find a motel somewhere around here but this place doesn't sit right with me. I can't explain it. I'd rather just keep driving."
He's bracing for Buck to push back, to ask what specifically feels wrong, use this as a doorway back into the booth and the hand and all of it. But Buck just looks at his face for a second and nods.
"Yeah. Okay. Let's go."
Or,
Buy one Buck kidnapping and get an Eddie kidnapping for free!Can be read as a standalone but is technically a continuation of my fic 'hands on'
Series
- Part 2 of no grave can hold my body down
Bookmarked by Mapping_Marauders
24 Mar 2026