I hunt for you with bloodied feet (across the hallowed ground) by @spidermaneddie
“I’m fully capable of controlling myself, Maddie,” Buck says, “your lack of faith is astounding.”
“Listen, any other time, you would have my complete faith,” she tells him seriously, “but this thing with Eddie is different, you’ve never had someone like that around during your ruts before.”
Buck gives her a flat look. “He won’t be there for my rut.”
She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Your instincts are all crazy right now and your control is tenuous at best so just...”
“Just what, Maddie?” Buck passes a tired hand over his face again.
“Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying,” she sighs.
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sing me something brave from your mouth
based on this post
read on ao3
Eddie’s losing his mind. That’s the only explanation for the way his brain has been working lately.
And by “working”, he means not working. At all.
His default is generally stoic, quiet. If he doesn’t have anything to say, nice or otherwise, he doesn’t say anything at all. And if he does have something to say, it’s articulate. Thought out. Words carefully chosen so that his point is direct and clear. People may think it’s because he doesn’t have much to say, but it’s really because he’s had too many people in his life twist his words to be something they’re not, and this has become his defense. He does have things to say, he’s just careful.
The issue now, however, is that he has too much to say, too many things he’s been holding in for too long, and his brain has no idea what to do with all this information. He doesn’t have the storage space to keep it buttoned up like normal, waiting for at least a once over before he speaks. So now his words come tumbling out, unfiltered, unedited, raw and real.
And never, ever, at the right time.
“Maybe you should go home first” wasn’t supposed to come out at all. In the end, he’s glad it did, but that wasn’t the plan. He was going to be gentle, considerate, account for the fact that none of this was actually Ana’s fault. Thank her for being so good with Chris and hoping they could stay on good terms. But he did say it, and she had some choice words of her own, and then she was gone, leaving behind nothing but leftovers and a lingering pain in Eddie’s chest. He’d hoped that was that, that the panic would subside for good and he could get back to living, that his brain would settle down and lock everything back up, restart the filtering process that Eddie had spent so many years perfecting.
Apparently, a little peace and normalcy was too much to ask for.
It’s three weeks later, after Maddie left, after Chimney left and came back, after Buck and Chimney hugged and made up as only brothers (blood or otherwise) can. They’re all three at the apartment on their day off, to see Jee-yun and keep Chim company and help him clean out his fridge so he can get rid of “the smell of death and decay that has taken over since I’ve been gone”. Eddie stands dutifully next to the fridge, trash bag open, as Chim dumps container after container of leftovers out, each smelling more foul than the last.
“Jesus, Chim, you didn’t think to do this before you left?” Buck chirps from the barstool at the island. He’s got a babbling Jee in his lap and a cut up banana in front of him that he’s determined to get her to enjoy.
Chim glares at him, no real heat behind it. “I was a little preoccupied.” Buck nods in fairness, wincing a bit as he turns back to Jee, another slice of banana in his hand.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” he asks. “It’s really good, see?” He takes an exaggerated chomp, makes a show of chewing and swallowing, sending Jee into peals of giggles that fill up the whole house, brightening it and making everything warmer. His smile matches hers, and Eddie feels a soft fondness rush through him, the same one he feels when he watches Buck do anything with Chris.
“You’re going to be a really great dad.” It’s not a new thought — he’s had the same one in passing more times than he can count over the course of knowing Buck — but it takes Eddie about five seconds to realize that he said it out loud.
Luckily, it doesn’t rock Buck’s world as much as it does Eddie’s. He just smiles that bashful smile of his and says, “Well, I’ve had some pretty good teachers.”
“Thank you, Buck, glad my parenting wisdom has had such an effect on you,” Chim says, voice carrying from where he’s chest deep in the fridge. Buck sticks his tongue out at his back and turns back to Jee, who’s smile quickly melts away as she starts crying.
Chim emerges and sighs. “She probably needs to be changed.”
“I got it,” Buck waves him off, scooping Jee up and heading to the bedroom. “You probably have biohazard material on your hands anyway.”
Eddie stares after them, smiling at Buck’s soft murmurs that quiet Jee’s cries and transform them back into laughter. That fondness is still curling around his chest, making itself at home, until he feels something land in the bag in his hands with a heavy squelch, startling him back to reality and leaving him chilled. He whips his head back, and Chim is giving him a look that’s half smug and half exasperated.
“What?” Eddie asks.
“Nothing,” Chim says, shaking his head and turning towards the sink. “Just remembering the times when I used to think you were smooth. Clearly things have changed.”
Eddie whips a stray paper towel at his head and curses himself for blushing.
It continues. Actually, Eddie thinks it might be getting worse.
“How did you know you were in love with Karen?”
Hen looks at him sideways from the driver’s seat, eyebrow arched. They’ve been working well together on the days when Chim is off taking care of Jee, but they haven’t crossed the threshold into “intimate life talks in the ambulance” just yet. And, like every other time this has happened, he didn’t mean to ask her that. But ever since the parade call, he’s been thinking about those girls, about Cassie, who’s first thought when she came back to consciousness was her best friend, who she clearly cared about more than herself, and—
He wonders. And the thought clawed its way out of him before he could tame it into something normal and nonchalant yet again.
Hen’s quiet for a minute, staring at the road, thinking, and Eddie tries his best not to fidget or take back the whole question.
She looks over at him again, finally, eyes softer this time. “Did you know I met her when she was supposed to be on a blind date with someone else?”
Her smile goes a little dreamy. “She thought she got stood up, but she was just in the wrong bar. I saw her sitting alone, offered to keep her company. We ended up shutting that place down and another one too.”
“So you knew on your first date?”
Hen shakes her head. “I just knew she was special. It felt like the universe brought us together for a reason and I wanted to see what that reason was. I got her number and we texted all the time, met up for dinners and drinks, and the conversations just kept going. They’re still going, honestly. Eventually she became the only person that I wanted to see after a shift, the only person I wanted to spend all my free time with.”
Eddie nods, swallows his anxiety back down into his stomach where he keeps it locked away. He knows that feeling. He knows wanting to see only one face after a good shift or a bad shift or even a boring shift. He knows what it’s like to not be able to see that face, how it gnaws at you, grates your nerves, flays you open until you get back to that person and you feel your lungs fill up again. But there’s a difference between knowing and having — knowing is personal, something you can control, that isn’t left up to fate or the universe or whatever powers control the trajectory of life. To get to have something, you have to give up that control, and the decision of who gets it is completely out of your hands. It could be beautiful, everything you’ve ever wanted, or it could shatter your heart more than you ever thought possible.
Eddie’s struggling enough with not being able to control his own damn mouth at the moment. He’s not sure he’d survive giving up any more, no matter how much he wants to.
And so he asks, “Weren’t you scared? Of messing up whatever special thing you thought you guys had?”
They pull into the station and Hen kills the engine, turning towards Eddie fully. Her look is gentle and knowing, and it takes every ounce of Eddie’s willpower to not run inside and hope she forgets this whole conversation.
“No,” she says. “I was more scared of losing her to someone else because I didn’t try and give her everything she deserved.”
Eddie finally looks away then because yeah, he knows that feeling too.
There’s a knock on the passenger window that makes them both almost hit the ceiling. It’s Buck (because of course it is), his hands held up in apology. “Just making sure you guys were coming in for lunch.”
“We’ll be right there, Buckaroo,” Hen says. “Save me a plate?”
“Already done. There’s one for you too, Eds.” He drums his hands against the door and winks before skipping away. Eddie tries to keep his face in check, but he has a feeling it’s edging toward the same dreamy look Hen was sporting earlier.
There’s snort from beside him, and he knows he’s right.
He clears his throat and looks back at her again. “Thanks Hen. That was...helpful.”
She grabs his forearm, squeezing lightly. “Be brave, Edmundo. It’ll turn out better than you think.”
He smiles and nods one more time before he hops out of the ambulance. Hen was helpful — he certainly feels a little less alone in these feelings he’s trying not to drown in — but fear is still settled deep under his skin at the thought of laying himself out there like that, of taking that leap, of letting go.
He wants to be brave. He knows he can be brave. But being brave, especially being brave like that, is a lot easier said than done.
He’s trying to take Buck. A man is pulling Buck into the hospital to hold him hostage and Eddie’s brain is firing on all cylinders and there’s no time to think or plan or breathe because he’s trying to take Buck—
The man stops, arm still wrapped around Buck’s throat. Buck’s eyes are wide, panicked, and Eddie has a feeling it’s not just because he’s running out of oxygen. But while he didn’t necessarily think he’d resort to offering himself up as a sacrifice, a panicked and desperate brain is a truthful one, and this is a truth he knows down to his atoms.
He’s trying to take Buck. He’s trying to hurt Buck. Eddie will do anything and everything in his power to prevent that.
“Leave him. Take me instead.”
For the first time in months, he doesn’t curse his unpolished words. There’s a pause, a moment of stillness in the chaos, and the man shrugs, dropping his arm and shoving Buck forward before grabbing Eddie roughly by the bicep.
“Whatever, I only need one of you.”
Eddie has just enough time to look back and catch the devastation in Buck’s eyes before the door slams shut behind him.
It’s okay. He’ll be fine. Buck will make sure of it. They always have each other’s backs.
The waiting is the worst part. The man is not the best captor — the rope he tied around Eddie’s hands has already come loose — but he’s been negotiating with the police for the better part of an hour, and Eddie’s getting restless. Is Buck okay? The guy (unsuccessfully) tried to knock him out with his gun and left a pretty bad gash. Did he get it looked at? Or, more likely, is he ignoring it, trying to stay in the action, stay close to the people who are trying to get Eddie out? He’s itching, buzzing, but not for fear of his own safety. He needs to see Buck, needs to touch him, needs to know for sure that he’s out of harm’s way, he needs he needs he needs—
There’s shouting and loud footsteps, and the door opens with a slam. SWAT pours in, detains the guy, and helps Eddie off the ground and out the door. It’s chaos, more shouting and flashing lights and more people than there were when he went inside. But none of that matters, no one else matters as Eddie frantically searches the crowd for familiar curls.
He hears him before he sees him, voice louder than any gunshot or siren.
Relief hits him so hard he almost falls over.
He doesn’t realize he’s running — sprinting — until they crash into each other. Eddie flings his arms around Buck’s shoulder and buries his face in his neck and he breathes.
“Jesus Christ, Eds,” Buck says into his hair, voice cracking. “What the hell were you thinking?”
That’s the thing, though — he wasn’t thinking. Protecting Buck, keeping him safe, that was all instinct. That’s not something he’s ever had to think about, even when his brain was cooperating with him.
He pulls back, just enough to see Buck’s face, clocking the angry, red cut on his forehead. His fingers ghost over it before his hand settles on the side of Buck’s head. “Are you okay?”
Buck leans into his touch and nods. “Yeah, it’s— it’s superficial, looks worse than it is.” His eyes are shining as they move over Eddie’s face, down his arms and chest, so intense Eddie swears he can feel everywhere they land. “Are you okay?”
By all accounts, no, he’s not. He’s exhausted, his nerves are fried, he wants to go home and sleep off the emotional hangover he’s sure is coming.
But still — he’s with Buck. They’re alive, and they’re together.
“Yeah. I’m okay now.”
Buck’s smile is wet and fond, an eternal bright spot. Eddie tucks his face back into his neck and keeps breathing.
He knew it was coming, had been bracing himself for it for months, but he hadn’t expected it to be so quiet.
It makes sense, when he thinks about it. The way he feels about Buck is louder than almost anything he’s ever known — combine that with his love for his son, and it’s a cacophony of emotions constantly running through him, loud enough to keep the demons at bay. And while part of him wants to sing it from the rooftops, let anyone and everyone know how much this man means to him, a bigger part thinks that something like this is too important to blast at full volume. His feelings aren’t for everyone — he doesn’t want them to be — so it shouldn’t be a rock concert, loud enough to break windows and shake foundations. It should melt into the background, like a vinyl record on a rainy day, lingering long after the needle stops, not soon forgotten.
So, it makes sense that it’s quiet, just for the two of them. It makes sense that despite the enormity of his feelings, despite the lawlessness he’s been embracing recently, this moment is small and intimate because it matters.
That doesn’t mean he does it with any kind of finesse.
It’s quiet on the balcony, the shimmering lights of LA laid out below them. Chris is asleep on the couch inside, knocked out halfway through their second movie, and the two of them are facing each other on the bench just outside the window, beer bottles between them, talking quietly. Buck is in the middle of a rundown of a documentary about a cult he just finished (“They branded these women Eddie, how fucked up is that?”), and Eddie wants to live in this bubble of warmth and peace forever. The way Buck’s voice washes over him, protecting him from the dark whispers that tend to trickle into his head in quiet moments like this. The way their ankles are crossed where they hang off the front of the couch. The way Buck keeps glancing at Chris through the window when he shifts in his sleep, making sure he’s safe.
It’s everything Eddie never knew he wanted, everything he never thought he could have. He’s relaxed and happy, so the thought slips out of him without a fight.
“God, I’m so in love with you.” He says it on an exhale, almost a whisper, almost lost in the breeze, but Buck freezes mid sentence, so he knows he hears it.
And Eddie could freak out — he could backtrack and blame it on the beer and laugh it off, and he knows Buck would roll with it. He could hold on to the last bit of control he has over his feelings, keep them far from the edge he’s just accidentally thrown himself over. But even though it was unplanned, even though he’s giving everything up to the whims of fate now, it’s also the truth. A foundational truth, one that’s worked its way into the very fiber of his being. He doesn’t want Buck to not know that anymore.
He waits as Buck processes, not taking it back, not asking for an answer. If he doesn’t get one tonight, that’s fine — he’ll wait as long as Buck needs, even if it ends up being a gentle letdown.
The sweet syrupiness he’s feeling must not be his alone, because when Buck starts moving, it feels like the slowest of slow motions. He moves the beer bottles to the table in front of them, out of harm’s way, before maneuvering the two of them until he’s in Eddie’s lap, straddling his thighs, looking at him like he just told him every star in the sky now had his name etched into it. Eddie’s hands automatically come up to hold Buck’s waist, and he feels his breath hitch at how right it feels, how perfectly his body fits with Buck’s. Buck’s own hands come up, one on Eddie’s shoulder and one on his cheek, and Eddie’s helpless but to lean into the touch, reveling in the warmth and rightness of it all.
Even leaning in Buck goes slow, like he’s afraid to spook Eddie, to break this moment they’ve created, but as soon as their lips touch, Eddie deepens it — he lets himself take for once, lets himself be greedy, and it’s everything. He holds Buck tighter, gets lost in the kiss and the feel of Buck’s smile against his, and he thinks that if this is what giving up control is like, he could absolutely get used to it. He’ll do or say pretty much anything if it means having moments like this for the rest of his life.
The kiss gets cut short when their smiles get too big, but Eddie’s still breathless and Buck’s cheeks are still flushed the most beautiful pink he’s ever seen. Buck moves his hands to the base of Eddie’s skull, running his fingers through short hair, caressing him, and Eddie’s glad Buck’s in his lap because he’s pretty sure he’s about to float away.
“I love you too,” Buck whispers, tracing his nose along Eddie’s. “So much, and for a while, I think. I just— I didn’t want to—” Eddie cuts him off with a kiss, soft and sweet, because he gets it, probably better than anyone. It’s hard to take risks with the people you can’t lose.
They don’t move for a while, trading kisses and whispers, getting used to this new but familiar connection they’ve created. Even when they get up, driven inside by the late hour and the chilling breeze, it takes them a minute because they can’t stop touching each other.
Eddie finally slides the door shut quietly behind him, turns to Buck who looks equal parts hopeful and nervous. “You’re staying, right?” he asks. “Both of you?”
Nothing in the world — no filter or wall or insecurity — could prevent him from tangling his fingers with Buck’s and saying, “Yes. Always.”
There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.
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The Story of the Tooth-Stealing Caramel
hi, happy halloweek everyone! This first installment is on the theme of "Candy" and takes place in the same timeline as Half Awake in Our Fake Empire. Content warnings for teeth and Buckley family angst.
Read on AO3
The first thing he notices is the screaming.
The second thing is the blood.
Carla’s already driving away and so Eddie sprints towards the kitchen.
“It’s okay!” Christopher is insisting, awkwardly patting the top of Molly’s head, but she just keeps screaming while blood runs from her mouth down onto the tile floor.
“What happened?” Eddie asks, running the last few steps across the kitchen floor and landing on his knees in front of the kids. Buck – Buck’s still at the station, Buck is holding over for a few hours with the B shift, and – oh god, if he has to take Molly to the ER he doesn’t have any legal rights yet because they haven’t made it down the aisle yet, haven’t done the stepparent adoption paperwork yet and—
“It broke!” Molly tells him through the mouthful of blood and – and is that caramel?
“What?” Eddie asks, cupping Molly’s chin in his hand and turning her face towards him.
“We made caramels last night,” Christopher offers.
“Okay,” Eddie says, unsure why this is connected. “Molly, let me see, please.”
Molly pouts in a perfect imitation of Buck for a second, all big, watery blue eyes and stuck out bottom lip, but eventually she opens her mouth and lets Eddie remove the bloody piece of caramel, complete with a shiny white tooth stuck in it. He sets the disgusting lump of stuff on a paper towel and washes his hands, then mixes a quick glass of saltwater for Molly to swish.
“Don’t swallow it,” he instructs with his most serious face, setting her on the counter as well so she can just spit into the sink.
Molly nods seriously, curls bouncing, and swishes the solution around her mouth before spitting it and all the blood with it into the sink. Beside them, Christopher looks torn between disgust and curiosity.
“Okay, now let’s see,” Eddie says, cupping Molly’s chin again. “Show me your teeth?”
She pulls her lips back.
It’s one of her front teeth, just a dark gap where it had been until moments earlier. While Eddie inspects it to make sure she’d properly lost the tooth rather than it breaking half off in her gums or something, the gap starts to bleed a little again, and Molly finds the empty space with her tongue, her whole face contorting into a question mark.
“Where’s my tooth?” she asks, lisping it a little since she hasn’t removed her tongue from the gap in her teeth.
“It’s right here,” Eddie says, prying it out of the caramel. At his request, Christopher opens the sink cabinet so Eddie can deposit the caramel and the paper towel, and then helpfully turns on the faucet again so Eddie can rinse the tooth.
“Why did it fall out?” Molly asks when Eddie places the clean tooth in her hand.
“All of them are going to fall out,” Christopher tells her helpfully, and Molly slaps her hand over her mouth, shaking her head fiercely.
“They’ll grow back in,” Eddie adds, giving Christopher a pointed look, and he flushes.
Molly lowers her hand.
“What do I do with the one that fell out?” she asks.
“If you leave it under your pillow, the tooth fairy will take it for you,” Christopher says.
“What’s the tooth fairy?” Molly asks.
By the time they’ve gotten through the explanation, and Eddie has been persuaded to eat some of the caramels the kids had made with Carla – Molly refuses to touch them again on account of the caramel stealing her teeth, which Eddie supposes is fair enough – Buck gets home.
Molly enthusiastically shares with him the story of the tooth-stealing caramel (Buck pauses at that description, one of the caramels between his teeth, and only resumes eating it when Eddie gives him a fond eye-roll) and everything she knows about the tooth fairy. Between the promise of fairies and all the sugar in the caramel, it takes them a concerted effort to get Molly to go to sleep that night. In the end, it’s only Chris’s resolute promise that the tooth fairy won’t come at all if she doesn’t go to sleep that gets her to agree to shut her eyes and try.
“You guys probably want to wait a couple hours until you trade out her tooth for money,” Christopher tells Eddie and Buck with confidence. “To make sure she’s really asleep.”
Eddie nods seriously, ruffling Christopher’s curls, and goes to trade a look of can you believe our son with Buck, but there’s an unexpectedly wistful look on Buck’s face that’s the sort of expression Eddie’s come to understand means he needs to fly to Pennsylvania and yell at his not-technically-in-laws.
He waits to ask until Christopher has gone to sleep as well, and they’re sprawled out on the couch with a few more of the really, really, shockingly good caramels between them.
“Carla had to do most of this, right?” Buck asks, voice muffled because of the caramels sticking his teeth together.
“I’d assume,” Eddie replies, dragging his fingers through Buck’s curls and getting a sticky smile in response. As much as Eddie loves being the little spoon, he also enjoys it when Buck uses his thighs as a pillow like he is now.
“Because, like, our kids are talented but they’re also six and twelve,” Buck says.
Eddie nods, running his fingers through Buck’s hair again. Buck nearly purrs like a cat and melts into the touch with a content smile.
“What’s up with the tooth fairy?” Eddie asks softly.
“It’s nothing,” Buck says, unconvincing. Eddie just waits. “When I lost my first tooth, Maddie told me all about the tooth fairy, but when I woke up, there was still just a tooth under my pillow.”
Eddie traces his thumb across Buck’s birthmark, soothing, but doesn’t get a happy purr this time.
“I told Maddie about it, and then everything was awful and weird in the house for a few days, and then our dad told me, y’know, there’s no such thing as the tooth fairy and Maddie shouldn’t have told me about that,” Buck says.
“How old were you?” Eddie asks, the instinct within him that demands he protect Christopher, and Molly, and Buck rearing up and ready to go.
“Six-ish, I think,” Buck says. “I don’t remember. But then the next time I lost a tooth, Maddie said I should put it under my pillow again – I don’t think she knew our dad had already told me it was fake – and when I woke up there was a gold dollar under my pillow.”
“Did you ever tell her you knew it was her?” Eddie asks.
At that, Buck smiles a little and twitches like he’d be ducking his head bashfully if it wasn’t already resting on the inside of Eddie’s thigh.
“No,” he admits. “She wanted that magic to be real for me, just like with Santa. I wasn’t going to ruin her fun.”
“Have you told her now that you’re adults?” Eddie asks.
Buck shakes his head. “When does the tooth fairy ever come up in adult conversation?”
“I don’t know, you do both have kids now,” Eddie points out.
“Maybe I’ll thank her for it when Jee starts losing her teeth,” Buck says. He sits up and pats Eddie’s leg. “Come on, I think Molly’s probably out by now.”
Eddie lets him go collect the roll of gold dollars they’d picked up on a grocery run earlier that day, and pulls out his phone. All he texts is thank you.
Maddie’s response is only a second later: for what?
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sick + kitchen bc i'm sick in the kitchen <3
combining with "sick + eddie's house" from @cm1031sr
Eddie wakes up sweating. The thermostat reads 68 degrees but he wakes up sweating. The alarm on his phone rings and rings and rings, and echoes in his pounding skull long after he shuts off the sound. He’s completely uncovered, the sheets thrown off the bed some time in the night, but he still wakes up sweating.
There’s two options. Two non-options since, although he has a choice, he doesn’t really have a choice. He could shove his face into the pillow and sleep for another three, four, five hours, ignore his life outside these four walls, and wake up to a colder world that doesn’t leave his head throbbing. But it’s five-thirty a.m. on a Friday, Chris needs breakfast and a packed lunch and a ride to school, there’s a terrifying stack of dishes in his sink, and dangerously low stock of groceries. He opts for option two, despite his best wishes.
He slips on a t-shirt and jeans and drags himself into the bathroom. He should’ve showered first, but it’s too late now. The lights are too bright and the counter is too cluttered and there’s some stranger in the mirror, looking too tired and too pale. Eddie brushes some stranger's teeth and pretends to be alright.
“Good morning,” Christopher calls as he walks into the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he replies, and pretends to believe it. There’s a sink full of dishes. He decides it can wait.
Sandwiches and lunch boxes, peanut butter toast and packed bags, Eddie follows a routine, albeit, slower than usual. If Chris notices his silence, his tired eyes or heavy head, he says nothing and eats his breakfast instead. The morning passes in a blur and it’s nearly seven-thirty. He has to leave, but there’s still dishes to do.
They’re in the car, and then they’re not. Chris is staring out the windows of the backseat, then he’s not. Eddie kisses him on the forehead, or maybe hugs him or waves goodbye, but Chris is at school and he’s in the car and there’s still dishes to do at home. The A.C. shrieks from his dashboard and he’s shivering, but he’s sweating, and his skull is still pounding and there’s still dishes to do at home.
A car honks at him on his way back, and the sound refuses to leave his head. It’s loud and it thumps, harder, harder. He switches from cold to heat and turns on the seat warmers. He’s shivering and sweating and he still needs to go shopping.
The key gets stuck in the door. He shakes until it finally turns.
There’s a mess of blankets on the couch, evidence of a movie night gone too late. The blinds remain shut and the plants sag by the window, but he couldn’t bring them to life if he tried. Eddie moves to the kitchen and is faced by the morning, by the open cabinets and empty pantry and pile of dirty dishes.
One at a time. He takes it one at a time.
Big dishes soak. Cutlery sorts randomly into the dishwasher. Mugs of yesterday's cocoa form rows on the top rack, dripping through to the bottom.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
It’s beyond him how two, three people could fill the sink so easily. Plates fill the bottom rack. Bowls stack, unevenly, alongside them. The knives stay in the sink to be washed by hand.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
He finds a spoon stuck underneath a pot. He finds chopsticks slipping down the drain. Somehow there’s still another mug in the sink.
Scrub, rinse, carry on.
The garbage disposal hisses, and he nearly lets it out down the drain. The pots need to soak and he needs groceries, so that’s exactly what he does.
Despite his behavior, Eddie is a medic, and he knows he must be sick. Fever, headache, cold sweat. A bit of nausea too, but he decides to ignore it. His pantry is still empty and he has a kid to feed. Irresponsible, yes, but there’s no other option.
He finds his way back to the driver's seat, empty grocery bags piled in the passenger’s seat. The sun is bright against his windshield, he can barely see. It’s silent as he drives, it’s for the best. He rolls down the window but no, he refuses to vomit out of it.
The truck rolls to a stop in the parking lot. His phone vibrates in the cupholder.
Buck (10:32am): are you still coming over for lunch?
It shouldn’t be a loaded question, but it is. The truth comes with explanations, but there’s no lying to Buck.
The text goes unopened, he saves the hassle for later. For now, there’s groceries to buy.
He’s grown accustomed to shopping with Buck, who will gladly join him for any and all chores and errands. Even when it’s his groceries, Buck is more organized than him with his checklists and simple patterns, though there’s always a few extra items thrown on top of the cart as they pass through the aisles. There’s jokes and exasperation and Buck, without fail, will always stand on the back of the cart to roll down the cereal aisle when no one's watching.
Eddie tries to follow the same pattern, but it’s duller than usual and the fluorescent lights burn when he turns his head to the top shelf.
If it were Chris who was sick, he would file through the pharmacy in search of cherry cough syrup, the only flavor he can stomach. There’d be a cart full of tissues and soup cans and anything that could ease the pain, even just a bit.
If it were Buck, he would let himself in his apartment and shove him into the shower. He’d wash the sheets and make him lunch and resist the urge to leave a kiss on his forehead, a little sweaty but still sweet.
Eddie bypasses the pharmacy and makes the bold assumption that there’s some sort of medicine at home.
Checkout goes by quietly, he leaves non-responses to the cashier’s small talk and only feels a little guilty about it. He does smile as he leaves though, but remembers too late he’s wearing a mask.
He’s in the car, and then he’s not. He’s shaking and struggling with each breath, but still, he refuses to vomit out the window.
Deep breath in, he takes two handfuls of groceries and adds soreness to his growing list of symptoms. Soreness and nausea and an ever-worsening headache. Deep breath out, he struggles to unlock the door, to turn the handle and key.
It takes several trips to get everything inside, several more than he’d usually take.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. Buck sends another message.
Buck (11:49am): should i take your silence as a no?
Three dots appear and disappear as he opens the message. Yes, he considers, no. It’s confusing, too much to handle for now. Eddie can’t handle truths, but he can handle groceries. He leaves the phone on the counter.
He should stop. He should rummage through some medicine cabinets and lay down and maybe drink a cup of that tea Buck always leaves in the kitchen. He bought an infrared thermometer a few months back, the touchless, forehead ones, but he can’t remember what drawer he left it in and the counter is covered in the reusable grocery bags Buck left behind and never claimed and he did the dishes, he knows he did the dishes, but somehow there’s still dishes in the sink.
He should rest. Eddie unpacks the groceries instead. He can never brew the tea quite right, anyway. Burnt leaves, oversteeped, cold before he can finish his cup. A simple task, and he still can’t get it right.
It’s inevitable, the way he breaks. He wants to laugh because really, it’s hilarious how a sniper blew clean through his shoulder, but a headache and a cold sweat is the thing that breaks him.
Eddie got shot, spent hours, days, weeks bouncing between hospitals, doctors, and physical therapists. He recovered, well enough at least, and came back to work. One panic fed into another and suddenly he was single. Soon after, so was Buck, and they like to pretend it means nothing when surely it means something. Bad days and bad calls, headaches and heartaches, nightmares and pointless daydreams of love and a kinder life.
All the suffering and this is what breaks him: a fever, a pile of groceries, and a sink full of dirty dishes.
His phone vibrates on the counter.
Buck (12:24pm): are you okay?
There’s no good answer. The time difference catches him, the time spent thinking and slowly shifting between the cabinets and the bags on the counter. Eddie knows the truth, but doesn’t know what to say. There’s still so many bags. There’s still dishes in the sink. It’s a mess, it’s all a mess.
Eddie starts to type out a response: I’m fine, I’ll be over soon.
He deletes the message.
I’m fine, but I think I have to cancel.
He deletes the message.
Three dots flash, then disappear. He deletes the message.
I can’t make it. Sorry.
He barely finishes typing the last word.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
He lies, deletes the message.
I’m trying to get better, but I still see my blood on your hands.
He deletes the message.
I’ll be fine.
He deletes the message. Three dots flash on the left side of the screen.
He tries one more time, nearly pleading: Help.
The phone falls to the floor before he can press send. It’s easy then, to fall along with it. Eddie’s knees hit the floor with a thud, and he’s bent over the trash can, gagging and choking and trying to forget the taste of this morning’s breakfast. The plastic bin shakes as he grips the edge, strong enough to leave his knuckles white and press marks along his palms. His hands are numb and he nearly slips off the edge.
It’s pathetic, really, the way he collapses and spits into the bin. It’s even more pathetic, how he wishes he weren’t alone.
And worse than that, when that bullet tore through his shoulder and left a pool of himself on the pavement, Eddie didn’t cry. He passed out in his best friend’s arms and woke up under a doctor’s care.
When he broke up with his girlfriend in this very kitchen, by the sink, against the fridge, Eddie didn’t cry. They both said goodbye and soon, he forgot they were ever together.
Through and through, he never cried, can’t remember the last time he did. He’s hurling his guts into a plastic bag. A few stray tears fall with it. It’s pathetic. It’s all pathetic. But at least when he was bleeding out, he wasn’t bleeding alone.
His phone vibrates again on the kitchen floor, just out of reach. The vibration continues, either a phone call or a series of texts. The sound resonates through his legs, bent to the side and all sorts of wobbly.
All he wants is to answer the phone, or at the very least, shut off the sound. The shaking doesn’t make him cry, but the combination of the shaking and gagging and dirty dishes is what breaks him.
Footsteps shuffle behind him, but there’s no way he can turn. His forehead stays pressed against the plastic bag, sweat building on his hairline, skin paling by the minute.
“Eddie?” he hears, and then there’s a hand on his back, on his shoulder, pressing soft circles into his skin. Eddie breaks, yet again, at the touch. Choking turns to gasping, and then he’s collapsing sideways into the same arms that carried him off that street.
Buck shifts his arms, gentle hands pressed flat against his back, hugging him close. It’s the only thing keeping him upright, and even then, he can’t help but drop his forehead against his shoulder, hiding his face in the hoodie.
“I got you,” he murmurs, hands tracing up and down his back. There’s still vomit in his mouth and tears in his eyes, but right here, there’s safety. Eddie fists his hands in the back of Buck’s sweatshirt, scared of holding too tight, but terrified of letting go. Buck continues his reassurances, always knowing how to set him at ease. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Years pass before he leans back, or maybe just twenty minutes. There’s too much fog in his head to really tell the difference. Buck traces a hand from his back, over his shoulder, over the scar, up to his forehead. His brows furrow in concern as he checks Eddie’s temperature.
“Do you have a fever?” He asks, voice soft and a little raspy.
“I don’t know.”
“Headache? Cold sweat?” Buck reads through a laundry list of symptoms. “Or a sore throat? Stuffy nose?”
“Some of those,” he mumbles, closing his eyes, biting back the returning wave of nausea.
“Have you taken any meds?”
Eddie shuts his eyes impossibly tighter, falling forward into his chest. “No.”
He can feel the breathy laugh rise from Buck, something between exasperation and disbelief. “For someone who takes care of people for a living, you’re pretty awful at taking care of yourself.”
“I’m fine,” he lies, barely audible. The words struggle against his throat, and he knows Buck can hear the rasp in his voice.
“No, you’re not,” Buck shakes his head, gently pushing Eddie up to look him in the eyes. They’re red and they burn with brightness and tears. “You don’t have to be.”
Eddie shakes his head too, sees stars in his blurring vision, but Buck holds him steady, he always does. There’s a trash can full of vomit, a counter covered in melting groceries, and dishes in the sink. The thought of standing, leaving this tile floor, leaving Buck’s reassuring hands makes him sick all over again.
“No, I’m not,” he admits, choking on his words and the cracks in his voice. Eddie collapses once more. It’s become a regular occurrence, for Buck to catch him the way he does, strong arms and steady hands. There’s bile in his mouth and tear stains on Buck’s hoodie, but he doesn’t seem to mind, still whispering soft assurances into his ear.
“I’m sorry,” Eddie breathes out.
He almost laughs. What is there not to be sorry for? He shakes his head instead, still hidden in the cotton hoodie. “I don’t know.”
And he can feel it, he can feel the twitch of Buck’s face, the gentle smile. He moves a hand to the back of his head, brushing the hair at the back of his neck. “Well, let me know when you figure it out so I can say something like, ‘you have nothing to apologize for,’ and you can go on and say, ‘I’m such a mess,’ or something, and I can tell you, ‘you’re my favorite mess’.” Buck lets out a breath. “Or something like that.”
Eddie looks up so he can see Buck, not just feel, but see him. Maybe it’s just the light, or maybe there’s tears in his eyes too. There’s definitely some worry, and just a bit of fondness. Maybe it’s the fever, or maybe it’s the truth, either way he speaks his mind.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Buck’s breath hitches before a smile graces his face. “You’ll never have to find out.”
And God, it’s unfair how Buck is so effortlessly kind even while he’s throwing up his guts in the trash, and it’s unfair how he can wipe away every last tear and promise him it’ll all be alright, and it’s unfair how he wants to kiss his best friend while his mouth still tastes like bile and acid.
Buck kneels before him, beautiful and warm, and Eddie wants him, wants it all, even when he’s sweating through his shirt.
“I need to put away the groceries,” he says, strained and tired.
“And there’s still dishes.”
“And that tea in the cabinet is only good when you make it,” he admits. Eddie lets out something between a sigh and a laugh. “And I’m such a mess, and I hate that you knew I would say that.”
Eddie’s still holding his sweatshirt, hands somewhere around his waist. His fists are tight, returning to their white knuckle grip. But Buck holds him softly, a light weight against his cheek, thumb pressing away any stray tears that dare to grace his cheekbone.
“You’re my favorite mess,” he says, as promised. Buck’s good at wiping his tears and giving hugs and reaching the top shelves, but he’s even better at keeping promises. “I’ll make that tea everyday for the rest of your life. If you wanted.”
“I don’t even like tea.”
Buck nods. “I know.”
Eddie nods too. No one knows him like Buck. There’s so much he wants, but so much he can’t do. He’s stuck on the floor, still shaky, still sweaty and tired, but he’s not alone. No, he never has been.
“I would kiss you, but I don’t want to get you sick,” he says, and this time he really can blame the honesty on the fever. “And there’s still some vomit in my mouth.”
Buck laughs and presses a soft kiss into Eddie’s hair, letting his lips linger across his scalp. “I’ll be right here when you’re ready,” he assures, his voice echoing softly against his still-throbbing head. For once, Eddie believes him, that it’ll all be alright.
For now, Buck brews a cup of tea and leads him to the couch. He cards his hands through Eddie’s hair until he falls asleep, and he truly believes it’ll all be alright.
all word + place prompt fills can be found here (ao3) and here (tumblr)
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for @eddiebodywantssome who requested "falling asleep while stargazing together" i didn't follow this one exactly but i hope you like how it turned out!
Buck’s been planning this all week, a small comment by Christopher sparking the idea. He’s spent days researching, placing orders and waiting for packages to arrive.
He’s decided today is the perfect day - Eddie and Chris will be out for a couple of hours at one of Chris’ appointments and their post-therapy McDonalds trip.
It takes him two hours to get everything set up just right, moving the ladder around the living room, moving furniture and setting up the blanket pile on the floor.
He just has time to take a quick shower and change into sweats before his boys come rushing through the door. They take in the sight, the confusion on their faces evident. He knows they’re asking themselves why they’ve come home to a redesigned house layout.
Buck greets Eddie with a kiss and Chris with a ruffle of his hair before he gets them moving, “Change into something comfy” he instructs, ushering them towards their bedrooms.
They emerge ten minutes later, Eddie in one of Buck’s old t-shirts and the pyjama pants he’d gotten for Christmas last year. Chris in his favourite pyjamas, the ones with aliens on.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Eddie says. “What’s going on, Buck?”
There’s a mischievous glint in Buck’s eyes when he replies, “Why does anything have to be going on? Can’t I just want to spend time with my two favourite boys?” He manages to hold eye contact with Eddie for all of three seconds before he cracks, “Okay, okay, get on the blankets.”
They eventually get comfortable after a lot of wriggling from Chris, who says he can’t decide which pillow is best, so he has to test them all.
Buck has them both lie back and close their eyes, “Just do it, Eds” he says when Eddie gives him a suspicious look “You trust me, right?” That’s what gets Eddie to relax.
He moves to turn off the lights, checks to make sure Chris still has his eyes shut “No peeking!”
“Okay. 3…2…1..open your eyes!”
It was worth the days of research and hours of work to set this up when he sees the look on their faces. They’re looking up at the constellations Buck had carefully put together on the ceiling in glow in the dark stars.
“Woah!” Chris exclaims, “Buck! This is so cool!”
“Yeah? You like it, buddy?” Buck asks as he joins them on the floor. “I know you wanted to go stargazing, but like your dad said, it’s a little bright here to see the stars so...I brought the stars to you.”
Eddie has been quiet throughout all of this, hasn’t said a word, eyes fixed on the ceiling. When Buck leans over he can see Eddie is crying.
“Eds, hey, hey, what’s going on?” He reaches out to touch Eddie’s face. “Are you upset? Did I-”
“Buck. It’s perfect. Thank you.” Eddie whispers.
They lie there for over an hour, Chris snuggled against Buck’s chest as Buck points out constellations and Chris sees how many patterns of dogs he can find.
Eddie’s been quiet the whole time, only speaking up when Chris falls asleep right there leaning against Buck, mumbling about the little dipper and dogs in the sky.
“I love you.” Eddie says, “And I love him, and I love us. You- you did all of this for him.”
“I love him, Eds. I love you, too. You know that, right?”
Eddie smiles, “Yeah, I know.”
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Hello! I donated, hope it helps! Could you write a buddie fic where Christopher calls or refers to Buck as his other dad?
word count: 1,722
Buck grinned as he led Christopher to the bus, where a harried looking woman with a clipboard took a glance at Chris before ticking off a box on her paperwork. Her attention then redirected to Buck. "Mr. Diaz? I don't think we've met. I'm Christopher's Art teacher."
"Mrs. Conrad." Buck pointed at her knowingly. "I'm a fan. Your homework assignments are my favorite. Mostly because I can do them."
She laughed. "Glad to hear it. But I didn't think we'd be seeing you. Chris mentioned his dad would be at work today."
"Daddy is working," Christopher informed her. "This is Buck. He's my other dad."
read more: ao3
-> i'm currently filling prompt fills as a thank you to those who donate. details here!
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ficlet for 9-1-1 Halloweek day 1 with as prompt: candy.
words: 636 - part 2
"Do we really need all of that candy?" Eddie asks, looking at the kitchen table with a mix of awe and disgust.
There seems to be a never-ending amount of candy coming from the shopping bags Buck brought in, and he's spreading them all out on the table, sorting them by kind.
"Do you really need to ask?" Buck shoots back, grinning as he drops the last bag of mini chocolate bars onto the pile, tossing the shopping bag somewhere behind him.
Eddie rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face as he tries to find the patience to deal with his best friend.
"There is no way there's going to be that many kids trick or treating around here, and I'm not letting Chris eat any more than the bare minimum," he tells Buck, crossing his arms over his chest as he puts on the most stern face he can muster.
Buck has started opening bags, putting about a third of each into a giant bowl, while emptying the rest of it into a big storage box Eddie didn't even know he had. (He probably doesn't, Buck has either bought it for this occasion or brought it from his apartment.)
"Exactly, which is why we are going to hold a movie night and gorge ourselves on this candy."
He holds up the bowl as he says it, the smile on his face almost as bright as the sun, and Eddie has never been able to resist Evan Buckley anything.
They don't have Chris in the house right now, and Buck has already set up the living room with pillows and blankets on the couch. He tells Eddie to take the drinks, carrying the giant bowl of tooth-rotting snacks.
"What movie did you pick?" Eddie asks as they settle on the couch, the bowl between them.
"Nightmare on Elm Street."
He's never seen it, but the way Buck is excitedly bouncing in his seat certainly promises something good. They settle in to watch the movie, and Buck is already unwrapping the first piece of candy, gaze fixed on the TV.
Eddie doesn't eat any for the first half-hour or so, before reluctantly taking a chocolate. By then, Buck has accumulated an astonishing amount of empty candy wrappers, and Eddie already knows how this is going to end.
But now that he's looked away from the TV to look at Buck, he can't find it in himself to tear his eyes away from his best friend. Buck is giddy, already high on sugar, and enjoying the movie to the fullest.
It's moments like these that make his heart ache, that make him want something more.
Eddie's not sure if there's anything he can put the blame on for what he does next.
Buck tastes sweet, like a mix of chocolate and the wine gums he had last, and he makes a confused noise in the back of his throat before he's kissing Eddie back. The candy wrappers still in his hand fall to the ground as he brings it up to cup Eddie's face, and Eddie's hand is fisted in Buck's sweater.
They kiss until the taste of the candy is gone, and when they pull back they're both breathless. The movie has kept playing in the background, but they pay it no mind, too wrapped up in each other.
There is still a smudge of chocolate on Buck's cheek, and Eddie laughs out loud, a little hysterical but oh so happy. He puts the bowl onto the table before diving back in for another kiss.
(When Buck complains of stomach pain later on, Eddie can't help but say: "I told you so", before kissing him to distract him. He forces Buck to bring most of the leftover candy to the station to be handed out for trick or treating.)
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Rating: General / 3K / complete
Buck’s arms slide over his shoulders. He runs fingers through Eddie’s hair and presses in closer to him. “I missed you.” It comes out like a contented sigh, and Eddie never considered how much you could ache for someone who already calls himself yours. But the feeling is living and breathing in his chest.
Still. He teases. “You saw me a few hours ago.”
Buck nods. “Hours ago. So long. Too long.”
God, he could legitimately cry from the earnestness in his voice, in Buck’s whole body that radiates love and need in so many layers. He pulls Buck to him, wrapping arms tightly around him, and brings him into a slow, sweet kiss. His own heart leaps and rushes. It’s never been so free. It’s never been so joyful. He’s never had anything for himself. He’s never allowed his heart to have anything.
But this is his. Buck is his.
the BuckleyDiaz family celebrate Eddie's birthday
@oneweirdcryptid @ellelans @ashavahishta @loveyourownsmiilee @captain-flint @arrenemris @phantomqueenmorrigan @oldsouldreamer85 @fleurdebeton @rosefairyirl @holydrogo-n @free-byrd @insaneoldme @oatflatwhite @favouritealias @idealuk @racoonsa @birthdaydiaz @reallysmartladymariecurie @mansikkaomenabanaani
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The Great Buck Bake Off
For week 1 of 9-1-1 Halloweek. Day 1: Candy
word count: 1.8k
read it on ao3
Eddie wouldn't be surprised if this is how he finally has a breakdown; standing in the baking aisle of the grocery store at 10pm, after a 24-hour shift, torn between a bag of whole pecans or a bag of chopped pecans because Buck didn’t specify.
He wasn’t sure exactly what happened at home to cause Buck to call him in a panic just as he climbed into his truck, tired and anxious and ready to be home. But the pecans were an emergency and Buck sounded so frantic, Eddie couldn’t say no.
Eddie snatches up the bag of whole pecans, figuring he can just chop them if needed, and checks out quickly. Once back on the road, he begins to worry about the state of things at home.
Buck had graciously volunteered to bring the candy to Christopher’s class Halloween party tomorrow. But, no, he couldn’t just buy the candy from the store. “That’s what lazy people do, Eddie,” Buck had told him when he asked. “That’s what uncommitted people do and I’m not letting Sherri freaking Sanchez sneer at me again. Not after last time.”
This referred to the time when Eddie signed up to bring cupcakes for Valentine’s Day, insisting to Buck that store-bought was fine. But when Buck had shown up to the school with the little plastic container of grocery store cupcakes, he hadn’t been prepared for the scoffs and upturned noses from nearly all the parents in attendance who brought homemade baked goods.
Eddie remembers the haunted look in Buck’s eyes, “You weren’t there, Eddie. You don’t know.” He figured it was only a matter of time before Buck turned their kitchen into a replica of the set of The Great British Bake Off. It was an obsession Buck had developed during quarantine that had done nothing but grow in the time since then. Now, Eddie isn’t even allowed to bring so much as a boxed cake mix into the house.
So, yeah, Eddie’s a bit nervous about the state of his boyfriend and his kitchen.
After checking in to be sure Christopher is sound asleep in his bedroom, Eddie braces himself and gently pushes the kitchen door open. He lets out a surprised gasp.
Neatly covering nearly every available counter space is the finished product of candy corn-striped fudge, Halloween chocolate bark swirled with purples and greens and little candy eyeballs, marshmallows on sticks dipped in chocolate and hand-decorated to look like zombies, and a tray of what looks like un-dipped Oreo balls.
“Buck,” Eddie gasps in wonder, taking in the scene before him. He doesn’t even know where to start.
“Don’t,” Buck warns. “Just please tell me you got the pecans.”
Buck is standing near the Oreo balls, aggressively stirring the bowl of chocolate he has pressed against his sternum. He has different colored chocolate smeared on his face and arms, his orange sweater is dusted with powdered sugar, and his eyes are wild, staring vacantly at the counter.
Eddie finally moves from where he stood frozen in the doorway. He places the bag of pecans on a spare corner of the counter, careful not to knock over any of Buck’s creations.
“Yeah, I got them. Is that what’s burning?” Eddie’s gaze falls on the stove where a sheet pan of charred pecans sits waiting for its fateful trip to the trash.
Buck nods but doesn’t stop his zoned-out staring or abrasive stirring.
“Buck, I think you’ve done plenty. You’re assaulting the chocolate.” He moves behind Buck and tries to gently take the bowl away from him. Tries being the operative word.
“Just…here–” Eddie tries prying the bowl away, but Buck only grips it harder. “Buck, let it go.”
Buck grunts and tries to move away, but Eddie presses up against his back and wraps an arm across his stomach, making him pinned between Eddie and the counter.
“Baby,” Eddie murmurs low in Buck’s ear. “Give me the chocolate.”
Buck sucks in a breath and stops stirring, his grip around the bowl going slack. Eddie gently takes the bowl away and puts it next to the sink. He turns Buck around and rests his hands on his waist.
“Talk to me,” Eddie says, stroking his thumbs against the soft fabric Buck’s sweater.
“It all happened so fast,” Buck stares over Eddie’s head with a troubled look in his eyes.
Buck’s eyes are wide when he finally looks down at Eddie. “It’s like milk on a stove, Eddie; you can’t walk away or disaster strikes. Don’t even look in that pot. I’m pretty sure I burned the sugar too.”
Eddie laughs softly. “How long have you been in here making candy?”
“Hours,” Buck whispers, looking over Eddie’s head again. “The pralines…they broke me.”
Eddie chuckles and cups Buck’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You did all this and you still wanted to attempt pralines?”
Buck runs his hands up Eddie’s arms until his fingers wrap around his wrists. “They’re straight sugar, Eddie. They’re gonna be a massive hit!”
“Hmm,” Eddie runs his thumbs along Buck’s cheekbones while he contemplates before finally deciding to drop the bomb. “Doesn’t Sherri’s kid have a nut allergy?”
Buck freezes before closing his eyes and nearly sinking to the floor. “Oh…my god.”
Eddie laughs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Forget the pralines, okay? Look at all this!” Eddie turns him around again so he can see his hard work. “This is amazing, Buck. But, uh…you do know there’s only like fifteen kids in his class, right?”
“Yeah, I’m making little treat bags for all of his teachers, too.”
Eddie’s heart squeezes in his chest. He can’t believe this selfless man is all his. He fights the lump forming in his throat to ask, “Did Chris even get to see all the hard work you’ve been doing for him?”
Buck takes a moment to take in all of the treats he’s put nearly an entire day's work into. All while keeping a relatively clean kitchen, save for the few bowls in the sink and the full dishwasher that needs to be unloaded.
“No, I wanted it to be a surprise. He’ll get to see it all tomorrow, though.”
“Without pralines,” Eddie states, resting his chin on Buck’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his middle.
Buck sighs and leans back into Eddie. “Without pralines,” he agrees.
“You’re incredible,” Eddie whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the space just behind his ear. He feels the tension in Buck’s muscles start to melt away. They stay like that for a few moments until he feels Buck beginning to sway on his feet.
“Alright, Paul Hollywood,” Eddie gives Buck’s tummy a small squeeze, “let’s call it a day and get this cleaned up.”
“Okay, first of all,” Buck turns and points an accusing finger at Eddie, “if I’m anyone, it’s Prue. And second…the Oreo balls—”
“I will dip them in the chocolate, okay? You start on”—Eddie waves vaguely at the different treats sitting out that should probably be put in containers—“that.”
Eddie turns to grab the bowl of chocolate, but Buck pulls him back by the elbow.
“Eddie,” Buck says, his voice playful but hard, “don’t even think about it.”
Buck snatches the chocolate from Eddie—who raises his hands up in defeat—and gives it an experimental stir. Deeming it too cool, he turns and pops it into the microwave.
“Okay, then I’ll just start on the dishes,” Eddie moves to the sink, but Buck stops him again with another hand on his elbow. Eddie gives him an exasperated look. “Come on, at least let me help you clean.”
Buck pulls Eddie in by the waist and gently presses his lips to the crease between Eddie’s eyebrows. “I don’t want your help.” He places a kiss to the bridge of Eddie’s nose. “I want you to go sit down and relax.” Another kiss to the tip of his nose. “You know, that thing you do after working twenty-four hours straight and stopping at the store on the way home to get me emergency pecans that I can’t even use now?”
Eddie hums and leans into Buck, pushing him into the counter. “It’s okay. You can say it. You just want me out of your kitchen.”
“Only because neither of us would get anything done if you stayed.” Buck threads his fingers into Eddie’s hair and slots their lips together, kissing him quick and dirty before moving away to the beeping microwave.
“Tease,” Eddie grumbles, moving to the side so Buck can begin his work dipping the Oreo balls.
Buck lightly bumps his hip into Eddie’s. “Get out of here and go relax, please. You’re distracting me.”
“Fine,” Eddie sighs, taking the spoon from Buck and lifting out a bit of the melted chocolate. Watching Buck through his lashes, he lets it fall back into the bowl in velvety ribbons. “Think there’ll be any of this left over?”
Warm desire fills Buck’s eyes at the implication and he finds himself nodding earnestly.
“Good.” Eddie drops the spoon back into the bowl and turns to leave, stopping at the door. “Uh…make sure it’s still warm when you come to bed.”
Eddie throws a wink in Buck’s direction and manages to catch a glimpse of the heat rising to his cheeks just before disappearing down the hall.
Buck ended up using some of the pecans in a batch of pancakes the next morning, much to Christopher’s delight. The pair of them are chatting away when Eddie walks into the kitchen in search of coffee.
“Dad! Did you see what Buck made?” Chris points at the four bakery boxes full of the treats for his class, as well as the basket full of the teacher’s treats neatly wrapped in cellophane baggies.
“I sure did.” Eddie ruffles his curls as he walks by. “Do you like them?”
“Yeah, they’re awesome! Buck said we can try making some pralines this weekend.”
“Oh, did he?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at Buck who hands him a steaming mug.
“For fun this time,” Buck clarifies.
Eddie nods, his mouth turning down in an unconvinced frown. “Ah, we’ll see.”
“Ew, you still have chocolate on your neck, Buck!” Christopher points and laughs.
Buck’s hand comes up and feels the dried bit of chocolate that was, um, not from baking the previous night. Eddie meets his wide-eyed stare and clears his throat loudly, hoping Chris doesn’t notice the blush creeping up both of their necks.
Eddie hides his smirk behind his coffee cup. “Finish your breakfast, buddy. We gotta leave for school soon.”
Eddie rides with them to the school against Buck’s complaints about him needing his rest. He feels dead on his feet, but it was worth it in the end just to see the look on Sherri’s face when Buck finished setting out his spread. Buck rightfully puffs with pride for the rest of the day.
Eddie has a feeling he’s in for a lot more episodes of The Great Buck Bake Off.
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treated like a necklace by sirencalls
explicit ♡ 2k ♡ buddie
There are these collections of moments that never escape Buck’s notice, a pattern of behaviors and wants and almosts that have Buck wondering if maybe… maybe Eddie is holding something back from him.
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I didn't want to hijack @extasiswings 's post but I also started thinking about Eddie not being around when that man's being dug out, aaand I couldn't stop...
[ edit: on ao3 ]
Eddie looks down at his phone in surprise. Buck's ringing him, but he's supposed to be on shift, and if he was just bored in the station house he'd normally FaceTime, or send Eddie a litany of texts about his latest internet deep-dive (the great Canadian maple syrup heist was his latest obsession), but a phone call?
"Hey man, what's up?"
Buck doesn't immediately respond, but Eddie hears the shuddered inhale down the line, and now he's concerned.
Eddie gives Christopher a reassuring smile while he waits for an answer, and nods to his aunt that he's stepping out for a moment before ducking to the front door when he still doesn't get a reply.
"Buck?" he tries again. "Buck, come on, I'm here, okay? What's wrong?"
"I just..." Buck starts, faltering for a moment. "I just needed to hear your voice."
Buck sounds... shattered, honestly, something so much deeper than exhaustion, and the hairs on the back of Eddie's neck stand on edge.
"Talk to me. Did something happen on a call? Are you hurt?"
"No—we're fine, I'm fine," Buck says, but his voice is barely above a whisper and Eddie's not convinced.
"There was... this man got.... Eddie, he was buried alive. And dispatch tracked his phone but they couldn't get a precise location and by the time we started to dig things weren't looking good and—"
Buck's voice is shaking, but now that he's started speaking he can't seem to stop and his words are gaining fervour as he goes on. Eddie can feel his own grip on his cellphone getting tighter and tighter until finally he has to sit himself down on the steps of the front porch to try and catch his own breath. He knows where Buck's head is at—he can't help but go there too.
"—a-a-and I just...I couldn't stop thinking about the well collapse, and dispatch said the guy wasn't answering and I started thinking about trying to get a hold of you on the radio but we couldn't and suddenly I wasn't looking for the vic anymore, I was looking for you. I was back there in the rain and I was clawing at the ground, at the mud, and it felt like there was this vice around my chest and—"
"Breathe, Buck," Eddie interrupts a little desperately at the fear in Buck's voice, "breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth," he says as he tries to follow his own advice. "Take a deep breath, c'mon, do it with me, in for four, hold it—and breathe out for eight, and again..."
For a while there's nothing but a stream of breaths down the phone from the both of them, until finally a long steady exhale is followed by a stuttered, "sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Don't be stupid, you can always—"
The siren rings out loud down the other end of the phone and Eddie jumps to his feet out of habit before he remembers that he's not actually on shift.
"I've gotta go," Buck mumbles, and Eddie can hear the rustling movements as he's obviously making his way over to the trucks.
"Yeah of course," Eddie says, and continues before he can second guess himself; "come over after your shift in the morning, we can go out for breakfast with Chris."
There's another exhale down the phone, but this one sounds lighter, happier, like it's being chased by a smile, and Eddie feels his own tight chest loosen considerably at the image he's conjured in his head.
"Yeah, that'd be great." Buck says, "I'll see you then."
"Perfect, it's a date." Eddie says, before hanging up.
(His own words don't register for another 30 minutes and by then Buck's already sent a smiley face emoji over text, and Eddie can't find it within himself to regret anything)
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i don't swim and you're not in love by @hattalove
She turns to Eddie and says something else, but Buck is busy fighting the headrush he gets at the sound of Ana Flores calling Eddie and Christopher 'the boys'. Like they belong to her already.
God, what’s wrong with him? What is this?
or, eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly.
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There’s a knock on his door — he thinks it’s the doctor telling him he can leave, but a familiar blonde head and worried blue eyes appear instead.
“I didn’t think they’d call you,” he says, eyes fixed on the ground because he can’t bear to look anywhere else. If he looks at Buck’s face for too long right now, he knows he’ll break.
“They call emergency contacts whenever you get admitted, even if you don’t stay overnight. Learned that the hard way.” There’s a scrape of wood across linoleum as Buck pulls a chair over to the bed Eddie’s sitting on, warm hands covering his, stilling the fine tremors that are still running through them. He feels small and weak and awful, but Buck’s here, and it’s helping.
“A panic attack, huh?” Buck asks, trying for casual but missing by a mile, his voice cracking in the middle.
Eddie shrugs. “Thought it was something else.”
“Like a heart attack?”
He feels his cheeks heat up, because that’s exactly what he thought, but hearing it from someone else just makes him feel ridiculous. Untethered. Like he’s spinning out on black ice. “All these dramatics for nothing, I guess.” His laugh sounds fake, his smile feels hollow, and he knows Buck can tell.
“It’s not dramatics, Eds. Panic attacks are no joke.”
“I know, but—” he stares up at the ceiling, still avoiding Buck’s eyes, doing his best to make traitorous tears flow back into his head. “This shouldn’t be happening. I’m back at work, I’m done with PT, everything should be fine!” He doesn’t mean to snap, his words are sharper than he meant for them to be, but he’s tired of feeling so helpless, so out of control.
Buck, to his credit, doesn’t flinch or move away. Instead, he moves closer, threads their fingers together. “You need to talk to someone, Eddie. Keeping this all to yourself isn’t making anything better, clearly.”
“No,” he says with a sigh. ”I’m— I’ll be alright. I just need—”
“Help,” Buck squeezes his hands in emphasis. “You need help because I can’t keep running in here every six months thinking I’m going to have to raise Christopher with you gone. You need help and he needs you.”
That stops him in his tracks, because he knows Buck’s right. Chris needs him and he desperately needs Chris. He’s not sure how else he’d get through this. “He needs you too,” Eddie whispers. “Especially if I can’t— if I’m not okay enough to—”
His eyes move to the floor again, and Buck ducks down, forces him to meet his eye. “He needs both of us. We need each other. So we’re gonna find you a therapist so you can keep being there for him like I know you want to be.”
“And you.” The words fall out of him before he can stop them, the exhaustion completely frying the filter in his brain. But Buck is here, came running when he thought Eddie was hurt, and it’s everything. More than everything. “I want to keep being there for you too.”
Buck squeezes his hands again, like he’s joining them together, sealing them, the promise of a future, a good future, side by side, always.
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the sort of late hour that might be called early (ghost stories after dark)
happy halloweek day 2: ghosts! fun fact I initially had this tagged as "5x06 spec if you squint" but yesterday Fox decided not to let me live so! ha ha anyway
2.7k of the gang sharing ghost stories!
Also on AO3
“I just think it’d be cool to have a real encounter with a ghost,” Buck says, pulling the rag off his shoulder and going back to shining the bumper of the engine.
“What, that one call a few years ago wasn’t enough for you?” Hen asks, leaning against the engine beside him.
“Oh, not this again,” Bobby says. “Back on the ‘a ghost called 9-1-1’ thing?”
“Well how do you explain it?” Buck asks. “Maddie said it sounded exactly the same!”
“Ghost calling 9-1-1?” Eddie asks, wandering past them distracted, eyes on his phone.
“Yeah,” Buck says. “What’s up?”
Eddie hums in question and then looks up from his phone. “Oh, Chris was just texting me costume ideas.”
“Is ghost one of them?” Hen asks. “Because then Buck could have a real encounter.”
“Ha, ha,” Buck says, and doesn’t quite pout when he goes back to polishing but it’s a near thing.
They drop the subject when the bell goes, and Buck thinks it’s well and truly dropped until much later that night when one by one they all find themselves sitting around in the loft.
“No one could sleep, huh?” Bobby asks when Buck and Eddie and Hen and Ravi have all grabbed comfortable spots and accepted the cups of coffee Bobby’s offered them.
One by one, they shake their heads and no one offers an explanation. Sometimes, the station is just like that – it takes on its own energy, expends it on all of them, puts them all in sync more than they otherwise would be.
Buck sips his coffee and tries to keep his booted feet off the couch, even though what he really wants to do is extend his legs across the length of the couch, drop his feet in Eddie’s lap, or maybe snuggle up. But they’re at work and they’re not… they aren’t, no matter how comfortable they got with each other while Eddie was recovering.
“Can I ask a question?” Ravi asks a few minutes into their communal quiet.
“Besides that one?” Buck asks and gets the back of Eddie’s hand lightly to his thigh for his trouble. Buck pouts at him and Eddie shakes his head like he’s indulging some foolish whim of Buck’s. Eddie indulges him a lot, to be fair.
“You were mentioning earlier some call where you thought a ghost called 9-1-1?” Ravi says, used to Buck’s sass by now. “What was that about?”
“A couple years ago, we responded to a call from a hiker who’d fallen over a cliff in an area that was supposed to be closed off,” Bobby says.
“But the cell phone we found was by a set of bones that had been lost there for seven years,” Eddie says. Like he can feel Buck’s eyes on him, he sighs and adds, “And when we found the hiker who’d gone over, he insisted he hadn’t called us.”
“But,” Buck continues. “My sister worked dispatch and she’s the one who took the call, and when we identified the bones, she managed to pull up the call placed by that guy seven years ago, and it was the exact same call.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Hen protests.
“Yes, it was!” Buck says.
“No, it wasn’t, because when they played back the recording of the call that Maddie took that day a couple years ago, it was just static,” Hen says. “The wires got crossed somewhere, and the old recording just played on her feed.”
“And it was just a coincidence that it was the same day that guy fell off a cliff in the exact same place?” Buck demands.
Hen flounders for an answer for a second and eventually throws her hands up with an eyeroll and an, “I don’t know.”
“Cool,” Ravi says. He even sounds like he means it, which Buck doesn’t know what to do with. “What about you, Cap? Do you believe in ghosts?”
Bobby considers for a second, seemingly very aware of everyone’s eyes on him. “Well,” he says finally. “I am Catholic.”
“So?” Buck asks.
Bobby’s mouth twitches like he’s trying not to laugh. “The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost?”
Buck flushes and covers by prodding Eddie in the calf with his boot. “Shouldn’t that mean you believe in ghosts, too?”
Hen snorts when Eddie looks trapped, and when he says, “I’ve claimed to be a lot of things in my life, Buck, but a good Catholic has never been one of them,” she full on laughs.
“Oh, come on, someone here must’ve seen something like a ghost for real,” Buck says. “Besides the 9-1-1 call.”
Hen’s laughter, which had been picked up by Ravi and then Eddie and Bobby, fades out slowly.
“I don’t know if it counts as a ghost,” Hen says slowly. “But when I was in the hospital when I was sixteen, my mom had to work so I was there all by myself overnight, you know? And my grandma had died a few years earlier, and she’d had this phrase she’d use, ‘well, that’s close enough to Hollywood’ for whenever something worked out well enough to call it a day. And I’d never heard anyone else ever say that, but I was there alone in the hospital overnight, lonely, still scared and shaken, recovering from this surgery, and I wanted my mom or my grandma, just someone to be there with me, you know? And the night nurse came to check on my dressings and make sure everything looked okay, and she looked over at me and nodded and said, ‘well, that’s close enough to Hollywood.’ It felt like my grandma was right there in the room with me for the rest of the night.”
“Did you ask the nurse about it?” Ravi asks.
Hen shakes her head. “Never saw her again.”
“Maybe it was your grandma,” Buck says.
Hen’s answering smile is indulgent when she says, “Maybe.”
“You know,” Bobby says a moment later. “I don’t know if this was just our parents messing with us, but when I was a kid, we lived in this old apartment building, and my brother and I were out playing on the fire escape and climbing up from our level up to the next unit and the old guy who lived up there gave us the worst earful about how don’t you know it’s dangerous to be out there, not to mention we were bothering senior citizens, just really going on and on about it. And so we spooked and ran back home and told our parents about it, and apparently, the guy who’d lived upstairs had died the week before.”
“Then who were you talking to?” Buck asks.
Bobby shrugs. “No idea. Maybe it was the landlord or the guy’s brother or who knows, but my brother and I were always convinced it was our neighbour’s ghost.”
“That sounds like your parents making fun of you guys, Cap,” Hen says.
Bobby laughs. “Yeah, I know it does, but come on. It’s almost Halloween.”
“I had a ghost encounter once,” Ravi offers.
“You did?” Buck asks.
Ravi nods, seemingly unimpressed by his own happenstance. “When I was, like, I dunno, thirteen, I was over at my friend’s house and he lived in this old Victorian house, with these weird old windowpanes in the guest bedroom doorway, and anyway, we were home by ourselves and we heard someone walking up the stairs, these really heavy footsteps, and then walking down the hall, and then we heard the guest bedroom door open – because the weird windowpanes made this awful rattling noise they always made when you opened that door, right – and then heard the door close and the footsteps stop.”
“So someone broke into the house?” Eddie asks.
“No, we were looking right at the guest room door,” Ravi says. He shrugs. “It didn’t move.”
It takes them a few minutes to move past Ravi’s story, while Hen and Eddie try to poke holes in it and Ravi proves it to be as un-porous as possible.
“Alright, Eddie, your turn,” Hen says.
“I don’t have a story,” Eddie says.
Buck pokes him in the calf with the toe of his boot again and Eddie shrugs.
“I don’t!” he insists.
“You sure? Not even one?” Bobby asks. “Isn’t Texas pretty haunted?”
“I have never seen or heard or talked to a ghost,” Eddie says. Buck pokes him again and Eddie huffs. “I haven’t! I…”
He trails off, looking into the middle distance.
For a second, he looks like he might say something, might have a story, might tell it, and then he shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee instead.
“No, no, I saw that look,” Hen scolds while Buck pokes him again.
“I—look, okay, I don’t know what I saw, but it wasn’t a ghost,” Eddie says. There’s a faint hint of pink rising along the side of his neck and up to his ears and Buck leans closer across the couch to inspect this development, pressing the backs of his fingers to the flushed skin of Eddie’s neck. Eddie bats his hand away and Buck grins.
“You’re blushing,” Buck says. “You saw something.”
“It was a high stress situation,” Eddie says. “People see all kinds of things in high stress situations like that, there’s a demonstrated history of people seeing the exact same thing I did, it’s not—”
“Wait, was this in Afghanistan?” Buck asks, because Eddie never talks about Afghanistan. Buck’s heard the story of how he got his silver star, and his honourable discharge, and his Purple Heart, but he’s never heard anything about the people he served with or the time Eddie spent there apart from the moment that ended his deployment.
“Uh, yeah,” Eddie says. He chews on his lip for a second and Buck feels like holding his breath. “It’s – we were on a medevac run, and a new round of fire opened up, and so I took cover with my patients, but there were some folks pinned down who couldn’t get to us or the extraction point, and I was going to try and get to them, but this…person…told me to stay down and next thing I knew, she’d come back with a the last two people we needed to get out, and I patched them up and went to help her, but she’d disappeared. But she wasn’t a ghost.”
Buck stares at him, as do Bobby, Hen, and Ravi, but before they can ask questions, the bell goes.
He doesn’t mean to, but Buck spends the drive to the call looking up Eddie’s battlefield not-ghost. And Eddie’s right, there are many accounts from basically every war, that sound almost exactly like his, going back to…well, Buck doesn’t find the end of the line. The accounts disappear around the start of recorded history, what with having no further back to go.
“Your battlefield ghost is famous,” Buck tells him when they’ve finished the call and everyone heads back to the bunks and get some real sleep this time.
“I know,” Eddie says. “I told you I knew it was a common story.”
“Why isn’t this cool to you? Hen talked to her grandma, Bobby saw his upstairs neighbour, who knows what Ravi heard, why don’t you…” He trails off, not entirely sure how to finish his question. He’s scolded Eddie about this before, mostly as a joke while they were trapped in the engine under an electrical pole. It’s like the universe is screaming at you and you refuse to listen. Eddie had given him an answer then, after all. The universe does not scream.
And it feels stupid and childish to finish the question the way he means – why don’t you believe in magic?
But even that isn’t really it, is it? Buck doesn’t believe in magic, he’s a grown-ass adult, who’s lived through a few too many horrible things to actually believe in things like that anymore. So it’s more of a…
“Why don’t you want to believe in magic?”
Eddie pauses, his hand on the door to the bunks. Everyone else has already disappeared, trying to get just a little bit of shut eye. So they’re alone in the app bay and that’s not new, but it’s late at night, somewhere after three and approaching four, getting on the sort of late hour that might be called early, and for whatever reason that feels like dawn and new beginnings.
“It’s just ghost stories, Buck,” Eddie says softly.
“No, it’s not,” Buck says, getting between Eddie and the door. “It’s – you didn’t think we were jinxed and you said the universe doesn’t scream and now it’s you don’t believe in your own ghost story and—and why are you such a sceptic?”
“Why do you believe so easily?” Eddie asks.
Buck just stares at him, waiting for some explanation, but Eddie’s dodging eye contact now, and Buck is horrified to note that there’s a sheen to his eyes like Eddie’s trying not to cry.
“Because I can’t,” Eddie says after a second. “Because – because if the universe really does scream then I am a really, really bad listener.”
Buck blinks. “Maybe you’re not a bad listener?” he suggests. “Maybe it’s just telling you something you don’t want to hear.”
“You want to know what the universe is screaming at me?” Eddie asks with a scoff in his voice. “Or at least what I’m hearing?”
“Yes,” Buck says without hesitation, and then somehow, unbelievably, Eddie has grabbed him by the face and is kissing him.
Buck doesn’t even have time to kiss back, to grab him – to hold him, and hold him close like he’s been wanting to for so long – because Eddie lets go and steps back, rubbing at his eyes.
“That’s what your magic universe keeps screaming at me, which is obviously—”
Buck doesn’t let Eddie finish the comment that it has to be nonsense, has to be stupid, can’t be real, and cuts him off with another kiss. Eddie inhales sharply and after a second of Buck kissing him, he wraps his arms around Buck’s shoulders and pulls him closer.
For his part, Buck is pretty sure there’s no such thing as being close enough to Eddie and only registers he’s been moving them in the act of pressing them closer when they bump into the side of the engine.
The impact jars them apart but Buck stays where he is, forehead pressed to Eddie’s, as well as his shoulders and chest and stomach and hips and legs and frankly if they could be stuck together with superglue he’d be grateful. Eddie dips his fingers under the collar of Buck’s uniform shirt, like he needs to be touching his skin, and Buck is definitely not going to be protesting that move.
“If that’s what the universe has been screaming at you, you should’ve listened to it sooner,” Buck mumbles, pressing his lips quickly against Eddie’s cheekbone and the freckle under his eye and then going back to resting his forehead against him.
“I, um,” Eddie says, and then Eddie Diaz giggles and that might be the best sound Buck’s ever heard in his life.
“What?” Buck asks.
Eddie shakes his head, his forehead rocking against Buck’s, and then kisses him quickly again. “I’ve never kissed anyone taller than me before.”
Buck laughs as well, and leans down to kiss Eddie again. He’s never kissed anyone taller than him either, and now he’ll never have the opportunity. Because this is his last first kiss, that he’s sure of.
They stay there, pressed against the engine, making out like they’re teenagers rather than on the other side of thirty, for much longer than they should.
“You know,” Buck says eventually when his lips are a little numb from continuous pressure. “If the universe was shouting at you about this, and it was so obviously right—”
Eddie groans and Buck laughs.
“—maybe you could give it the benefit of the doubt about the other stuff too,” Buck finishes.
“I love you, but I am not believing in ghosts for you,” Eddie says and Buck’s heart skips more than a few beats in shock. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“I love you too,” Buck says, “but you have seen it, you’re just stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” Eddie protests.
Buck scoffs back.
They’re still bickering about it by the time the bell rings for the next call.
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partially inspired by this fic by @capseycartwright. special thanks to my love @zeethebooknerd ❤
buck/eddie, 1108 words, fluff.
the first time they kiss is when chris and eddie have had a fight, and eddie’s in the kitchen upset and spiralling and doubting himself, and buck reassures him and comforts him and promises that he's not going anywhere. it’s small, it’s quick, barely noticeable among buck's words and the way he has their foreheads pressed together, but it warms eddie to his core.
they don't talk about it.
maybe it's for the best — maybe they're not ready, but it's okay because christopher comes out and he and eddie apologise to each other and eddie still has his family. he still has his son in his arms, and he still has buck, with fond glances and soft touches and seamless partnership and his friendship.
(if his gaze lingers sometimes, if every time he touches buck he wants to grab on and never let go, well. he’ll tell buck one day.
he's just not ready yet.)
the second time they kiss is also in eddie’s house.
(he’s starting to think this house, his home, will always contain traces of buck. he wouldn’t want it any other way.)
they’re off shift, and his son is asleep down the hall, and he and buck are lounging on the couch, half-ignoring whatever movie’s playing on the screen in favour of just existing with each other, and eddie thinks this is the most relaxed he’s ever been. it’s been a perfect evening, extremely domestic in its simplicity, and maybe it should scare him — the level of comfort and dependency he has with his best friend — but instead it just makes him feel secure.
a loud sound from the tv startles him out of his musings, and he rolls his head against the back of the couch to turn to buck to find him looking right back at eddie, mirroring his position on the couch as his eyes twinkle.
they both lean in at the same time. it’s a little longer this time round, and eddie has time to wonder at the softness of buck’s lips and the warmth of his skin before they break apart to beam at each other.
they still don’t talk about it.
(and it’s not like eddie’s unsure of his feelings for buck, but he’s definitely not sure of himself, and he knows buck has his own hang ups too, so. they don’t talk about it, and they keep being companions and partners on and off the field and whatever this something-more-than-friends zone is that they’ve found themselves in.)
the third time almost doesn’t count, except eddie can’t stop thinking about it.
it’s been a rough call, and as they all return to the station and get cleaned up, and bobby heads to his office to call athena and hen and chim head upstairs to watch one of their dumb reality shows, eddie waits in the locker room for buck to come out of the showers.
he’s so wrapped up in his own thoughts, though, that he doesn’t even notice buck’s footsteps until his shadow falls across his lap and eddie looks up from the ground to see him in shorts and an (is that eddie’s?) lafd hoodie and damp hair. buck wordlessly holds out a hand and eddie lets himself be pulled up, but instead of keeping him still, buck uses the momentum to wrap his arms around his waist and pull him into a hug. eddie folds himself around him in return, feels his partner relax into him and bury his head in the crook of eddie’s neck like he always does.
eddie’s very aware of the way his own hands are gripping buck’s hoodie tight, and the way buck’s breath feels on his skin, and that after minutes pass and buck shows no signs of letting go, they’re in a room with glass walls and have been hugging longer than friends ever do, but he can’t make himself let go, either — especially when he feels buck’s lips press into his neck in the ghost of a kiss and stay there.
that small bit of comfort stays with him, even as they break apart and move upstairs, as they work their way through a simple meal, as bobby puts them back on rotation and they go out for more calls, as the sun rises and they all head home to sleep off their shift.
but they don’t talk about it.
eddie’s not an idiot - he knows they can’t go on like this forever, but he’s content with this slow pace, in this limbo with buck.
(maybe he’s a little terrified of himself, though — every relationship he’s ever been in, he’s been selfish and inconsiderate and pushed and pushed until his partner broke. he’s already lost his child’s mother, in more ways than one, and he thinks — no, he knows — he wouldn’t recover from losing buck.)
the fourth time is different.
the fourth time isn’t by happenstance, the fourth time eddie makes happen, because. because - he can’t stop thinking about the way buck hugged him, the way he comforted eddie and let eddie comfort him, the way he and buck have always been so in sync with each other, how after a bad day all eddie wants is to see christopher and buck, and he’s lying in bed in the middle of the night, about to drift off, when his own words from that same locker room come back to him, unbidden - tomorrow isn’t promised to anyone. so if you love her, tell her.
suddenly eddie’s wide awake.
he doesn’t get any sleep that night. he gets up before his alarm, wakes up christopher and feeds him breakfast, gets him ready, drives him to school, and when christopher has disappeared into the building with a kiss on the cheek and a love you, dad!, eddie’s driving to buck’s loft on autopilot before he knows it.
he doesn’t know what he’s doing, can’t form a coherent thought beyond tell him. he’s not even sure what he wants to tell buck, he’s not sure he’s not going to fuck everything up, he’s not sure why he’s banging on buck’s door at eight in the morning, but when buck sleepily opens the door and mumbles ‘eds, what-’ all eddie can do is take buck’s face in his hands and press their lips together right there in the doorway until buck relaxes in his hold and kisses him back.
the need for air forces them to break apart eventually, and buck’s smile could power a thousand suns. eddie can only grin back helplessly and think that maybe ready is overrated.
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i rambled in the tags here and here so this. certainly is a fic i have written.
Buck is warm under Eddie’s hands, and tastes like the chili they’d made for dinner—abuela’s recipe Eddie normally wasn’t allowed to even touch. When he’d told her Buck was coming over to help make it, though, the tone of her voice had softened, and it sounded like she was smiling on the other end of the line. “I’ll text him the recipe,” she’d said, and maybe it should’ve been strange, Eddie’s grandma texting his best friend, but it wasn’t because he knew they did already—about abuela’s cutworm problem, and the daytime soap the two of them watched that no one else in their lives could stand. Buck had put Eddie on chopping duty, standing close enough the warmth of him seeped through the denim they were both wearing, Eddie in his nicest jeans, a clothing choice he’d tried not to read too much into when he’d made it.
That warmth now feels tenfold, hundredfold—Buck is pressed to him, wrist to wrist, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, arching into Eddie’s body where he has him boxed in against the refrigerator. “If we don’t soak the pot,” Buck gasps, when Eddie pulls away, marvelling at the feel of stubble burn around his mouth, “it’ll stick.”
Eddie’s skin feels raw, on fire. Buck’s eyes are dark, pupils blown, and his birthmark looks cherry red—a bullseye. Eddie kisses it; trails his mouth down, temple, cheekbone, dimple, jaw. Feels, more than sees, Buck’s eyes flutter closed; the way his arms come around Eddie, cling to the fabric of his henley at his waist, desperately clutching for purchase. He finds Buck’s lips; chases the way the kiss makes him feel until Buck is opening, opening, opening to him, a flower turned toward the sun. He pulls back, the wet sound almost obscene, and rests his forehead to Buck’s, panting. There’s sweat at the backs of his knees. “Let it stick,” he says, and kisses Buck again, pressing him closer to the fridge, up and against the cool stainless steel that does nothing to alleviate the heat coursing through Eddie’s body.
Buck moans beneath him, pulling Eddie in by the hips, and does something with his tongue that makes him shiver. Eddie presses closer, closer still, shifting so the handle isn’t digging into Buck’s back and as they move, the magnets fall from the fridge, clattering somewhere out of sight. Eddie doesn’t care. Eddie is so far beyond caring he thinks if he tried it would fry a neuron in his brain but Buck—Buck is pushing at his hips, his shoulders. Eddie pulls back with a wounded sound.
“The magnets,” Buck says, and he sounds winded, and Eddie, Eddie did that. His eyes are still dark and heavy but he smiles, silly, stupid; brushes the careful pad of his thumb against the bone beneath Eddie’s eye. “You know they’re Christopher’s favourite.” He pushes Eddie back a little further and crouches down, collecting the colourful figures from the floor, even the one that’s disappeared all the way down the space between the cupboards and the dishwasher, reaching into the gap up to his shoulder to retrieve it. He emerges, victorious, and stands, securing the magnets back to the fridge in the circle Chris had arranged them in.
Eddie has a hand over his mouth. “What?” Buck laughs, and his ears have gone almost as red as his mouth. Eddie shakes his head.
“Nothing,” he says. “I love you.”
The blush spreads like a tide across Buck’s nose and cheeks, already crinkled from his smile. “Oh, well, if that’s all.” He shifts from foot to foot. “Look, I might as well just soak the pot.”
Eddie nods, steps to the side. Watches Buck place the pot, already scraped clean, into the sink and flick the water on, adding detergent. He grabs the sponge and gives the stovetop a once over, careful to scoop the crumbs into his palm and not on the floor. He washes his hands under the stream of water then shuts it off, drying them on the tea towel by the sink.
“Now we’ve got that sexy bit of housework out the way,” and he’s barely finished the sentence before Eddie’s kissing him again, pressed up against the counter this time, mindful of the magnets. Buck takes the hint and boosts himself up into a seat, Eddie’s hands finding purchase in the thick, corded muscle of his thighs that he thinks he might die from if he ever touches the bare skin there. “I was,” Buck gasps, tilting his head back, “kidding about the sexy—Eds—housework, you know.”
Eddie kisses the bob of his throat as he swallows. “Sure you were.”
“Really?” When Eddie glances up Buck’s squinting at him. “Housework’s what gets you going? Want me to put on some rubber gloves? Maybe a maid’s—” He hums into Eddie’s mouth, looping his arms around the back of his neck and toying with the sweat-damp hair there. The kiss is still warm but slower, more tender; when Eddie rocks back on his heels he kisses the tip of Buck’s eyebrow. Buck’s eyes flutter open and he looks at Eddie, fond, the way he’s been looking at him for years. “That wasn’t a ‘no’ to the maid’s outfit.”
“That was a ‘Buck, please stop talking and just kiss me already’.”
“Since you asked nicely,” Buck smiles, the asshole, and does just that.
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504 coda, 1200 words.
he could call taylor.
he could. he knows she’s at work, but he could leave a voicemail. explain everything. tell her about chim’s tears and his anger and his fist driving into buck’s cheekbone and the way buck just stood there, hunched over and aching, for a good ten minutes after chim stormed out. he could talk about how he crawled into bed and lay awake half the night, worrying about maddie, wondering if he'd done the right thing. could tell her that he woke up to his entire face aching, how he regrets not immediately icing the damn thing, how his skin is a morbid painting of purples and sickly greens.
he imagines her reaction - well, why didn’t you just tell him? - a reasonable response, from anyone who doesn’t know him or maddie very well. she’d probably hear him out, then try to cheer him up or distract him - her own little taylor way of dealing.
it's not what he wants. it's not what he needs, right now. he needs someone who knows him, someone who understands, who won't just tell him what he wants to hear or throw out empty platitudes. taylor's nice, and fun, but even months down the line buck still feels like they're just friends who flirt and sleep together occasionally. he doesn't want sex.
he wants comfort.
it's pure instinct that compels him to text eddie. buck's not even sure he makes a conscious decision about it. his brain, his body ask for comfort and support and the answer is eddie - immediately, thoughtlessly. it's been like that for longer than buck would care to admit. he does it every time eddie is nearby - leans into him, hips and shoulders bumping, gravitates toward him like a magnet. he can't help it.
continue on ao3
eddie's reply is quick and no-nonsense - be there soon - and buck busies himself by dressing in a hoodie and comfortable pants. pulls a couple of beers from the fridge because day drinking may not be the answer to everything but he feels like getting sucker punched by his brother in law is a good enough excuse.
his front door clicks. buck has just enough time to take in eddie's outfit - a black button down and slacks, why did eddie dress up just to come here? - before he's distracted by the way eddie's face twists when he spots buck's bruise.
'jesus,' eddie breathes, one hand reaching up almost unconsciously, hovering near buck's cheek.
'got me good, huh?' buck tries to joke. eddie is standing close - still not touching, just looking at him with shocked, concerned eyes.
'have you put anything on it?' eddie drops his hand.
shaking his head, buck tilts his head toward the freezer. 'i guess i should ice it, huh.'
'yeah,' eddie steps past him to pick up one of buck's barstools and drags it across the floor toward the balcony. 'let me look at it in the light first.'
of course. of course eddie wants to check him over, wants to see it for himself even though buck already told him it's fine. he lets himself be led outside and sits down. eddie drags another chair over and half sits, half squats in front of him.
the feeling of eddie's fingers on his jaw, oh-so-gently tilting his head into the light, should be a shock. it’s not. it just feels - familiar, and safe. warm like eddie's eyes trained so seriously on him. being under his scrutiny like this, it's. a lot. intense in a way buck can't really explain, but it pulls his breath from his lungs all the same.
eddie's fingertips prod and press around the contours of the bruise, clinical but also careful. buck can't hide the wince when pain flares across his cheekbone. he watches eddie's brow furrow. 'sorry, sorry,' eddie murmurs, and tilts buck's head again. 'your vision is fine? no blurriness?'
it takes a second for buck to answer. 'no, nothing.'
'alright,' eddie palpitates the most painful spot - the very centre of the bruise, where it's swollen and tender. 'well, there's no fractures or anything. obviously you need to ice it and it's going to look awful for a few days, but i think you'll live.'
'great,' buck says, means it to come out sarcastic and rueful but something about the way eddie is still touching his face makes his voice softer, quieter.
eddie's eyes are fixed on the bruise, his expression far away. buck stares at him. they haven't been this close, physically, in weeks. maybe months.
there's so much he wants to say.
are you okay? do you still think about it - about your blood on my face and the way you said my name? do you dream about how you nearly bled out in my arms? i do.
so much between them, now. the shooting and eddie's will. the little boy they both love. the two months where buck slept on eddie's couch, cooked his meals, did his laundry. cared for his son.
so much they can't talk about, because it feels like once they open the door, they can't close it behind them. because if buck asks, why do you look at me like that? he doesn't know that he's ready for the answer.
eddie's thumb passes higher, buck's eyes fluttering shut as the touch travels over his eyelid and even further, a warm trail over his eyebrow. he knows the bruise doesn't reach that far.
'huh,' eddie breathes out the sound and buck opens his eyes again, their gazes catching.
'your birthmark. i don't know why, i always kinda thought it would feel...different. it doesn't.'
buck's breath hitches at the look on eddie's face. it's wistful, but still distant, like he's lost in his thoughts as he continues to cradle buck's face in his hands. he feels caught here - on the edge of something huge. eddie's thought about touching him like this before. eddie wondered what his birthmark would feel like under his fingertips. buck feels like he's been waiting his whole life for someone to touch him with this kind of care, to look at him with the reverance that's shining in eddie's eyes. he aches with it.
he can't answer, can't think of a single thing to say that isn't you touch me like you love me. tell me what it means.
the moment fragile, frozen, the two of them framed in sunlight and eddie's hands on his skin.
he can see the moment eddie comes back to reality. he blinks. his eyes come back into focus. he doesn't pull way immediately. his fingertips brush buck's brow one more time, thumb smoothing over the birthmark. his other hand, the one which has been curled around buck's jaw the whole time, lets go.
'sorry,' eddie stands up, his movements jerky and oddly nervous. 'i'm. i'm just gonna get you that ice.'
buck stares after him.
when eddie comes back with the ice, there's something in his eyes that looks like realisation and wonder and hope all at once.
buck takes the ice, their fingers brushing.
whatever precipice they're standing on, they're even closer to the edge than before.
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i should be dancing with you by prettyboybuckley
3.1k | Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply | Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Hen has been talking about this new gay bar that a friend of hers recommended and that she and Karen want to check out, extending the invitation to all of them.
Now, Buck has been to plenty of gay bars in his life, has known he's bisexual since seventh grade when he got his first kiss from Andy Miller. So he didn't have to think long before saying yes.
Eddie, however, Eddie was hesitant. Which Buck gets, because the man is straighter than straight, raised in a conservative family. Going to a gay bar is probably a big step for someone like Eddie.
OR: when dancing leads to more
read on ao3
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tumblr ate the first write up of this and i’m mad about it but this is still hella cute if i do say so myself. because @hoechlder is the worst and knew exactly what her tags were doing on this gifset. I SEE YOU. anyway the title is hilarious, don’t @ me.
ice ice baby
eddie/buck, soft soft fucking soft
“Ice goes on the eye, buddy,” Eddie says.
Buck sighs, dutifully lifting the bag of ice to his eye. He flinches, but slides it against the bruise. “S’cold.”
“It’s ice,” Eddie says, grinning when Buck gives him a look.
Predictably, it doesn’t take long for Buck to shift the conversation into something else, but Eddie’s looking for it and a few minutes into Buck’s plans for the weekend and where they’re taking Chris, the bag of ice is dropped against Buck’s knee.
“Buck,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. He slides his beer amongst the empties already on the small table. He steps between Buck’s legs, taking the ice out of his hand. “It won’t heal if you don’t keep it there.”
“I know,” Buck bites out. Up close, his eye looks angrier, red thickening into a dark purple and Eddie winces on his behalf. He picks up the bag of ice and presses it to Buck’s eye, free hand resting at the nape of Buck’s neck. Buck hisses, tries to move away from the ice; Eddie’s grip is gentle but firm, and though Buck grits his teeth, he stays. “It hurts.”
Eddie nods. “I know.”
The silence between them feels heavy and thick with something Eddie can’t name. Buck’s mouth is parted, and Eddie can see his throat bob, words dying on his tongue before he can say anything. When Buck moves, the beer bottle clinks against the others, the sound loud against the silence between them.
Buck’s eyes are bright and blue against the red of his bruise, the birthmark still visible between the pinks, reds, and purples. The silence stretches, settles around Eddie like a comfortable blanket, and he moves his hand, fingers sliding to the side of Buck’s neck, then up to his cheek. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he doesn’t want to stop, not with the way Buck’s watching him, waiting. Eddie’s thumb is pressed to the warm, smooth skin under Buck’s right eye. It heats a little more as Buck flushes, but Eddie doesn’t stop.
“Eddie,” Buck says softly, his name carrying easily on the small balcony.
A hand rests against Eddie’s hip, fingers sliding up and under his dress shirt. Buck’s breath hitches and the fingers of his free hand wrap around Eddie’s arm, Buck’s cheek turning into his wrist. It’s soft and intimate, and Eddie lets out a slow breath, feels good and happy for the first time in so long. His fingers move to Buck’s hair, stroking gently through thick strands.
Buck tips forward, the right side of his face turned awkwardly into Eddie’s stomach until Eddie moves gently, keeping the ice against Buck’s face as he manages to find a comfortable way for Buck to lean against him. He resumes stroking Buck’s hair with soft, soothing motions. “You’re so good, Evan.”
“It doesn’t feel like enough,” Buck says, the words almost muffled against Eddie’s stomach.
Eddie crouches down, the bag of ice dripping against the floor as it lowers. “Hey,” he says, lifting Buck’s chin when he tries to look away. “Sometimes it won’t be, but that’s not on you. You’re more than enough and if someone can’t see that, then they’re dumb.”
Buck stares at him, apprehension flicking across his face. “Do you see it?”
“I see all of you,” Eddie says without hesitation.
“Eddie,” Buck says and Eddie pushes up, fingers once again on the back of Buck’s neck. Their lips meet, Buck’s hand fisting in the front of Eddie’s shirt. The kiss turns hot, perfect, and when they part, Buck’s lips are curved into a smile.
Eddie meets it with one of his own.
“What?” Eddie asks, feeling his chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with panic at the way Buck looks at him, sees him.
Buck grins, lifting Eddie’s hand still wrapped around the bag of ice. “Ice goes on the eye.”
Eddie barks a laugh, but dutifully presses the ice back to Buck’s eye. He leans forward for another kiss, and Buck meets him halfway.
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alternative universe buddie fics recs :)
note: the links weren't working the first time i wrote the post but i edited and they're okay now!! if it still isn't working for you is probably because you're trying to open from a reblog from before i edit it, so try open directly from the original post on my profile.
Blind Date by @sassypopstar [complete | teen and up audiences | 3.8k words]
Buck feels a little ridiculous dressed in a jacket and a shirt. But Maddie had insisted on him dressing up for the occasion and even Chimney had quipped that it’s the right thing to do. So Buck, who never went on a blind date before in his life, listened to his big sister and her boyfriend because apparently that’s who he is now. Or the one where Buck goes on a blind date with someone called Eddie.
Buckley's Bouquets by awashleyno [complete | teen and up audiences | 23.4k words]
A world where Buck owns a flower shop and manages to develop a huge, massive, ridiculous crush on a handsome firefighter that comes in for a visit one day. Or, 5 times Eddie gives flowers to other people and the 1 time he gives them to Buck.
Call It What You Will - Fate? Destiny? (A Tsunami) by @abow123456 [complete | mature | 20k words]
Evan Buckley's day of relaxation is cut short when a tsunami hits the beach he was relaxing at. He has to fight to keep himself and a lost little boy safe from the water, as well as anyone else he finds. After, he meets the boys father and family, and it causes a snowball effect of good things for him, for once.
Capuccino with extra, extra sugar by buckbng [complete | teen and up audiences | 2.7k words]
Buck is the cute barista and Eddie is the grinch that hates coffee. Until, he doesn't. Because if Buck says he looks like the kind of person that would love a cappuccino, who's Eddie to disagree with him? OR Eddie really doesn't like coffee but pretends he does just so he has an excuse to see the cute barista at the coffee shop.
Confirmation Bias by strifechaos [complete | mature | 31k words]
After the fallout with his ex-wife, Eddie believed he could only trust his family with his son. He hadn’t imagined falling for his son’s sweet-hearted nanny, Buck. With his own family so distant, Buck never considered that he’d be lucky enough to find a home for himself, let alone people he could count on. Not until he meets the Diaz boys. AU: Buck was never a firefighter, and becomes Christopher's sitter when Shannon's job takes her away from Eddie and Chris for the summer. Eddie tries to not fall for his son's nanny, he's not very successful.
dream of some epiphany by extasiswings [complete | mature | 7.3k words]
Evan Buckley is lost. It’s happenstance that he wanders into the navy recruiting center—he’s been in San Diego for a few weeks, bartending late nights and weekends, living in a house with three other guys not because he needs the roommates but because he doesn’t want to be alone, and the military is…respectable. Stable. So Buck thinks maybe and opens the door. Buck leaves ten minutes later with a set of printed instructions for sending his first letter, assured that he can drop it off whenever he’s ready, and a name. Staff Sergeant Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz.
Frequent Flyer by red_to_black [complete | mature | 13.4k words]
In his entire time being a firefighter, Eddie has never met anyone as accident-prone as Evan Buckley. And Buck - well, he's quickly becoming the 118's best customer. (Or - the one where Eddie is a firefighter, Buck isn't, and Eddie finds himself rescuing Buck from increasingly sticky situations. Sometimes literally.)
Gave me no messages, gave me no signs... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 7.4k words]
"Buck is beyond nervous, and he’s really trying to convince himself that the familiarity of the situation is not some sort of bad omen. Just because there are parallels of the start of his relationship with Eddie to that of his relationship with Abby doesn’t mean that this new adventure is destined to end in the same miserable fashion. He hopes it won’t, has to believe it won’t. Because even with Abby, he hadn’t fallen this hard for her before their first official date. With Eddie, everything is already intensified by a thousand." Or, Buck covers a shift for a firefighter at the 136 and it leads to a budding relationship through text messages.
Gotta Find My Corner (Of the Sky) by doctornineandthreequarters [complete | general audiences | 31.3k words]
It was the last day of 2016 and two lost souls found themselves in a quiet dive bar, as the loud noises of the city celebrating New Year’s Eve buzzed around them. Most people chose loud, flashy bars with DJs and entrance fees and promises of champagne for New Year’s Eve. But both occupants of the dive bar preferred the quiet. They both didn’t need the added chaos when everything around them already felt chaotic. --- Or, Buck and Eddie meet on New Year's Eve, 2016, a meeting that sets of a series of events that changes the trajectory of both of their lives.
I Didn't Know I Was Lonely 'Till I Saw Your Face by @hmslusitania [complete | general audiences | 10.4k words]
After the ladder truck and the blood clot and the tsunami, Bobby makes Buck go to therapy before he does something stupid (like sue the city). Buck's not totally comfortable being alone with a therapist, but fortunately he makes a friend and ally who's willing to help him out - Eddie Diaz from the 136 who's just been caught in an illegal fight club. OR Total strangers Buck and Eddie go to couple's therapy together to get out of the therapy requirements their captains have placed on them.
i want your midnights by allyasavedtheday [complete | teen and up audiences | 36.3k words]
In which Eddie decides to rent out his spare room to help with mortgage repayments right around the time Buck decides to move out of Abby's place after some not so gentle prodding from Maddie. It's a coincidence. Or serendipity. Or maybe just really good timing.
i wanna be know (by you) by @starlightbuck [complete | general audiences | 12.5k words]
“I didn’t mean to do it.” Hen glances down at Eddie’s phone then back up at him in disbelief.
“How do you ‘not mean’ to download a bunch of dating apps but still have them on your phone?”
Or In which Eddie delves into the intimidating world of online dating.
if i got locked away (would you still love me the same?) by @firefighterhan [complete | general audiences | 3.7k words]
Buck gets accidentally thrown in jail after meddling in a fight outside of a grocery store. There, he meets an unexpected guest, famous music artist Eddie Diaz, who is being suspiciously quiet about how he ended up here in the first place.
if only in my dreams by @buttercupbuck [complete | general audiences | 5.4k words]
Years before Eddie joins the 118, Buck meets him at an airport bar on Christmas day.
in a week by @buttercupbuck [complete | explicit | 78.9k]
in which Eddie joins the U.S. Forest Service and in the meadows of California, finds the things he thought he lost and the things he thought he'd never have.
It Started With A Bang And A Hostage Situation by JayJay__884 [complete | general audiences | 6.6k words]
Buck goes to the store one late night to buy food because of Maddie's pregnancy cravings. Whilst at the store, Buck accidentally gets caught in the middle of a robbery and gets knocked out. After waking up in the backroom, Buck finds himself as a hostage with a handsome and caring stranger.
Leading with the Left by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 84.7k]
When Buck said he was a "bartender" in "South America" what he actually meant was "stripper" in "Mexico." And when Eddie said, "What's your problem?" what he actually meant was, "Is this about the time you gave me a lap dance?" In other words, there's a few things the 118 doesn't know about Buck. Or Eddie. Or Buck and Eddie's relationship.
Lift me up by @captain--sif [complete | teen and up audiences | 5.5k words]
Buck gets stuck in his apartment building's broken elevator with his good-looking neighbor from the sixth floor.
Love and Bullets Both Shatter Hearts (But Only One Can Put You Back Together) by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels [complete | explicit | 11.2k words]
Agent [Redacted] Diaz is the best at what he does. Usually. But lately there's this real pain in the ass* who's been ruining his missions: Code Name "Buck."
*stupidly handsome and annoyingly talented rival spy
Mr. Buckley's After Hours Detention by aresaphrodites [complete | mature | 11.4k words]
It’s not like Eddie Diaz planned on this. Really, there was no scenario in his mind where he would ever be bringing his son’s teacher a freaking goody basket to class; a homemade goody basket, no less. Then again, Christopher has never had a teacher quite like Evan Buckley.
MukbangsWithBuck by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 19.3k words]
After growing tired of eating alone in his loft, Buck decides to start a YouTube channel where he records himself eating dinner and telling stories about crazy things his team has encountered on calls. He eventually gains a substantial fanbase, and he is led to the channel of another LA firefighter who uploads informational videos and also casual vlogs with his ten-year-old son. It isn't long before the two start a friendship through messages, both of them secretly hoping it will turn into something more. Or, Eddie and Buck are both firefighters/YouTubers and they end up falling in love.
Objects in the Mirror by SevenSoulmates [complete | explicit | 139.1k words]
The voice had always been around, Eddie remembers it, like a stream of consciousness that babbled incoherently to the point where Eddie just tuned it out. But then the voice started speaking directly to him. Conversing like he was a whole person standing right in front of him. Like he could see what was happening around Eddie. Eddie shook his head. No one was talking to him, and Eddie most certainly was not talking back. He wouldn’t talk to the boy in his head ever again. There was no boy in his head.
Passive Aggressive Flirting by @starlingbite [complete | general audiences | 4.5k words]
Buck and Eddie have never met. They both work at the 118 but just on different shifts. That's all about to change when Buck finds a sticky note message, signed E.
String of hearts... by @reallysmartladymariecurie [complete | teen and up audiences | 11.1k words]
“Now. Eddie is this incredible presence. He’s funny and smoking hot, and he has a son who sounds wonderful. And he’s serious and vulnerable at times. But so enjoyable to be around, every single second that he’s there. And how can I put myself out there when the expectation is so high? When the thing I might lose is so beautiful?”
In which Buck owns a plant shop in LA, and Eddie becomes his new favorite customer. Pining ensues.
check out my post of buddie fics with dad!buck
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