somecouplestolove

[somecouplestolove]

ahhh they’re so cute I love them :,)

[somecouplestolove]

puppylove

Rating: T | Words: 2,053

“Your boy is a puppy magnet,” Hen teases, as she packs up her med kit into the truck and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“He’s not my boy,” Eddie mutters as he feels his face heat up. He glances at Hen only to find her expression smug. She pats his arm twice.

“Mhm, keep telling yourself that.”

or

Buck is golden retriever coded (and plays with golden retriever puppies), Eddie is smitten, and they adopt a puppy about it.

read on ao3

[somecouplestolove]

Hen: If you don’t get enough sleep, then how do you even function?

Eddie: I run on three fuels; spite, coffee and chocolate.

*Buck, hugging him from behind and kissing his neck*

Eddie, blushing: Ok, maybe there's a fourth fuel.

[somecouplestolove]

Cackling as I sense the people I know IRL who follow me getting less and less comfortable with the things I draw

THIS IS WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR

[somecouplestolove]

something something it will end in a garden

[somecouplestolove]

bf who loves to yap x bf who loves to (half) listen

[somecouplestolove]

by justhockey

Eddie screams.

He doesn’t realise it until his voice breaks, and then the screaming turns to frantic, desperate pleas. The only thing his mouth remembers how to say is Buck’s name; a litany, a prayer. An angry, furious threat. Because Eddie is tired - so, so tired - of almost losing Buck. Of almost having him snatched out from between his fingertips, time and time again. He’s tired of the powers that be trying to take Buck away from him.

They can’t have him; no man, or god, or divine plan is allowed to steal his person away. Eddie won’t let them.

Words: 5211, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Evan “Buck” Buckley, Firehouse 118 Crew (9-1-1 TV)

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

Additional Tags: Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, Minor Injuries, Eddie Diaz Loves Evan “Buck” Buckley, Hurt Evan “Buck” Buckley, Worried Eddie Diaz, Relationship Reveal, Light Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Firehouse 118 Crew as Family (9-1-1 TV)

Read on AO3

[somecouplestolove]

vicious snake attack in london, 0 dead, 1 enamored

[somecouplestolove]

Completed Fic: Advice For the Young At Heart

WOOHOO it's been 8800 years since I posted. Here's a @911actions prompt for @pomerqueen - ily Marissa!

Summary:

Buck and Bobby overhear big news about Eddie. Buck spirals. Bobby talks him through it.

Snippet:

“Maybe…” Buck scrambles for words. “Maybe I could go home sick?”

“Sick?” Bobby asks.

Buck nods. 

“Mhm. Yeah. Sick. I think I have…” Buck’s brain completely fails to supply a plausible illness. “Tetanus?”

“Tetanus?” Bobby parrots.

“Crap, no. That’s stupid,” Buck admits. “Stomach bug?”

“Buck,” Bobby says. “You’re panicking.”

“Am I?” Buck asks. 

---

Tagging:

@epicbuddieficrecs @theotherbuckley @sevenweeksofunrepression @slowlyfoggydestiny @goldenbcnes

@diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @aquamarineglitter @loserdiaz @steadfastsaturnsrings

@your-catfish-friend @incorrect9-1-1 @hawaiianlove808 @babytrapperdiaz @watchyourbuck

@lyricfulloflight @tizniz @aroeddiediaz @estheticpotaeto @buckleybabyblues

@buddieswhvre @l0v3t0hat3y0u @mage8 @theautumnbard @lightningmcqueer8

@kultiras @inell @mrs-f-darcy @spencers1nonlygf

As always, let me know if you'd like to be added to my writing updates tags :)

[somecouplestolove]

in case you haven't already gotten this 500 times, 🎃 and buddie!

🎃 halloween / trick or treating / costumes you were the first + only for this prompt/pairing! special treat inside that you introduced me to :)

The house holds its breath, quiet and dark. 

Porch lights extinguish throughout the neighborhood, signaling empty candy bowls and adults who have work in the morning. Down the street, screams of laughter from teenagers too old to trick-or-treat, causing havoc for the pure sport of it.

They stumble through the front door, not bothering with the light switch, tipsy and giggling into each other. Moonlight filters through the slotted blinds in the living room. Buck lets out a mighty ooof! as he collapses back on the couch, head hanging off the armrest. Eddie stubs a toe against the coffee table, cursing as Buck wheezes out a laugh at him.

���Shut up,” says Eddie, smacking at Buck gently as he maneuvers around shadowed furniture without further incident to the kitchen. Flood of yellow from the fridge as he fills two water glasses and shakes loose a couple extra strength Tylenol and returns to Buck, passing him one of each. 

There’s something private and fun about the half-dark, like they’re just another couple teens sneaking in after a Halloween rager, instead of two thirty-somethings who left their friend’s house party before midnight because a handful of blood-red jello shots were enough to make them sleepy. 

They drain their glasses and Eddie sets them both on the coffee table before staring down to the dim outline of Buck.

Over the summer, Christopher and Buck started an in-universe chronological binge of all Marvel properties. Eddie dipped in and out of the expedition, but they took it very seriously, scheduling Zoom watch parties on weekends Chris didn’t want to drive back from his dorm, or otherwise piling into the living room with snacks and their color-coded spreadsheets pulled up on their phones to track their progress. 

Ostensibly, this started as Chris wanting to prove a snobby film professor wrong, but mostly Eddie knows it's because his boys love almost nothing more than a self-imposed project.

Buck’s face is obscured by his mask, but Eddie can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Hi,” all low and goofy, fingertips reaching up and out. Their gloved hands meet, lacing together with some awkwardness from the bulk of their costumes. 

The blue and red are muted under shadows, but Eddie reaches with his free hand to trace the wide, white frame of the costume's eyes. 

“Hey, Spidey,” he says, tone dropping to imitate something from memory. “What’re you doing on this side of town?”

“Oh, you know,” even upside down over the back of the couch, expression hidden, Eddie can picture the glinting, impish gaze perfectly, “kicking ass, stopping crime, generally being your favorite, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. I think the question is what are you doing outside Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Looking for you.”

“Oh?” Buck’s hands drift up along Eddie’s arms, pausing at his biceps. "Daredevil knows who I am?

“Yeah. I wanted to, uh, you know. Team up.” Eddie’s brain is still a little vodka soaked—Karen’s jello shots are no joke—and he’s not exactly as lore-savvy as Buck so his roleplay feels a little awkward but whatever. Buck is into it, because he’s into Eddie, and that’s all he needs.

“I like it. The classic plucky young hero and grizzled veteran duo.”

“You calling me old?”

“Well, yeah, I’m in high school dude.”

Eddie laughs. “Sure, dude. Haven’t you ‘been in high school’ for like three decades?”

“It’s tough juggling the whole superhero secret identity thing. I keep failing shop class.” Buck’s voice goes a little deeper, a soft rumble as he says, “Anyway, if we’re teaming up I think we should probably put in some sparring practice. Don’t you think?”

“Mm,” Eddie agrees, reaching to cup Buck’s upside down face with both hands. “Definitely. Lots of practice.”

Just as his fingers skim the edge of Buck’s mask to peel it up, Buck says, “Going straight to the secret identity unmasking? Kinda intimate. You should know, I’m married. So this has to be strictly business.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, folding the mask up and over Buck’s nose. He pauses there, so it still covers his eyes, just his smiling mouth exposed. Thumbs sweeping along his jaw, Eddie grins down at him. “But I don’t think your husband would mind.”

“Really?”

“Really.” 

Eddie may not have been paying attention for the entire rewatch, but he knows this well enough. And while Buck isn’t suspended in the air and there’s no rain or dramatic dark alley, as Eddie leans down to capture Buck’s lips in an upside down kiss, he feels the movie magic. 

It’s a little odd, the bumping chin to nose, opposite of everything he’s used to, but in a way that adds to how good it feels. The kiss starts slow, soft—lips meeting in a warm press, opening to one another, a touch of tongue, hint of teeth. Then it deepens, Eddie licking into the familiar heat and slickness of Buck, hands covering Eddie’s as he frames Buck’s face and tilts his mouth into Eddie’s to intensify the kiss. After a minute, Buck is gasping, choked off whine in his throat as he tries to push up closer to Eddie. 

Finally, Eddie pulls back, thumb smoothing over the wet shine of Buck’s lower lip as they both catch their breath.

“Fuck, you look so hot in that stupid costume,” Buck says, hands curling around Eddie’s wrists. “I need you to, like, throw me around and tell me to get out of your city.”

Eddie laughs, a full, wonderful sound starting in his belly and tossing his head back with the force. 

“Come on then,” Eddie steps back, tugging one of Buck’s hands as he springs off the couch to follow. Both of their masks are peeled off entirely as Buck presses their chests together, walking Eddie backward, stumbling down the dark hall towards their bedroom. Hands in a constant roam, pulling uselessly at their fitted bodysuits. They’re unwilling to make enough space to fully undress as they cross the doorway. Buck’s hair is mussed from his mask, he tastes sweet as cherry jello and the candy corn he’s disgustingly obsessed with and as he bites at the hinge of Eddie’s jaw, Eddie uses his distraction to drop low, loop both arms around his waist and toss him bodily onto the bed. 

He’s on top of Buck in an instant, pressing down with all his weight, both of Buck’s hands pinned above his head as Eddie leans in to nip at his earlobe, whispering, “I’m not seeking penance for what I’ve done. I’m asking for forgiveness… For what I’m about to do.”

Buck shivers and laughs, and they fall into one another, pulling at their costumes, smiling and kissing in the dark.

[somecouplestolove]

🕯and / or 🌔 for Buddie, please? 🩷

🕯️ cozy night in / only one bed

(went a bit insane on this one i fear. idk why i can’t just be chill but, well, heres all this - vague they-go-get-chris nearly 4k of pining mess😘)

“It’s fine.”

“Of course.”

Silence stretches, a hand across a dinner table. Awkward, reaching.

They both speak at once: “Well I’ll—” “We should—”

Buck meets his eyes, nods. Laughs a little, shaking it off. He unpacks while Eddie showers first. By the time Buck rejoins him, shirt sticking to his chest from the humidity, scrubbing a towel through his wet hair, Eddie’s laying in bed like a corpse. All tucked in, arms overhead while he scrolls on his phone. 

Buck slides into bed next to him, turns off the lamp. 

On the other side, Eddie’s casts a yellow glow over his face, lightens the muted brown and teal southwestern style quilt draped over their legs. The recycled air has that same stale quality all rented rooms seem to share.

“He say anything?”

Eddie locks his phone, sets it face down on the nightstand. Clicks off his lamp.

“No,” he says into the darkness.

Buck nods. He blinks away the shadows, until the miniscule light shapes the world in grays. The heat of Eddie’s body is intense, feeding off his own, a feedback loop beneath the sheets. 

For a moment, the simple, stripped desire to hold Eddie’s hand splits him in two. The want feels as soft and sweet as a peeled orange. 

“Tomorrow will be better,” he says, conjuring confidence for both their benefit, and rolls on his shoulder away from Eddie. 

-

They make it back to the room later, the next day. 

Helena was all apologies, we just weren’t expecting—and I’m not sure Chris would—hemming and hawing around the space of Eddie’s childhood home, like he was a coffee table they just couldn’t make room for. 

Eddie bit into his cheek around a smile, said, It’s fine, we’re staying just down the street. Ramon turned the page on a newspaper and Buck helped Helena set the table for breakfast and they all waited for Chris to enter the dining room with the air of field researchers not wanting to disturb a habitat.

After breakfast, a chorus of forks on plates and Buck asking Ramon fifty questions about the weather, Chris agrees to go for a drive. They hit the lake. They hit McDonalds, in blatant bribery, because Helena doesn’t believe in fast food. They idle behind the high school, this big field of nothing that Eddie says they used to have baseball practice in and tells Chris his mom used to sunbathe in the grass and shake up sodas before handing them over. And the clench in Chris’ jaw loosens. Buck says he could out pitch Eddie and Eddie insists he drive them to Walmart, where they buy a mitt and a ball and a family sized bag of hot cheetos and sprites from the checkout fridge and drive back to the field so it’s dusk by the time they’re scuffing fake bases in the dirt. Chris is pelting Buck with cheetos and throwing an underhand to his dad in a perfect arc. Eddie slips his hand out of the mitt and shakes his fingers like they sting after the catch. Chris laughs, giggly and fourteen and still just a kid, at the end of the day. 

And it’s almost—it’s good. 

Helena is thin lipped and frowning when they bring him back, late for a dinner they’ve already spoiled. Eddie just grins and grips his hands over Chris’ shoulders, see ya in the morning, kid, and Chris can’t hide his pleased smile even as he huffs back into the house.

“Today went well,” Buck says to the popcorn ceiling. The motel is cheap but clean enough. Allowing them to extend day by day, since they’re not quite sure how long they’re staying. Eddie got a look in his eye, before he told Buck about this trip, and Buck knows there’s no going back without all three of them. It’s as solid as him knowing there was no way in hell he was letting Eddie go alone. 

“Yeah.” Eddie shifts next to him, turning into his pillow to stare into the almost-dark at Buck. The radiator coughs in the corner. “I think…I mean I know he’s not ready yet.”

“Isn’t that why we’re here, though?”

“I know. I know.” Eddie’s voice in California had been so sure. I’m his dad. I’m not…we can get through this. But not over goddamned Zoom. It was everything Buck had been gently hinting and prodding at for months. But he’s no stranger to the shrink ray of your parent’s judgment.

Still. “He was happy today, Eddie. Even if he’s a grumpy teen about it. He had fun. He wants to come home, he just doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. Take it from an ex-angsty teenager. All he wants is to know that no matter what, you love him. That you want him to come home, too.”

Eddie inhales. The touch of moonlight across the soft planes of his face curls over him like smoke. The kind of image you break by reaching for.

“You’re right. Let’s take the win, and hope tomorrow’s just as good.”

-

Tomorrow is much worse. 

Chris gets in a shouting match with Eddie when they try the lake again. Eddie doesn’t shout, of course, but he goes red in the face and keeps swallowing the things he can’t say with big, empty breaths, gulping nothing and everything down at once. Buck sits with Chris by the shore for a long time, talking about Pennsylvania and the gestation cycle of seahorses and the weather patterns of Ecuador until Chris squints under his glasses and hits him with, isn’t it weird that we’re friends? Don’t you have anyone your own age that likes you? 

And he can’t apologize for saying it because that would defeat the purpose of the hurt, so Buck nods and shuts up and after Chris asks to go home—which, actually, that word being used for his grandparent’s house hurts so much worse than anything else Chris could say—Buck tells him, nothing you say is ever gonna push either of us away. We love you too much. Christopher looks away at that and Buck feels a surge of searing hot sympathy for this kid, for himself, for every kid, everywhere, that feels so horribly, terribly small, for even a moment. 

Eddie spends a long time in the shower that night and Buck doesn’t mention the red eyes. They just curl into the single bed and Buck thanks the universe or whatever for the mix-up that switched their reservation of two queens because when Eddie inhales all shuddery and wet, he only has to roll over to wrap his arms around him. Eddie shakes and shakes and doesn’t say anything. Just breathes into the cotton at Buck’s shoulder and lets Buck trace a line up and down his spine until sleep creeps up on them both.

-

“You want the rest of these?”

“Yeah, gimme.”

Eddie passes his leftover fries and Buck makes quick work of them. They’re on the made bed, cross-legged, scarfing take out. His neck itches with sunburn. Eddie’s rosier and glowier than he’s ever been. Today, while Buck did a circus routine for Helena and Ramon in the kitchen, Eddie and Chris had a long, private conversation. Then they all piled in the truck and went to Outback for lunch. Chris and Eddie stealing all these glances and laughing behind their hands when Helena would tell the waiter how to do their job. A team, reunited, and everyone could see it. Ramon seemed to relax into it while Helena drew herself more tightly, claiming a headache that cut the rest of the day short. 

Doesn’t matter. Eddie’s levitating, swiping a paper napkin through his mustache, smile irrepressible. 

Buck watches him as he shoves the last five fries in his mouth all at once. The floaty joy is contagious. It feels like his heart is lifting out of his chest, dragging his body behind it. It feels like it always does when they’re all together and perfectly reciting their lines from the family play. Eddie cross stage left to put his hands on his hips, Chris and Buck share a who me? look and pretend they didn’t notice bedtime come and go with their controllers in hand on the couch. So much like the real thing, they practically were. 

“He’s coming home,” Buck says, licking salt from the pad of his thumb. 

Eddie flops backwards, hands landing on his belly. A laugh rips out of him and he says, “Oh my god, he’s coming home.”

-

Buck dips to spit toothpaste in the sink, effortlessly leaning back as Eddie moves to copy him. The water runs, Eddie turning his head to rinse, and again the switch is smooth as Buck replaces him and Eddie reaches for a towel. 

They’re both minty fresh and catching each other’s eyes in the mirror.

“Dude, your mom today?” Eddie grins immediately, a little mean, sharply amused. “Sorry but I’ve made better enchiladas. Like, with your abuela’s help, but still! And when Chris straight up refused to eat!”

“Stop, man, it’s not—” Eddie buries his laugh in the towel and throws it at Buck’s face. “—it’s not funny!”

Buck catches it easily and folds it on the sink. “Yes, it is. I’m team Diaz boys, which means I don’t have to be fair! This is cosmic comeuppance.”

They follow each other out of the bathroom, t-shirts and boxers, and climb into bed. 

“Honestly, she’s not a bad cook. Today was a fluke. Well. Mostly. Besides, abuela actually likes you, she’s never even tried to teach my mom.”

Huh. Buck gets a flash in the pan image of the skeptical mother-in-law shaping the even colder, critiquing mother-in-law who ends up breathing down Shannon’s neck until she flees the state. But that’s a heavy swallow and not a great topic for tonight, when the day was such a homerun. 

So he folds both hands under his face on the pillow and tucks his knees up until he feels them brushing Eddie’s, who copies his position. Limned in lamplight, Buck studies every freckle and eyelash up close. That little scar on his lip. The wide, warm hope in his eyes. 

“Hey.” Eddie says.

“Hey.” Buck says, in a goofy mock.

If Buck moves forward an inch their noses will touch. 

“Chris said I should buy our plane tickets for this weekend. He wants a chance to say goodbye to his cousins and Sophia will kill me if I bail on her dinner party Friday, so it’ll be perfect. I’m telling my parents tomorrow morning. I already booked with a-a family counselor, for me and Chris, next week. And there’s more…there’s still more trust to rebuild, I know, we talked about it. But holy fuck did I miss my kid.”

Buck’s chest is the fourth of July. His blood is soda. He almost immediately starts to tear up. The lung he’s been missing for months is finally returned.

“Eddie…”

“And I just…” Eddie’s watching him just as closely. When he exhales a sigh, the warmth lands on Buck’s upper lip. “I’m grateful you’re here, Buck. I would have done this no matter what, but. It’s easier with you. Everything’s easier with you.”

Buck untucks a hand to knuckle at his eyes. Eddie tracks the movement, face impossibly fond. 

“Nowhere I’d rather be.” He clears his throat. “That’s—god, that’s such a relief.”

“What happened to, ‘stop catastrophizing Eddie, of course Chris wants to come home’?”

“Well, duh, told you so and all that. But still.” He breathes shakily through the impulse to hug Eddie. 

“Yeah.” Eddie’s eyes are squinty, misting just a little. “But still.”

After a moment of sappy eye contact, he smacks at Buck’s arm and flips over to switch off his lamp. Buck closes his eyes at the sight—hair on the pillowcase, smooth neck, tag sticking up from his shirt collar—and reaches blind to extinguish the remaining light.

-

Buck falls asleep alone on Friday, leaving Eddie and his sisters for some one-on-one time at the tail end of the dinner party, long after the last guest had left. Chris spent a whole twenty minutes showing Buck incomprehensible TikToks, which he understood to be an apology and forgiveness all in one. He takes some time organizing their carry ons because they’re flying out on Sunday morning and then too much time scrolling reels and falls asleep half-clutching his phone. 

The next thing he knows is pitch darkness and heat on his hip. He doesn’t move into wakefulness, it filters gently, laps over him in the form of Eddie’s voice, a soft express of air against the nape of his neck as he speaks.

“You’re my best fucking friend. I love your stupid insistence on buying organic fruit. I love when you make fun of me with Chris. I wish you never left our couch. I wish—”

Buck breathes with exacting calm, trying to imitate the deep, slow inhales of sleep. Eddie’s voice is so quiet and there’s a hint of tequila curling around Buck’s cheek and the hand on his hip has three fingers slipped below the hem of his shirt. Branding his skin. Keeping him. Please, god, keep him.

Eddie says, “I’m gonna be a better dad. But I’m gonna be a better friend, too. And that means—that means—I’ll ask for stuff. I’ll let you know sooner. We’ll be okay. We’re all gonna be okay.”

The words slide away, Eddie losing his grasp on consciousness, forehead bumping Buck’s back as he slumps forward. Buck’s pulse pounds and pounds. Doesn’t he know? How doesn’t he know? There is no better than Eddie Diaz. 

The wet egg of his heart is all scrambled. He can no longer catch his breath. He can no longer convince himself the truth of this wound is better kept hidden.

-

The day before they leave, Buck sneaks little boxes of cereal and milk from the continental breakfast and to-go coffees that taste like they have industrial side jobs. They eat at the tiny table by the window, legs slotting together like wood joinery. 

Buck says, “I know we don’t really say this kinda stuff, so don’t make it weird, but you know I love you, right?”

Eddie scrunches his face up. Happy and soft, still in his sleep shirt. “Out of the two of us, it’s your job to not make stuff weird. I love you too, bud.”

Buck huffs a little. Sips his paint stripping coffee. “My job?”

“Yeah, and you’re up for a performance review. It’s not gonna go well.”

Fair enough, because the next thing out of Buck’s mouth is, “I texted Tommy this morning.” Eddie raises his eyebrows at the non sequitur. With the heavy drapes pulled apart, 6AM sunlight highlights the plastic grain on the tabletop, the golden highlights of Eddie’s fluffed bedhead. “Broke up with him.”

“Ouch,” says Eddie, after a beat. He eats a dry cheerio and squints through the slitted blinds. Eyes molten in direct light. “You didn’t say things weren’t good between you.”

“They weren’t. I mean, they were good. They were fine.”

Eddie looks back. “Okay? You gotta walk me from point A to B then.”

Buck shrugs and swirls the milk in its carton. Watches white waves slosh the corners, imagines a pier of tiny people crushed beneath them, feels vaguely nauseous, then settles after he sits it down. Spreads his hands flat on the laminate tabletop, thumbing a bubbled imperfection. 

“I realized I’m never going to love him how I love you. That I don’t even really want to. And I’m okay with that.” 

Inside: asthmatic radiator, murmuring neighbors through the thin walls. Outside: gossiping early birds, the lumber of a shipping truck. 

“Alright, but.” Eddie is very still. “You don’t need to replace your best friend with your partner. That’s—if you—if you loved him, or if you were going to love him, it would be different.” 

The right? is unspoken but still echoes—the loudest thing in the room. 

“Yeah,” Buck says, ducking his head with a smile. He said it. It’s out there. Whatever shape it takes, whatever direction this blows them into, he trusts Eddie to keep them on course. To steer them through the headwind. “Sure. Hey, I’m gonna grab a snack from the vending machine, you want anything?”

He’s up and moving before Eddie answers with a soft, no, I’m good. For a long few minutes, he stares at the water color reflection of himself in the vending machine glass. Then he punches in 112 for a chocolate peanut butter power bar and tells himself it was a good choice.

-

On their final night in El Paso, Chris asks to stay at the motel. Ramon says, very loudly and very quickly, what a great idea that is and they all negotiate a Sunday brunch before the airport to bloodlessly appease Helena. 

The three of them pile in a semi-circle booth at Eddie’s favorite restaurant in town for dinner. Chris is at the center of endless tortilla chips and ice water refills in chunky red plastic cups and Eddie and Buck smiling down at his perfect existence the whole night. 

The play that’s not a play, the cast of them performing like a family perfectly. Only—they are a family. He’s not watching and rewatching a VHS in his room, tapping on the glass, wondering how to get on the other side of color and love. They’re just here—they’re just his. Buck has to blame the salsa for his pink nose and eyes.

After their plates are cooled, emptied, and taken away Buck stage whispers to their waiter that it’s a certain someone’s special birthday and as he feels Chris bristle at the inexcusable act of inviting attention, Buck throws him a wink and gestures towards Eddie. Flan and tres leches and fried ice cream, with spoons wielded like swords, until everything’s melty and bright from the uncontrollable laughter and sweetness of the evening. 

At the motel, Buck peels off for the front desk because surely another room has opened up by now, and there’s really no way to fit two firefighters and a fourteen year old in a queen bed comfortably, even if just for a night.

But when he explains this to Eddie’s questioning look, he steps closer to Buck and grabs him by the hand. And tugs.

“No way you’re getting out of roulette movie night.” 

Eddie’s hand is large and hot, his grip steady. This isn’t—they don’t—that’s not a thing that they do. Hold hands—and he’s not pulling at Buck’s wrist, or grabbing for attention. This is date night hand holding. Palm in palm, Eddie’s fingers curled securely around the back of his hand. 

So Buck says, “Okay,” helpless, and follows. They watch the last half of a random Fast & Furious film and then as Chris flicks aimlessly through the channels, fate strikes like—well, fuck lightning, but yeah. 

Buck says, “Wait, go back, go back!”

Chris flips the channel back and from his place folded up at the foot of the bed, Buck pumps his arms in the air. Backdraft is only twenty minutes in and Buck starts unconsciously whispering along with the lines until both Eddie and Chris whack him with pillows.

Chris is asleep before the fight at Swayzak's and all the lights are off. Eddie mutes the volume but leaves on the blue glow as he helps Buck set up pillows and blankets on the floor, beside the bed. 

He watches the popcorn ceiling, all shadow and colors from the TV. Eddie peers down from the edge of the bed, mustache stretching with a smile. 

“Goodnight, Buck,” he says, in a hush. And then he reaches down for Buck’s hand, again. Holding it gently, letting the weight of both of them rest on Buck’s chest, rising and falling with his breath.

In the dim, strobing light, Eddie’s eyes are dark and unreadable. But his fingers lace with Buck’s. His smile hangs off the edge of the bed even as his eyes slip shut. 

Buck’s lungs stutter, forgetting a step between one inhale and the next, as he whispers back, “Night.”

-

They pack with swift efficiency in the morning, most of the work already done. Eddie takes one final load to their rental, and Buck finishes collecting his things, triple checking that he has both door keys to drop back at the front desk for their checkout. They need to be at the Diaz house in the next twenty minutes for brunch and back on the road in an hour and a half to leave a comfortable airport cushion for their flight.

Buck hefts his duffle over his shoulder and pockets the keycards after a final room sweep, stepping away from the bed just as the door he’d left ajar pushes all the way open.

“Hey,” he says, “forget something?”

“Nah,” Eddie says, walking in. “Everything's in the car, Chris is ready, we should be all set.”

“Okay,” Buck can’t hide his note of confusion and Eddie is still walking forward, “do you—” Eddie lifts the strap of Buck’s duffel off him, dropping the bag to the floor. “What—”

One arm slides around Buck’s back, elbow hooking on Buck’s waist. They press together, chest to chest. Eddie’s other hand rests on the side of his face, pointer finger sliding gently along his eyebrow, his birthmark. He leans in, mouth brushing Buck’s with incredible gentleness.

After the barest moment, Eddie pulls only his head back, warm gaze searching Buck’s expression seriously. 

Buck cannot begin to guess what he finds there. His mind is a runaway train about to come off the tracks. Steam whistle the only sound echoing between his ears. His heart gallops for the horizon. He blinks once, slow, staring only at the soft, red texture of Eddie’s mouth.

Hesitancy evaporates on the second go around. Eddie crushes their lips together and Buck exhales a hurt noise, leaning into everything—every touch, each sensation. Bristly mustache, velvety kiss, hot tongue. Gasps desperately into Eddie’s mouth, hands coming up between them, fisting in the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

Then he wriggles his arms free, wraps them around Eddie’s shoulders—his shoulders, fuck, wide and strong, muscles shifting beneath his touch—instead as Eddie hums in approval and steps them back and back until Buck his the wall but even that is soft, Eddie moving him carefully, absorbing the impact with the arm still braced like a belt around Buck, fingers digging in and in at Buck’s side—oh god oh god oh god, Buck thinks. Oh god, please. Oh god, yes. Oh god, thank you, thank you. 

“Eddie—” Buck says, but it’s barely a word, it’s the sound of his inhale, it’s the sound of his composite anatomy. Unravel him and inside it’s: Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. 

Unfortunately, Eddie takes it to be an invitation to talk, because he pulls back with a slick sound of disconnection. Panting over Buck’s mouth. Tightening his arm, smoothing his hand through Buck’s hair again and again.

“Buck,” he says, smiling. 

“You—”

“Yeah.”

Buck licks his lips, watches Eddie watch him. Feels dangerously combustible. 

“I—”

“I know.”

“But do you—”

“Yes, Buck.” Eddie tilts his nose, dragging the tip across Buck’s cheek, teasing a kiss over his lips before retreating again. “Yes.”

Buck just breathes for a moment. Then:

“Are you sure—”

This time, Eddie cuts him off with a kiss. Buck lets it shut him up, hoping to reinforce this as his preferred method of being silenced.

“Yeah, I’m really fucking sure. Was gonna wait to—y’know—when we got back home but.” He drifts away, just enough to hold Buck’s gaze. His thumb follows the hills and valleys of Buck’s mouth, outlining it preciously. “Think we’ve waited long enough.”

“Agreed,” says Buck, feeling everything good and alive and hopeful surge within him. He could power all of Texas right now. He grins, delirious, spinning out—chosen and held and kept. “We have to go to brunch.”

Eddie laughs, head knocking back and then forward. Foreheads kissing. He rubs their noses together, back and forth, swallowing the last of his chuckle. 

“Brunch. Airport. Home.”

A swirl of happiness, Eddie’s words sweeping up all these golden motes of possibility inside of Buck. He collapses, a little, warms his face with Eddie’s throat, arms shifting from a hold to a hug. Eddie follows, swaying him off the wall, hugging him firmly. They stay there, simply wrapped up, for the wonderful eternity of a lifetime beginning. 

When they part, Buck taps the keycards in his pocket one last time and lets Eddie guide him out the door, down the hall, to the front desk, attached to his hand the whole time. 

They pack into the sensible four-door they rented at the airport, luggage locked in the truck, heart clipped in the backseat with his headphones already secured over his ears. When Eddie slings into the passenger seat, he beams at Buck and stretches his arm over the middle console. Playing gently with Buck’s ear before settling a hand at the back of his neck, fingers twirling the short curls at his hairline. 

Buck bugs out a little, looking at Eddie in surprise. He glances back, seized with worry, but as Chris clocks the touch he only squints for a second before a smirk twists his expression.

Eddie scoots his sunglasses up over his forehead and strains his neck, catching Chris’ gaze, then shoots a wink into the backseat. Chris rolls his eyes, looks back down at his phone. 

Oh, so—that means he—that they already talked about—okay. 

Buck flushes, warm all over like something pulled fresh from the dryer. He tightens his hands on the wheel and pulls them onto the road. 

The world feels wide open, limitless. Eddie fiddles with the radio stations, finding something from his teenage years, a mix of modern country pop and oldies hits. His fingertips tap along to the beat of the song on Buck’s neck. As he turns them onto the main road, the motel’s NO VACANCY sign flickers in their rearview.

[somecouplestolove]

flash by ~rad-i-cal

[somecouplestolove]

didn't have time to finish anything last week so have another buddie snuggled up in bed

[somecouplestolove]

title: felt like something holy, like souls bleeding

Summary: He doesn’t know how to say it, what Buck means to him, because Buck means everything to him. Buck is where it begins and ends; he has been for a long time, maybe since the well. Maybe before.

tags: crop top fic!!, grinding, rimming, Top!Buck, Bottom!Eddie, ass to mouth (oops), hand holding during sex, confessing love during sex, semi-public orgasms

*

It was the crop top’s fault. That’s what Eddie’s telling himself, two beers and a shot deep, Buck’s arms around his neck, hips moving. He doesn’t know how he ended up here, on the dance floor, letting Buck do whatever it is Buck is currently doing with his hips, but he does know that Buck -- Buck can’t dance. He can move, but he can’t dance and there’s a fundamental difference, but Eddie stops caring (he barely cared to begin with) when Buck drapes his long arms around Eddie’s shoulders, dimples out in full force, curls sweaty and tumbling over his forehead. There’s something lighter about him, more free, something that’s loosened in his shoulders and his expression.

Eddie’s hands go automatically to Buck’s waist - to Buck’s bare waist, bared by the crop top he’d shown up to Eddie’s house in, bracing himself. Eddie hadn’t wanted to go out. He’d been in sweats when Buck showed up in jeans and a fucking crop top and glitter on his cheeks, curls loose and light, but Buck had refused to take no for an answer, herding Eddie through getting dressed and then dragging him out: C’mon, Eds, it’ll be fun, we’ll have a good time, it’ll get your mind off things - we both need this and if Eddie had, at any point, told Buck no and meant it, he knows Buck would have backed off, but he also knows that Buck is (at least partially) right - Buck needs this, and maybe Eddie does, too; maybe Eddie needs to feel a little lighter, forget that Chris is gone, that he fucked that up, that he’s half in love with his best friend but he can’t ever tell, because Eddie breaks everything he touches.

According to Buck’s retelling, things with Tommy had ended relatively calmly: over coffee when Buck had asked Tommy to move in and Tommy had declined. But Eddie knows Buck’s always felt like too much for anyone to hold - like the weird detour people took to figure out their forever - and this was just confirmation of that. Eddie sees it in the set of his shoulders, the way he carries it around too much, too much, too much. So Buck needs a night where he can wear glitter and a crop top and not think about Tommy Kinard, and he wants Eddie there, so Eddie will be there. Eddie is there, smirking a little as Buck does whatever he considers to be dancing, sweaty arms around Eddie’s neck, smelling like bodywash and sweat and deodorant and something distinctly Buck.

Buck’s smile turns a little wicked at the brush of Eddie’s fingers against the bare skin of his waist, and something about the bar, about the buzz of alcohol, about the way the music curls into his spine, about Buck’s arms, heavy, around his neck makes him brave, and Eddie tightens his fingers against Buck’s sides, pulling him in a little closer. Something shifts in Buck’s expression, changes a little, and his eyes are on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie’s eyes are on Buck’s lips and -- maybe --

“You can.” Buck’s voice is surprisingly quiet in the din of the bar. Eddie isn’t sure if he feels it or hears it, eyes flickering up from Buck’s lips to meet his eyes. “If you -- I -- you can -- you can kiss me if you want.”

read the rest on AO3 :)

(there's art for this from @oshaskell)

(more art???)

[somecouplestolove]

flicker, fever, fill the storm

[somecouplestolove]

Sappy.jpg

[somecouplestolove]

by 118MGZN

Buck and Eddie are in perfect agreement: hide their relationship by any means necessary. Nobody needs to know, just yet.

It’s not like it’s worth shouting across the rooftops or anything.

(Except both of them want to do just that.)

OR

Buck and Eddie desperately try to get the other to crack and reveal their relationship first, and they have no clue they’re both playing the same game.

Words: 7080, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Evan “Buck” Buckley, Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Henrietta “Hen” Wilson, Howie “Chimney” Han, Bobby Nash, Maddie Buckley (mentioned), Tommy Kinard (mentioned)

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

Additional Tags: POV Evan Buckley, Love Confessions, Fluff, Crack, Secret Relationship, Relationship Reveal, Miscommunication, Gay Eddie Diaz, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Possessive Eddie Diaz, Jealous Eddie Diaz, Evan “Buck” Buckley Cheats on Tommy Kinard, InfidelEddie, Buckfidelity

Read on AO3