she/they 29 | main: @ifnot-winter (i follow from there) | fandom sideblog so i don’t spam my main one with my many and random hyperfixations that make my brain go brrr | SPN/destiel veteran, currently mostly hooked on 911 and High Potential, but I also love Star Wars, Marvel, DC, and lots of other stuff
3.8K words | mature
sexuality crisis | arguing and making up | developing relationship | feelings realization | idiots in love | relationship negotiation via passive aggressive cake
Cake or Death [on AO3]
Eddie's phone vibrates in his pocket as he's unlocking his front door. He doesn't check it right away, because there's an anxious pit in his stomach at the sound of his text notification and has been for the past week, even though Buck hasn't actually texted him since Wednesday. It's Friday now, his Kelly day, and he's stepping through his own front door at ten-fifteen in the morning with a bag of groceries in his hand and nothing planned while Chris is at school but to marinate the chicken he just bought and do a load of laundry and maybe take a nap and absolutely not agonize over the chain of unanswered texts sitting in his phone like a silent accusation.
He takes his shoes off, lines them up on the rack, sets the grocery bag down, locks the door behind him. His phone vibrates again. Eddie finally pulls it out of his pocket, reminding himself that people other than Buck text him and he can't just become a hermit until his next shift, tempting as it is. It could be one of the guys on his basketball team. It could be Hen, or Chim, or even Pepa, who prefers to call but has been known to text him screenshots of upbeat inspirational posts she finds on Facebook.
It's Buck, though. Of course it is. Eddie looks at the preview of the most recent message, which just says, enjoy :), and then sighs and opens up their text chain even though Buck will know he's seen it and not replied just like he has every message since the one he got at 8:13 last Thursday morning asking, hey, where'd u go?
Harry being a firefighter is really cool but he’s still a teenage boy and sometimes when he’s at work and is supposed to be sleeping he gets his laptop out of his locker and logs onto the old minecraft server he started when he was 11 and Chris and Denny were 8 and plays on it and only gets caught when Chris texts his dad asking why harrys playing minecraft on shift
sending good writing vibes your way!
buddie and "you don't get to touch me like that and still call it friendship"!!!
Your good vibes worked, thank you!! I managed to write the words!! This is a little angsty at first but I hope it hits the spot. <33 If you prefer, you can read it on AO3 here.
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It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Even after everything, his whole life, all the people who have left, the expanse of empty sheets in the morning a familiar sight—even after all that, Buck is still a romantic, deep down. He still thought if you found someone who stuck around for years, and you let them in and let them see the real you, and then they kissed you and took you to bed, then that was it, the happily ever after. At the very least they’d be there in the morning.
He didn’t think he’d be driving across town while staving off what feels like a panic attack, an iron cage around his chest, his heart hammering against it. If he thought about Eddie in particular…god, it fucking hurts. For a minute he thinks he might have to pull over, it hurts so bad. Like he’s dying. Like he might actually die.
Buck pulls in the driveway and practically sprints to the door, hammers on it with the flat of his palm. It’s still early, but not so early that Chris won’t already be at school, or maybe still on the bus on the way there. It used to be that Buck knew his schedule better, entered it into his calendar at the beginning of every school year so he knew exactly when to show up if Eddie needed help with pick-up or drop-off. Things have been different since Texas. Buck’s tried not to think about it too much. Now he wonders if he should have thought about it more.
“Eddie!” he yells—unnecessarily, since the door swings open not even a second later.
“Buck?” It comes out like a question, like Eddie didn’t expect him to be here. As if Buck was just going to take Eddie fooling around with him and then disappearing in stride. The iron band around Buck’s chest squeezes tighter.
“Don’t—” Buck shakes his head, words lost to him. “Just—”
He shoulders his way inside, Eddie stumbling backward while he continues his spot-on impression of someone who’s shocked Buck is here. “Look,” Eddie starts to say, but Buck can’t—he can’t fucking take it. His hands ball into fists against the urge to plant against Eddie’s chest and shove.
“Is this how you treat people?” Buck says, but he realizes as soon as he says it that, yeah, it is, actually. It’s how Eddie’s treated him, if he really lets himself look at how things have been between them, if he holds it up to the light and examines it. He’s important enough to be in Eddie’s will, important enough to come over and try to stop Chris from leaving, but he’s not important enough to know Eddie’s thinking of moving. He’s important enough for Eddie to bring Chris back from Texas, but not important enough for Eddie to come back himself, not for him. They’ve watched each other almost die so many times, and Buck always…but Eddie just took it in stride—shove it down, don’t talk about it. So Buck didn’t talk about it either. Not unless walls were getting smashed with baseball bats, and even then, only long enough to make sure nothing was damaged beyond repair.
Eddie sags a little, like he knows he’s been caught, but his jaw is still stubbornly clenched, his gaze averted. “You’re my best friend.”
“No,” Buck says, nearly snarls. “You don’t get to—to touch me like that and still call it friendship.”
“You are, though,” Eddie says. “Last night doesn’t change that for me.”
“It changes things for me.” Buck’s scared he might cry, the sob already stuck at the back of his throat. It takes him a generous handful of seconds to swallow it down. “I can’t just forget it ever happened.”
“So don’t.” Eddie’s eyes are wide, suddenly full of desperation. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just—I’m sorry, Buck. It was a moment of—of weakness, and—”
Weakness? No, that’s not right. Before he can stop himself, Buck is stepping forward, hands going to Eddie’s elbows to stop him from stepping back. “What’s that supposed to mean?” No, he knows what it means, he’s not an idiot. “How long have you—?”
“Forever,” Eddie says, like a reflex, even as he leans away from Buck’s grasp like he’s trying to put as much distance between them as he can. “For a long time, anyway. Since—I don’t know. By the time I realized, it felt like it’d always been there.”
That, Buck can relate to. When Eddie kissed him last night, gentle fingers curling around Buck’s to remove the beer bottle from his hand, Buck’s first thought was, oh. As in, oh, this is what I’ve been feeling. As in, oh, this is why I’m only myself when you’re here, why I’m lost when you’re gone.
But apparently Eddie just—knew. All along.
“But why…?” He said weakness. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because, Buck.” He does step out of Buck’s grip then, but carefully, gently. “You’ve seen how it goes with me. My own son ran across the country to get away from me. You are—” Buck watches Eddie visibly collect himself, throat clicking as he swallows. His eyes are so big and dark, shiny wet. Buck wants to grab him and hold him and never, never let go. “You are too fucking important.”
Buck can’t decide if he’s going to puke or bawl or collapse, but he does know that if he kisses Eddie right now, he could avoid all three—so he does it. He steps into Eddie space and puts a hand on either side of his face and kisses him with everything he has, his entire body, his entire soul, and he doesn’t stop until he feels Eddie’s trembling fingers at his waist—another moment of weakness maybe, but one Buck’s not going to let him run away from this time.
“I love you,” Buck says, shaky and rough, breathing it into the warm space between their mouths.
“Buck,” Eddie says, a plea.
“It’s okay, Eddie. I promise, I promise you, it’s okay.”
Eddie clutches him in earnest then, hands sliding up to his shoulder blades, pads of his fingers digging in like he needs to keep Buck close, like Buck would ever think of running. “I love you,” he says, and Buck can hear how much it hurts him to say, ripping its way out of him, leaving gaping wounds behind. It’s okay, though. Now that Buck knows, now that he can feel the fear in the way Eddie touches him, he gets it. Eddie isn’t the only one who’s felt like he’s driven everyone away. He’s not the only one who’s worried happiness was something only meant for other people. So much has gone wrong in Buck’s life, but with Eddie, it’s always felt right. So it’s okay. It’ll all be okay, now.
Buck’s thumbs sweep Eddie’s cheekbones, briefly mesmerized at the soft skin under his eyes and the fact that he gets to touch it, the tenderness of that freckle under his eye up close. “I’ve got you,” Buck says. Eddie sighs into the next kiss, and Buck’s breathes it in, all that hesitant relief, the first real breath he’s taken in—maybe ever.
I’ve got you, he repeats in his head. He just likes the way it sounds.
ur telling me eddie seriously said and believed "oh uh i'm straight" to the hot pastor who was hitting on him with that slutty borderline crop top sleeve cut shirt and the freddie mercury clone of a mustache? im sick
#thosetwofirefighters starts to gather a following on social media, as everyone tries to figure out if those two cute firefighters from the 118 in LA are a thing or not.
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ellievsbear
