seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Switzerland
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Russia
seen from Switzerland
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Portugal
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Netherlands
seen from Morocco
put 'em in your mouth (pull 'em all down south)
buddie, E, 7.8k, getting together, masturbation, freak4freak
So Eddie is coordinating laundry days with Buck's dates that aren't actually dates but casual hookups.
What the fuck.
read on AO3
spring this on ya
buddie, 2.1k, getting together, crack
"I think I'm gonna call Athena."
Eddie sounds properly perplexed at that—which, serves him right. The asshole. “I really don't know what Athena has to do with any of this." This, he says simply as if this was the weather, or what they should bring for the next barbecue.
"Yeah,” he nods to himself, satisfied with his idea, still looking straight ahead. "Think I'm going to call her and report an attempted murder!" OR, what's a little near death experience to start a relationship?
read on ao3
i laugh when it sinks in (a pillar i am, upright)
E, 7.1k, established relationship, pwp. sex toys, cockslut eddie
Buck joins him on the bed then, leaving some space between them and looking sheepish. "Um, remember a few weeks ago, you were riding me and talking about how obsessed you are with my penis?" Eddie almost laughs. "You're going to have to be more specific here, I'm afraid."
read on ao3
out of breath, got me goin' like
buddie, E, 12k, getting together, lingerie, riding, and some general filthiness
He's dead. He must be. There's no other explanation. He probably got into a car accident on his way to Eddie's and is lying in some ditch on the doorstep of death, having some fucked up dream about his best friend in lingerie.
As far as coma dreams go, it's definitely the weirdest he's had, not that he's had many, but he can't really understand how he’s supposed to work his way to a philosophical conclusion from this one.
OR, Buck walks in on Eddie searching for joy through a different kind of underwear-related endeavor.
read on ao3
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers.
Let's spread the self-love 💖
1. i laugh when it sinks in (a pillar i am, upright)
Buck joins him on the bed then, leaving some space between them and looking sheepish. "Um, remember a few weeks ago, you were riding me and talking about how obsessed you are with my penis?"
Eddie almost laughs. "You're going to have to be more specific here, I'm afraid."
2. slow motion, double vision in rose blush
Eddie has kissed a man.
Eddie Diaz. His friend. His Eddie. Has kissed a man. Which is strange because Buck is sure as hell he'd remember kissing Eddie.
OR Buck is very normal about his platonic friend's kissing habits.
3. out of breath, got me goin' like
He's dead. He must be. There's no other explanation. He probably got into a car accident on his way to Eddie's and is lying in some ditch on the doorstep of death, having some fucked up dream about his best friend in lingerie.
As far as coma dreams go, it's definitely the weirdest he's had, not that he's had many, but he can't really understand how he’s supposed to work his way to a philosophical conclusion from this one.
OR, Buck walks in on Eddie searching for joy through a different kind of underwear-related endeavor.
4. Season of Hope (After the Flood)
Eddie's summer of missing his son, unrepressing more than just his sexuality, and realizing that somewhere along the way he's fallen in love with his best friend and forgot to fall out of it.
And maybe that's okay.
5. spring this on ya
"I think I'm gonna call Athena."
Eddie sounds properly perplexed at that—which, serves him right. The asshole.
“I really don't know what Athena has to do with any of this." This, he says simply as if this was the weather, or what they should bring for the next barbecue.
"Yeah,” he nods to himself, satisfied with his idea, still looking straight ahead. "Think I'm going to call her and report an attempted murder!"
OR, what's a little near death experience to start a relationship?
What do you do about a haunted house when you're the one doing the haunting?
Years living under the same roof as his parents that mostly consisted of days where he wondered if he was see-through. Where he pinched his cheeks and jammed a fist into his stomach, wondering until the very last second before impact if this was the day it passed right through.
It never did but he never stopped trying, with a little more force each time, never stopped wondering.
Months of living in a house that's not his, seeing Abby in every corner. A trail end of her hair disappearing beyond a slightly open door, a waft of her perfume skipping away out the window, a knock that's not a knock but a faulty pipe. Her laugh echoing, echoing, echoing, but never the real thing.
Sometimes the light flickered, the shadows twisted, the floorboards creaked, and he wondered if he turned his head just so, if he'd see her ghost floating down the hallway.
It took him months to figure out the ghost was him. To look in the mirror and wonder who the hell that was he was seeing.
Evan Buckley is haunting his third house.
“I think I like it," Eddie says, the camera still pointed at the place in large. “It's small, but- uh- well," he laughs, a little awkward. It's a new kind of laugh, well newish, usually paired with flickering eyes and an avoiding gaze. It's been making an appearance more and more lately. “It's not like I need the space," Eddie finishes, quiet and quick.
Buck looks up at all the empty house around him.
He gets it, really, he doesn't need all this space either. This couch where he sits right now is all he needs, it's his bed even though Eddie still insists Buck should take his, and it's his dining table and living room, and well, couch.
There's space that needs to be filled but Buck's never been big enough to fill it, can't dream of it, not when that space has molded to the shape of one teenager who hasn't been home in months, and a man who's only been gone two days but it already feels like more.
Buck's heart feels like that often- an empty space, too big to fill despite his endless attempts and pleas. And lately, that space has taken two distinct shapes too.
It's funny the things you don't know you won't survive without until you're suddenly gasping for air, drowning and bleeding.
“So, yeah," Eddie sighs. “I guess it'll do."
After a couple of conversations with Chris, during which he hinted that he doesn't think he can say a permanent goodbye to LA, Eddie decided to backpedal a bit, going for renting instead of buying, which would've left this house empty instead of on the market. It's how Buck's found himself here, playing the game of chasing ghosts again. Eddie's laundry detergent stuck to his own clothes, but that's nothing new. Eddie's favorite brand of minty toothpaste the last thing he tastes at night and the first thing he does in the morning. Which is nothing new either.
Eddie's favorite mug telling him good morning when he goes to grab his own, Christopher's bowl next to the pan he likes to use, because this is the Diaz household and Buck's cooked here enough times to have a favorite pan and a favorite knife and a favorite spoon.
What do you do about a haunted house when you've made it your home?
But ghosts don't have homes. They jump from one house to the next. Leaching from one person and another.
A home requires a heartbeat, movement and hustling and laughter. So Buck will stay, the next best thing - always the next best thing and never the first - until its rightful owners come back, and the house is beating again with two familiar heartbeats.
“Yeah," Buck says, “It'll do."
a 8x10 coda - slight spoilers ahead
Anger is a poisonous thing.
It eats you from the inside out, rots you to the very core. And with nowhere to go but in, you let it build up, you let it fester, and fester, and fester, until it fills you up to the brim, until you're drowning in it, with no surface in sight to break for air.
So, it explodes.
It explodes at the most inopportune times, because no time is a good time for you to blow up. You have to keep it together, be the man of the house, a soldier, a husband and a provider, and no time is a good time to blow up.
Not at the top of the stairs at your captain's house, not in your locked bedroom with your son playing videogames a couple of doors away. Not in the face of your best friend, telling him the thing he knows about himself but hates the most.
And so it goes, seeps out of you, melts to the floor, it scurries away and hides in the holes you made in the walls, between floorboards and gravel, until nothing is left there but the bitter taste of regret.
Regret at who you are, at who you are not.
Regret for leaving. For staying too long. For not leaving soon enough.
Regret for all the things you said, and the things you never had the courage to say. For fighting the words, for not giving a name to the thing swirling in your chest every time you look at him. You wouldn't do it justice, you think, but at least you would've done it.
At least, it won't be like this. His smile tickling the sensitive part of your neck, his hands holding you tight, his love poured into a little bag of chocolate chip protein cookies. He didn't say it but at least he did it, it's out there, it's far more than you ever did.
And as you walk away, as you wave at him through the side mirror, and keep your eyes on him in the rearview mirror until the very last resemblance of him disappears, you realize it's not anger that's been your undoing, it's regret.
It eats you from the inside out, rots you to the very core.
slow motion, double vision in rose blush
Buck/Eddie, hot infidelity summer, getting together, E, 20k
Summary:
Eddie has kissed a man.
Eddie Diaz. His friend. His Eddie. Has kissed a man.
Which is strange because Buck is sure as hell he'd remember kissing Eddie.
Or, Buck is very normal about his platonic friend's kissing habits.
Later, Buck is going to look back on this moment and realize it’s the moment that sets off a chain reaction changing his entire life for good.
The thing about such moments is that you don’t realize it while you’re living in them. No, right now, for Buck it’s just another Friday night, another get together with his co-workers and friends, another regular night at the bar.
It’s one of those very lucky, very rare weeks where everyone has the weekend off, so instead of heading home after their shift, the 118 - sans Bobby, who’s still busy house hunting with his wife, and obviously no Gerrard - go out. The others join in not too long after, Karen, and Maddie who drags Josh behind her.
“Maddie!” Buck squeals in excitement at seeing his older sister.
She does no such thing. “Oh, my god, Buck, are you drunk already?” She chuckles as he pulls her in an admittedly clumsy hug over the table.
“Nope,” Buck answers, and it’s not totally a lie. He’s veering into the territory of drunk, and fast, but he’s just not there, yet. Though, after Chimney’s bachelor party, he’s not sure if he wants to be. Right now, the slight, pleasant buzzing beneath his skin and the weightlessness to his body are enough.
“Yet,” Eddie supplies anyway from where he’s sitting next to him. The threatening, narrowed eyes Buck fixes him with go without an acknowledgement from the man.
continue reading on ao3
