brush your teeth, bucK. take your meds, bucK. eat an apple, bucK, you haven’t had any fruit today. don’t do the dishes, bucK, you cooked. take my car, bucK. go jerk off in the shower, bucK. don’t come, bucK. drink a glass of water, bucK. put some socks on before bed, bucK, your feet always get cold at night.
pouty frowny sleepy eddie diaz walking into his kitchen and then immediately just licking into his buck’s mouth as he steals that beautiful hot steamy cup of Their Shared Coffee from his best friend’s hand. best friend’s. that’s his best friend. and eddie just kissed him. it only takes him fifteen minutes to remember they’re not together and they’ve never kissed before. but now eddie’s in the shower and he’s just a man, so he might as well jerk off before he does anything about it
literally this is so awesome i had to write something about it.
Eddie does not stumble on his way to the kitchen.
His head had only spun a little bit when he first sat up on the edge of the bed, a reminder of the maybe-a-couple-too-many beers he’d had last night. Another reminder had come in the form of the glass of water and bottle of ibuprofen on his nightstand, which he doesn’t remember setting there but is thankful for his foresight nonetheless as he carries the now-empty glass back down the hall.
He feels for the edges of his hangover as he shuffles drowsily. His pulse thuds in his temples, but there’s no accompanying nausea, so he counts it as a win. If he’d slept longer, he probably wouldn’t feel it at all, but his eyes had opened just past dawn and he’d been possessed by the urge to get up instead of rolling onto his other side and trying to doze back off.
Whatever. Nothing a cup of coffee and a hot shower can’t help ease. After that, he’ll feel a little more himself and he’ll text Buck, see if he wants to order in when he comes over tonight instead of cooking—
Buck’s in his kitchen. Eddie doesn’t remember him being here last night. Surely he would remember if Buck came over, really, he didn’t drink that much. But still, here Buck is, wearing sweats and a shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing his ribs to the open air. He’s facing away from Eddie as he stirs his coffee, his shoulders broad and half-bare in the soft light of early morning.
Despite this not being Buck’s house, not being where Eddie’s sure he slept last night, Eddie feels not even a flicker of surprise to see him here.
The feeling the sight does elicit is warm and familiar, the same swell in his chest he feels when Christopher laughs. It’s the feeling of being home, plain and simple.
He’s crossing to Buck before he even realizes his feet are moving. Buck doesn’t seem surprised either, taking a sip of his coffee as he turns.
He lowers the mug, gives Eddie a crooked grin. His eyes are clear and bright, like he’s been up for hours already. “Good morning—”
Eddie’s hands find his waist, tug him square against his chest. Eddie’s eyes slip closed at the impact, the reverberation sliding down Eddie’s spine like the click of a key in a lock. He captures Buck’s mouth with his, raising one hand to cradle the base of Buck’s skull.
Buck jolts against him, muscles tense where Eddie squeezes at his side, but it only lasts a moment before he’s angling his head to match Eddie, tongue sliding at the seam of Eddie’s lips.
Eddie opens his mouth to allow Buck in, backing him firmly into the counter. Buck tastes like coffee, and there’s a few grains of sugar on his lips that Eddie licks off. He absently wonders if Buck had brought pastries, and apparently that’s all it takes for him to remember himself, remember that he’s only partially dressed and definitely reeks of hangover, can practically smell the alcohol oozing through his sweat glands. He pulls back, presses a chaste kiss to the side of Buck’s mouth. His hand drops from the back of Buck’s neck and reaches blindly for the mug. Buck doesn’t make a noise as he passes it over, silently allowing Eddie to take one sip, then another.
“Mm,” he says, half a grunt, “is that a new creamer?”
Buck nods, slowly. “Yeah,” he breathes. Eddie watches the word leave his pink lips.
He wants to go lay back down, with Buck this time. With Buck at his side, he’ll definitely be able to get back to sleep. But first—“Need to shower,” he yawns, eyes not leaving Buck’s mouth.
Buck doesn’t say anything, just watches Eddie leave the kitchen.
He turns the shower up as hot as he can stand, hissing at first at the sharp sting. Once he’s used to it, he’s sure the heat will soothe the pounding in his head.
The one sip of caffeine he’d gotten does absolutely nothing for his energy level as he lazily scrubs the sweat from his skin. He wishes he’d gotten more than just a taste, had been able to drink his fill.
Halfway through his shower he has to mentally add shampoo to his grocery list as he chucks his empty bottle into the trash and reaches for Buck’s. It’s sandalwood, he thinks, or maybe cedar. Either way, it smells like Buck, smells like that warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest as he lathers it in.
He remembers how the coffee had tasted on Buck’s tongue.
Buck’s tongue.
Buck’s tongue.
Eddie’s eyes snap open. It’s just for a moment, long enough for him to remember that he’s rinsing shampoo from his hair, then they’re scrunched back closed.
He kissed Buck.
Not just kissed, either, fully initiated a spontaneous makeout session in his kitchen. One which Buck had definitely participated in, and undeniably with equal hunger. His dick, ever a traitor, not to mention already half-hard, twitches at the memory. He’s unsure he’ll be able to control himself if he’s thinking with his dick when he gets out of the shower, and makes the executive decision that he can worry about their upcoming conversation in a few minutes. After he deals with this.
And he usually does in the shower, anyway, it’s the most convenient place; door locked behind him guaranteeing privacy, water loud against the curtain blocking any small noises he might let out. So it’s not really a big deal when he puts a hand on himself and…well. It’s not like he’s trying to think of kissing Buck, but he certainly doesn’t try not to think about it.
He’s unsure he’s ever gotten off so quickly before.
It's the way Buck had licked his lips when Eddie pulled away that does it for him, just a flash between his plush lips. The thought of that tongue in other places, or even just in Eddie’s mouth again is so overwhelming that Eddie nearly blacks out, bracing himself against the shower wall. He blinks stars from his vision when he’s finished, barely able to get the energy to give himself another quick rinse to rid himself of any evidence.
He throws on a similar outfit to Buck’s when he stops back in his bedroom, basketball shorts and a tank top. Comfortable enough to lounge on the couch with Buck in, or to slink back under the covers in if the next five minutes or so do not go favorably.
Maybe, maybe he can get under the covers with Buck, but the comfortable clothing choices wouldn’t have much to do with preparing for that.
Buck’s still in the kitchen when he gets back.
Eddie leans against the doorway, realizing he doesn’t know how he’d intended to start this. Buck is still backed against the counter, hands braced on either side of his hips like he’s holding the counter for dear life. He tracks Eddie with his eyes, gaze flicking over him.
“Hey,” Eddie finally settles on.
Buck’s eyes snap to his before he can regret breaking the silence. “Eddie,” he breathes, “what—” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “What was that.”
It sounds like it should be a question. There’s no way it is though, considering they were both there for it. They both know what that was, but Eddie doesn’t say that. What he does say is, “you kissed back.”
Seemingly not the answer Buck had expected, if the way he goes a little slack-jawed is any indication. Eddie thinks he should be scared, but deep down, buried in the space between his lungs and heart, there is a part of him that became whole when he met Buck, and it knows that there is only one way this can end. He and Buck, best friends through everything, even through their hiccups over the years. There’s no one else in the world he’d rather kiss for the rest of his life.
Eddie reaches out, gesture so familiar he could find the hollow of Buck’s collarbone in his sleep, and pulls him in by the shoulder. He keeps his hand there for a long moment, debating whether to slide his hand up to cradle Buck’s jaw.
Buck’s brows furrow. Eddie realizes he hasn’t said anything in a while. Neither has Buck, but Buck had been the one blindsided here, so Eddie has mercy on him.
“Buck,” he starts, chasing Buck’s gaze down until those blue eyes hold Eddie’s own. “I’ll never love anyone else the way I love you,” he says, and there’s only raw honesty in his voice. It’s been true for a long time, the way Eddie’d silently separated the feelings he had for his best friend into their own box, entirely different to the way he’d felt about every other person in his life, staggering in their intensity.
Buck’s mouth twists, and Eddie realizes they’re both on the verge of tears. He doesn’t want Buck to cry, not right now. He’s unsure he’ll be able to stop himself.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get here, Buck,” he says, voice a little wobbly. His hand, with a mind of its own, finally slides up. He cups Buck’s cheek, runs his thumb along Buck’s cheekbone, prepared to catch the tear beading at the corner of his eye.
Buck lets out a noise that’s half-laugh, half-sob and pulls Eddie in for a hug, crushing them together.
“I love you,” he says into Eddie’s shoulder. “Fuck, Eddie, I love you.” He squeezes tight, so tight that Eddie wonders if Buck has his own deep down part of himself tucked away in his thoracic cavity. It would make sense, the way they’ve always fit together like a matched pair, destined from the start for each other, if there was some sort of magnetic force tethering the two of them together.
Suddenly the shirts and skin and muscles and ribs and viscera seem far too many layers of separation between them, and Eddie feels lightheaded with how badly he wants to crawl inside Buck’s skin and live there.
Or vice versa. He’s really not picky.
All he cares about is letting those two long lost halves of one whole meet, allow their hearts to beat in conjunction and spend the rest of eternity together.
Buck pulls back from the hug, not far, since he’s still mostly-pinned against the counter, just enough to meet Eddie’s mouth in a bruising kiss.
Buck only vaguely tastes like coffee now, but it’s not the point.
The point is that early this morning, Buck had let himself in with his key, instead of knocking, like this was his own house. He’d bought a new creamer to keep in Eddie’s fridge and brewed coffee with the old-fashioned coffee maker Eddie stubbornly kept around, maybe even showered in Eddie’s bathroom with the shampoo Eddie’d just used himself.
Before Eddie’d moved back into the South Bedford house, and therefore before Buck had left it, he would have woken up to the sound of the shower running unexpectedly. Chris wasn’t the type to shower this early, and besides, he’d stayed up just as late as Eddie last night playing video games with his friends. It would’ve been enough stray from the routine sounds of the house waking up that it should’ve put Eddie on alert.
But it’s Buck. Buck, who moved out months ago, but has been staying over on the couch multiple nights a week. Buck, who always showers in the morning, no matter how early he gets up. And Buck, who perfectly fills the space in Eddie’s life that he’s always felt was missing. All he ever had to do was look.
He probably put the water and ibuprofen on Eddie’s nightstand, too, now that Eddie’s considering it.
Again, Eddie should’ve woken when Buck eased his bedroom door open, should’ve blinked his eyes open to see Buck smile at him from the side of the bed as he set the hangover cures down.
It’s hard to put a name to the realization that settles over Eddie with that thought. It’s like he’s gained a new layer of skin, this knowledge that Buck has slotted so perfectly into Eddie’s life that their DNA may as well be woven together.
Of course Eddie wasn’t jarred awake when Buck opened the front door, or turned on the shower, or walked over the creaky spot in the hallway, or any other thing he’d done this morning. Buck is as much a moving part of Eddie as Eddie himself..
“Move back in,” Eddie breathes, panting the words into Buck’s mouth, “forever this time.”
Buck laughs, his eyes still teary. “Forever, huh?”
Eddie uses both hands to ruck up Buck’s shirt, palms skidding up over soft skin to reach Buck’s pecs. “Yes,” he answers, squeezing, “I never want to be without you again.”
Buck makes a frankly obscene whimpering noise against Eddie’s mouth and he finds himself continuing, completely unbidden; “really, Buck, forever.” He tries to convey as much of his desperation as possible in his next kiss, fingernails digging into Buck’s supple flesh. He hopes Buck can hear everything unsaid in it—hopes Buck can hear the I’m going to marry you and we’re going to live the rest of our lives intertwined explicit in the twist of Eddie’s tongue.
Then Buck is biting at his lip and Eddie is entirely gone.
honey and milk (gen & buddie, 1k, for eddiediazweek2026 day 1 - sweet tooth)
When Eddie is very small, he gets a cavity.
He remembers the pain, the ache, his mother sighing and watching him while he wails alone in the dentist's chair. His father's indulgent pat on his head when he stands up from the plastic chairs of the waiting room.
"No more crying, mijo," his dad tells him, as he hiccups through a swollen jaw in the backseat of the car. "This was because of you stuffing yourself at your abuela's house. We told you that this is what would happen if you ate too many sweets."
So, here is the lesson: you deserve pain when you accept too much sweetness.
So, here is the portrait: Eddie Diaz, a man who does not like sweets.
He does not abstain from sugar, of course. Not completely. A single slice of tres leches on his birthday, handed to him by his abuela, looking at him with soft eyes. A milkshake shared with Shannon, their feet knocking under a diner table, the taste of her lipgloss before they can finish the whole glass. A cookie with his six-year-old, sitting side by side in a house filled with moving boxes, breaking his own cookie in half and handing the larger piece to Christopher when he devours his own too quickly.
Small, acceptable tastes. Dessert, when he is allowed. Water, instead of juice.
Twenty-some odd years of this, and then, of course, Buck.
Buck, who doesn't particularly like sweet things, but who walks into their house on a warm summer day and tells a giggling Christopher that they were gonna learn how to make homemade ice cream. Who buys caramel creamer from the fancy grocery store to stock in the station, because it's Chimney's secret shame. Who babbles to a smiling, indulgent Bobby about cupcake recipes, who then brings said cupcakes to the Wilson's for a dinner, grinning ear to ear watching Denny and the other kids descend on them even as Hen swats him for the incoming sugar highs.
Buck, who watches Eddie carefully every time he brings something to the station, hope so bright in the corners of his eyes that Eddie can't help but take a bite, to indulge.
He tries to keep it careful, restrained. A bite here, a taste there. But as the years go by, cookies are shoved into his hands, cakes are sliced and waiting on the counter. At some point, without noticing, the passionfruit-guava juice from the farmer's market stall they'd helped on a call years ago started finding its way into Eddie's fridge, innocuous and ever present. Eddie doesn't pour himself a glass, not unless someone offers.
Buck always offers.
It happens so gradually that Eddie doesn't really notice when he starts taking more than one cookie, cutting himself extra slices of cake. But one day, sitting in the loft and eating a slice of Buck's chocolate cake while scrolling through his phone, he hears it:
"C'mon, man, leave some for the rest of us!" Eddie blinks up as Harry slides over to the counter, grabbing a plate from the surface before beginning to cut himself a slice.
Buck, on the other side, flicks Harry's forehead, making him grumble. "Eddie can eat as much as he wants," he says, hands on his apron-ed sides.
"Favoritism," Ravi mutters, grabbing his own plate. Eddie opens his mouth to argue, but Chimney gets there first.
"Don't whine, Ravioli," he says. "You should be grateful that Buck keeps our resident cookie monster fed."
Eddie splutters. "What the hell, Chim?"
"You know--" Chimney waves a hand vaguely. "You, entire trays of cookies. Or brownies, or whatever cavity-inducing food Buckley decides to grace us with on any given day."
"I don't have entire trays," Eddie protests. A beat of silence. He looks around for help. Nobody answers. He looks at Buck, who winces.
"...it's fine! I always make at least two trays!"
Eddie stares at him, horrified. "You haven't mentioned it to me when I eat full trays of dessert?"
Buck splutters. "I- it's- you like it! I'm not gonna stop you!"
"And besides," Hen says, eyes glinting with mischief behind her glasses. "God forbid anyone gets between you and your sugar."
The words are teasing, kind, but it makes Eddie feel strangely vulnerable anyways. This tucked-away piece of himself, this part of him that he had thought was hidden for so long-- displayed.
Or, not displayed. Seen. Seen, and not at all a surprise to anybody.
Eddie looks at her, who grins back, like she's said nothing surprising at all. His eyes shift to Buck, who shrugs, slides over a glass of juice.
"There's nothing wrong with having a sweet tooth, Eddie," he says, and in his mouth, it almost sounds like benediction.
Eddie opens his mouth, closes it, feels a familiar urge to retreat, to leave the cake on the table and dump the juice in the sink and sit in the corner until his teeth stop buzzing with sweetness.
But then Chimney points a fork at him: "Just eat your cake, Diaz," he says, mock-stern and all cheer. "Or Buckley'll be insufferable for the rest of the day."
"Hey!" Buck yelps, little-brother annoyed. Hen slides into the seat next to Eddie, nudges her plate against his.
"And besides," she says, grinning at him, warm and easy. "I don't blame Eddie-- this is some damn good cake, right?"
Eddie thinks about toothaches and heartaches. The sweetness that comes before, or perhaps in spite of, pain. He thinks about sitting in the dentist's office alone. He thinks about going to the dentist's with Chris, his little hands balling in Eddie's collar as he cried, how they'd had popsicles the next day anyways.
He looks around, and wonders how long they've known, in the casual, unthinking way love allows you to know someone. He looks at Buck, years of taste testing and aluminum trays and the scent of butter and sugar behind him, and wonders how long he's known. He's pretty sure it's been a long time.
He realizes, with chocolate on his tongue, that the thought doesn't frighten him at all.
"Yeah," he grins at Hen, scooping up a forkful of cake and tapping it against her's. "It's pretty damn great."
In March 2026, Eddie loses Buck to what authorities label a tragic car accident.
One year later he returns to Los Nietos, haunted by Buck's ghost and desperate for closure, and the universe offers a second chance for them both.
A "Mother's Boy" AU
gracieabrams
2087
romaincrisis
turnnoffyourmind
dailybridgerton
theartofmadeline
amandla
stormborns
