#arrenemris

Buck knew that all he needed to do was to pout and bat his lashes, and Eddie would let him do anything he wanted. And Eddie knew it too. He knew Buck knew every button to press and what response it would give him if he pushed. Like how the kiss under his jaw would make Eddie melt or how Eddie would turn just on the right side of feral if Buck picked him up like he weighed nothing at all while they made out. Or how afterwards when the floating dazzling feelings of pleasure was snapping under his skin, Eddie liked the weight of Buck on top of him, rooting him to the ground so he felt solid and held.

Unfortunately for Buck, Eddie knew all of Buck’s buttons too. Like how he liked when people played with his hair, turning him into putty in their hands. Or more specifically, how Buck liked when Eddie would play with his hair, soft gentle fingers that could turn harsh and just on the perfect side of mean with one clawed yank that had Buck gasping. Eddie knew how Buck liked when Eddie got rough, pushing him down onto the couch, and crawling on top of him to bite after a kiss until his mouth was swollen and bruised. Eddie knew how Buck liked that even his smallest of kisses, the soft whispers of ones against Buck's brow, were weighted and firm like they were being planted without any room for doubt that it was meant to be there.

The point is that Buck knew Eddie and Eddie knew him. That wasn't something Buck thought he would have ever gotten. Not when there was so much of him to share, to hold. Too much sometimes that it felt like people were worried Buck would sink them.

But not to Eddie. Eddie, who rolled his eyes as Buck pouted at him and held out the spoonful of his ice cream for Buck to have a bite. Eddie, who despite acting annoyed, looked at Buck with an unreadable kind of fondness when Buck dropped himself half over Eddie so he could take the spoon into his mouth. Eddie, who widened his legs so Buck could properly flop himself across Eddie's lap and said that Buck could only have one bite but still gave him another without prompting.

Because Eddie always did that; gave when Buck asked and gave some more even when Buck didn't without making Buck feel like he was too much.

(But also 💍💐❤️‍🔥 for you)

Buck had always been convinced he’d be really good at being in love. He was aware of how that sounded - and maybe it sounded weird, but he’d spent a lot of his adult (and, honestly, not-adult) life daydreaming about getting to be in love, real, lasting, forever-after kind of love. He had this theory, long before he had it, that he’d thrive, when he got to have real, grown-up love: that he’d be a kind, and caring partner, that he’d be giving with his love and physical affection, that he’d give himself wholeheartedly to a relationship.

That last bit - that had been the problem, all along. Buck had given himself wholeheartedly to the wrong relationships, and had let people take advantage of his kindness and desperation to be loved, really, genuinely loved. He’d forced the wrong relationships into boxes where he could convince himself they could work through the bad, and it would be good, eventually, and he’d only ever ended up heartbroken for his efforts.

And then there was Eddie. 

Buck hadn’t expected to fall in love with his best friend, but looking back now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seemed so obvious: from the moment they’d met, there had been some level of attraction, but it was more than that. Their friendship had always been a deep one, grounded in more respect and kindness and genuine care than Buck had ever experienced in his life before, and so now, looking back, it seemed so obvious that of course they’d fall in love - that big, forever-after, grown up love Buck had craved for so long.

Buck was good at being in love with Eddie. 

Loving Eddie was as easy as breathing - how could Buck not be good at it? He knew how to make Eddie laugh, how to be a comfort to his boyfriend. Buck knew when he needed to pry Eddie out of his shell and make him talk about his feelings and he knew when all Eddie needed was a long hug and a hot meal and Buck to just sit in it with him. Buck knew how to kiss, and touch, and all the ways to make Eddie come undone (including the way Eddie would do this sort of full body relax and smile softly at Buck when Buck would make him coffee, in the morning, giving Eddie five extra minutes in bed.)

The thing was - Buck had been so distracted by imagining all the ways he’d be a good boyfriend, he forgot to imagine how he might feel when his love was finally returned.

Eddie Diaz was the most loving person Buck had ever met, and he did it quietly, softly, his love wrapping Buck up in the warmest hug he had ever experienced. 

Buck sort of wanted to drown in it.

“Smells good,” Buck called out as he unlocked the front door, the novelty of coming home to his boyfriend still having not worn off. Buck spent five nights out of seven with the Diazes, and at this point, it was a game of waiting for Buck’s lease to come to an end so they could make the transition to living together officially. In the five short months they’d been in a relationship - and for the five long years before they had gotten to the point of being able to admit their feelings - Eddie had given Buck everything he had ever wanted and more: a home, a family, a place to come back to every night. 

Easing off his sneakers, Buck headed for the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen doorframe, taking a second to drink in the scene in front of him. Eddie was standing at the stove, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants (look: Buck was only human) and a borrowed sweatshirt, the navy material rolled to the elbow, Buckley emblazoned across the shoulders in the familiar LAFD red. His hair was shower-soft and fluffy, Eddie’s cheeks flushed a soft pink - the open bottle of red wine explained that one.

Buck loved him so much it made his heart ache.

“It’s nothing special,” Eddie shrugged, smiling in that way that made his eyes crinkle in the corners. “Just bolognese.”

“Just bolognese? Eddie, it smells amazing!”

Eddie inclined his head slightly, never one to easily take a compliment. “You’re just hungry,” he admonished, squinting at Buck. Buck was pretty sure his boyfriend needed glasses. “You going to say hello properly, or what?”

Buck laughed, crossing the kitchen in a few short steps. “Sorry,” he apologised sincerely, pressing one, two, three kisses to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“You should be,” Eddie hummed, turning down the heat of the stove, leaning into Buck’s embrace. “It’s been a very long twenty-four hours without you.”

“This is why Chimney calls us codependent,” Buck pointed out, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, tangling his fingers in the long hair at the back of Eddie’s neck. 

Eddie shrugged, bumping his nose against Buck’s before he dived in for another kiss, time slowing to a sticky sweet standstill as they made out, dinner bubbling on the stove. “I don’t care,” he replied. “We’re codependent. Isn’t that what you’re meant to be when you’re in love?” 

Buck had never been with someone who so wholeheartedly embraced his clinginess, someone who enjoyed the way Buck would text, and call, every time a thought popped into his head. He’d never dated someone who leaned into the way that Buck craved physical affection and kind words, Eddie handing it over without question or annoyance. 

He loved him so much he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

Except -

“Marry me,” Buck blurted. He probably should have made a plan, and bought a ring, and thought it through, but standing, wrapped up in Eddie’s arms, dinner cooking in the background, music playing softly from the bluetooth speaker that had made its way from Buck’s kitchen to the Diaz one, Buck couldn’t think of a better moment to ask. 

Eddie let out a slightly astounded giggle. “Buck,” was all he managed to respond.

“I’ll get down on one knee later - I’ll go and buy a ring,” Buck reassured. “Just - say yes, Eddie. Please. Marry me.”

He didn’t care if he sounded desperate. Buck sort of was desperate. Unashamedly so, if he was being honest. How could he not be desperate to marry Eddie? Buck wanted this - the house, the dinner on the stove, the family, the way Eddie melted into his arms like Buck was the only comfort he ever needed, for the rest of his life and for every life that might come after. 

“Yes,” Eddie breathed, like it was the easiest yes of his entire life, his eyes shining bright with delighted tears as he looked at Buck. “Buck - yes. I’d marry you in the morning. You have to know that already, right?”

Buck kissed him - because the novelty of being able to do that whenever he wanted had never worn off, even five months in - and then he smiled. “Monday,” he proposed. “We’ve got to wait until Christopher is home from camp.” 

“Monday,” Eddie echoed. “That’s only three days. Think we can organise a wedding in three days?” 

And, oh -

Eddie was serious. 

Buck grinned. “I think you and I can do anything if we’re together.” 

(Monday -

so this, uh, how you say, got away from me a tiny bit. idk man i'm not in control of my life. (once again rip to my job)

it starts, like—well, like almost nothing ever does—with the late-night shopping channel.

look, it's not that buck makes a habit of watching it—it's just that it's the middle of the night, and he's the only one on shift who is apparently incapable of sleeping, and there's nothing else on tv, and he's far too comfortable in his nest on the couch to get up and start fiddling with any of the gaming systems.

and, okay, maybe he kind of finds the ridiculous cadence of the salespeople soothing.

and, okay, maybe he's a little bit fascinated by the sheer variety of things on sale. gadgets he's never even considered might exist, but which he is now increasingly convinced he needs.

his phone is in his hand before he fully knows what he's doing, and he's pulling up the website listed in the corner of the tv screen. when the site asks for delivery address, he puts in eddie's house without thinking about it.

it just makes sense. he does most of his cooking at eddie's house, anyway. it just doesn't seem worth it cooking for one when he's alone at his loft.

it's not because he's in love with eddie. really, it's not. it just makes his life easier when he doesn't have to try and adjust recipe ratios so he doesn't make too much for just himself and end up with leftovers slowly mouldering in his fridge.

really.

the alarm goes off just as he hits confirm, and in the only mostly controlled chaos of the apartment fire they're sent to, he forgets all about his spur-of-the-moment purchase.

until he's on eddie's couch watching a movie with christopher and the doorbell rings, and eddie comes back from opening the door holding a package and looking confused.

"it's—for you," eddie says, looking at buck. "why are you getting mail sent to my house?"

"i'm not—oh!" he says, practically leaping off the couch. "i forgot!" he grabs the package from eddie and heads into the kitchen.

"forgot about what?" eddie asks, trailing behind him.

"i was watching the shopping channel the other day—"

"i'm pretty sure nothing good has ever come of the sentence i was watching the shopping channel," eddie interrupts.

"then you're clearly not talking to the right people," buck says, working to get the box open. "anyway, so i was watching the shopping channel, and—" he pulls out the contents of the package and brandishes it at eddie. "see?"

"what am i seeing, exactly?"

"it's a singing pasta timer!" buck exclaims. "look, you put it in with the pasta, and then it starts singing when the pasta is done."

eddie takes the box buck is holding out and inspects it. "he looks creepy."

it's... not an inaccurate assessment. the timer is made of white plastic, and shaped like a rotund man in a chef's hat with uncomfortably pursed lips.

"i don't think you're really supposed to look at him," buck says. "i mean, you know what they say about watched pots and boiling."

eddie huffs. "still creepy, though. and putting a humanoid thing in boiling water also seems creepy."

"he's plastic," buck points out. "i don't think he's exactly bothered by the heat."

"i don't want to teach my child—"

he's interrupted by a laugh from the doorway, where christopher is leaning on his crutches. "he's not real, dad."

"there you go," buck says. "chris knows that he's plastic. why are you so opposed to letting the little pasta man help you stop overcooking your pasta?"

"i'm not—" eddie starts, and buck raises his eyebrows.

"fine," eddie sighs. "i just don't—how does he know?"

buck blinks at eddie for a second before he realises what eddie means, and then he's laughing before he can stop himself, so hard he has to grip the kitchen counter for support.

"eddie," he says when he can breathe again, trying hard to keep his tone as neutral as possible. "are you afraid of the little plastic pasta man?"

"no!" eddie says, and it would be a lot more convincing if he wasn't still holding the timer and eyeing it warily. "i just don't like it when things know things."

"it's hardly hildy," buck says, still trying to hold back laughter. "it's just a thermometer and a timer, look, it just senses when the water starts to boil and counts time from there. i promise you it doesn't have any kind of unnatural knowledge of pasta."

he gets a glare for that, but it melts into a sheepish grin soon enough. "well, in that case," eddie says, sounding like he's acquiescing to something much more harrowing than a plastic pasta timer. "i suppose he can stay."

they try him out that very night, and eddie almost jumps out of his skin when the timer starts singing. buck only laughs at him a little.

later, once they've put christopher to bed and get started on cleaning the kitchen, eddie tries to hand the now-clean timer to buck. buck stares at him, uncomprehending.

"don't you want to take it home?" eddie asks. "it had your name on the package, i assume you bought it for yourself."

"good thing, too," buck says. "i'm not convinced you wouldn't have tried to exorcise it if you'd opened it without me around."

"no comment," eddie says, and buck laughs.

"i was gonna just leave it here, though," buck says. "assuming you're not going to try and cleanse it with holy fire in the middle of the night?"

"i make no promises," eddie says. "why? don't you want it after all?"

"it's not that," buck says. "i just—don't really cook so much at the loft. not when it's just for me."

"oh," eddie says. "well, i'm happy to share custody. full visitation rights."

"perfect."

"we already co-parent an entire child, what's one unnecessarily humanoid kitchen appliance on top of that?"

buck freezes with a glass in his hand, suspended halfway to the cabinet he was returning it to. they haven't talked about christopher, about any of it, not since eddie was released from the hospital. they certainly haven't talked about co-parenting. "eddie—"

"buck."

slowly, buck turns to face eddie. he doesn't know what he's expecting—regret, maybe, or that fish-out-of-the-water face eddie sometimes makes when he says the wrong thing without thinking—but all he finds on eddie's face is fond amusement.

"you can't tell me you're that surprised," eddie says.

"no, i just—we haven't really—you've never said," buck says.

"only because i didn't think i needed to," eddie says, barely holding back an eye roll. but unlike when other people roll their eyes at him, it doesn't make buck feel small. just warm.

"i'm saying it now, okay?" eddie continues.

"okay."

--

two weeks later buck is watching the late-night shopping channel again when eddie emerges from the bunk room and settles on the sofa next to him.

"what are you—no," eddie cuts himself off when the words smart pan flash across the screen. he snatches buck's phone out of his hand and hides it in his pocket.

"eddie," buck whines. "i was just going to—"

"no, you're not," eddie says. "i can accept the pasta man, but you are not bringing a smart pan into our kitchen. i am drawing a line. the line is drawn. no artificial intelligence that also controls temperature, not in our house."

and eddie's staring him down like he's expecting buck to argue, but buck's brain is stuck on one thing. one specific word, to be exact.

"our kitchen?"

eddie gives him the same look he sometimes does on a call when buck doesn't immediately get moving. the one that means catch the fuck up, buckley.

"we share custody of a child and an upsettingly realistic pasta man," eddie says. "how is this news to you?"

"you keep not telling me things!" buck says. "what else are you not telling me? are you secretly royalty or something?"

"no, but i am in love with you," eddie says.

buck stares at him. "if you're just trying to distract me from the smart pan, that's a dick move."

"just trying to—jesus christ," eddie mutters. "okay, do you believe me now?" and then his lips are on buck's and, okay, maybe it wasn't just a distraction. because buck's kissed a lot of people in his life, but very few of them have kissed him like this. like he matters.

eddie pulls back just enough to look buck in the eye. "okay?"

"okay," buck says, and leans in to kiss eddie again.

some time later, eddie pulls away again, and this time he's frowning at buck. "you better be trying to feel me up right now," he says. "you better not be trying to get your phone to order that unholy frying pan."

Ahh for you, madina, of course!!! 💖💖💖

based on the scene in friends where joey kisses chandler during the new year's countdown (but i also included joey and janine's new year's kiss bc that's a Good one too)

set the new year’s eve of s3!

hope you like it! :'))

-

Buck’s always liked New Year’s as a holiday.

He guesses it shouldn’t really be surprising given his tendency to turn his personal progress into software updates but he likes the fresh start of it all. The fact that he can start again with a clean slate and try to get things right. It’s about new beginnings and setting goals and hope.

And what can he say? He likes ending the year with a kiss.

Since they worked Christmas day this year they get New Year’s Eve off which is a better deal, honestly. The Christmas shift is usually quiet enough that they can at least get a traditional dinner at the station squeezed in somewhere – or a party with all their friends and family, if you’re determined like Buck had been – but once the fireworks start going off on New Year’s it’s usually back to back calls for twelve hours straight. It’s almost as bad as Fourth of July.

They’re at Bobby and Athena’s place tonight – just their core group and partners. It’s not really how Buck is used to spending the holiday but he likes this better, he thinks. You couldn’t pay him to be stuck in the middle of a sweaty crowd in a club right now.

He lets his eyes scan the room, mouth curving up in a smile at the sight of his family. Maddie and Chim are squeezed into the loveseat, sharing the same glass of wine after Chim left his in the out on the patio and couldn’t be bothered to go back and get it.

Karen is in the armchair with Hen sitting on the arm of it, hand placed affectionately across Karen’s shoulders. Athena is attempting to clean up somewhat but Bobby keeps following her around and urging her to sit down, hands gentle on her waist as he ushers her back to the extra chairs they’d put out. And Eddie – Eddie is next to him on the couch, nursing a beer and smiling with a kind of ease Buck has missed terribly in the past few months.

“Oh!” Karen says suddenly, looking at her phone. “Only two more minutes to midnight.”

And it’s right about then that Buck’s grin falls off his face.

“Wait. I just realised this is the first New Year’s since I was a teenager that I don’t have anyone to kiss me.”

Congrats on 1k!!

madina! thank you so much 🥰 i totally jumped on the 5x07 speculation bandwagon with this, hope that's okay!

[read on ao3]

Eddie isn’t hurt, Buck keeps reminding himself. Not physically at least.

It’s been a hard night, even after the hostage taker had been disarmed and taken into custody, and Eddie was safe again, unharmed. Buck had been at his side the moment he’d stumbled free, and he’d seen the way Eddie had lost his grip on the control he’d held onto so tightly, had seen how he’d started shaking, and he’d been there to hold him together as well as he could, even though he was shaking like a leaf too. He’d taken Eddie home and they’d somehow managed to calm each other down, to stop each other from falling apart completely.

Buck got Eddie to go to bed, finally, but now he’s on the couch, and he can’t sleep. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it again: Eddie, with his hands in the air, a gun pressed to his back. The look in his eyes when they met Buck’s. The way both his heart and his stomach dropped and he thought desperately, No, this can’t be happening again.

But Eddie didn’t get shot, he’s alive, he’s just down the hall and he’s...well, not okay, but in a place where he can start heading that way, at least.

And yet, Buck can’t sleep, still feels uneasy and tense, and he keeps seeing Eddie that day he did get shot, all the blood, the way his eyes had closed and Buck had been so terrified he’d never see them open again.

Before he can stop himself, he pads down the hallway and opens the door to Eddie’s bedroom carefully, quietly. He just wants to see the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest for a while, reassure himself that he’s alive. It always used to help back when he stayed here to help with Eddie’s recovery.

Only, Eddie isn’t sleeping when Buck's eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s sitting upright in bed, staring at Buck wide eyed like he startled him. Then he sighs, shoulders slumping.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” Buck admits. “I just...needed to see you were breathing.”

It’s a little easier to be this honest after earlier, when they both admitted that they’re not okay, that the trauma from Eddie getting shot lingers.

Eddie rolls onto his back and pats the mattress next to him. “Come here, then.”

Buck doesn’t even hesitate to think, just slides under the covers next to Eddie, close enough to feel his body heat. It helps, but he’s still listening closely to Eddie’s breathing, can’t get himself to relax.

“Buck,” Eddie groans eventually. “Neither of us is getting any sleep if you don’t stop giving off this much nervous energy. I’m fine.”

“Sorry,” Buck mumbles, choosing not to get back into how not fine both of them are. He knows what Eddie means, anyway. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“What do you need?”

Buck rubs at his eyes. “Just to...know that you’re alive, I think.” “Okay,” Eddie says, like that’s a normal request, and then he’s tugging on Buck’s arm and manhandling him in the dark like that’s a normal thing too. Buck lets him until he gets what Eddie is doing, and then scoots closer so he can rest his head on Eddie’s chest, right above his heart.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

Eddie hums, and his chest vibrates below Buck’s ear. “I sleep better knowing you’re safe, too.”

Hello another glorious Klaus in blood moment + this moment with Caroline and I strongly believe she too likes this look on him 😌

Uugghhhh he makes biting that heart so hot, like Daenerys could never 😭😭 there is something about a bloody man that gets me...

(I also thinks it's the coldness you can clearly see behind his eyes that completes the look, joseph morgan put his whole klaussy into this character, damn!!)

And how could we forget about blood + angst???? We needed more 😭