plaidalecki
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It’s almost like — like Buck’s holding a possible thing in his hands, fragile and fledgling, born too early. It’s not the first time he’s felt this way, with Eddie. It’s happened before, mostly in kitchens.
“Did that guy tell you the name of the suite he put us in?”
The corner of Eddie’s mouth lifts. There, Buck supposes, is his answer.
“Yeah. Honeymooners, huh? Should we tell him about our disaster of a trip?”
His stomach lurches. God. Eddie’s taking this in stride; Buck should be thankful for it. Instead, he’s afraid he’ll be sick all over their shoes.
or: a pining buck has to navigate the Emotional Saw Trap that is the road trip back from new mexico. eddie, quite literally, comes along for the ride.
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Bookmarked by plaidalecki
15 Jul 2026
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"You're lying. Something happened," Eddie accuses, and because he's a total smug dick, his delight becomes more palpable with every word. So damn enthusiastic to put Buck through his twisted humiliation ritual. His own best friend. "I'm right. You're blushing," he beams, canines on display, ripe and ready to tear through Buck's jugular.
"I'm not blushing."
"No, for sure," Eddie drones. He simmers down and stares at Buck for a few seconds, happy as a clam and twice as infuriating; then adds, "You know, the church taught me that lying is a sin."
So is lust, Buck thinks to himself. Out loud though, he just grits his teeth and says, "I'm agnostic."
Or: "You couldn't jerk that information out of me."
Bookmarked by plaidalecki
13 Jul 2026
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“Alright,” Eddie shrugs, laissez-faire. He pulls Buck’s plate to the center of the table; pushes his own forward in kind. Then he begins a drawn-out circus routine of plucking an olive at a time up and out of the bowl and plopping them onto their respective dishes, one by one.
The delicate, repetitive movement of Eddie’s pinched fingers reminds Buck of picking the petals off of flowers. He loves me. He loves me not. He love—
An olive hits him square in the forehead.
“There,” Eddie says, resolute, as the pitted projectile tumbles to the ground at Buck’s feet. “Equal treatment.”
Or: Buck, Eddie, and the olive theory. Well, in theory.
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Bookmarked by plaidalecki
07 Jun 2026
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The doctor tilts her head to the only source of warmth in the cold, hospital room. “And who’s he?”
Buck’s eyes drift to Eddie, hungry for the sight of him. They fall upon the tense line of Eddie’s shoulders, the firm press of otherwise plump lips, watching like the very air in his lungs depend on Buck’s answer.
“That’s Eddie,” Buck answers, and the smile sneaks up on him. “Eddie Diaz. My partner.”
There. Relief washes through Eddie in a visible wave: his shoulders drop, features relaxing with the soft push of an exhale. Buck warms at the sight. Right answer.
—
A polysemy is a word with multiple, related meanings. The word partner, for example, can mean close friendship, a teammate, a co-parent. To someone else, it can also mean a lover.Bookmarked by plaidalecki
04 Jun 2026
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'You ready?' says Buck, settling his laptop over their knees, in bed, sat up against the headboard, the lights low.
'As ready as I'm gonna get,' says Eddie, shifting so he's pressed closer to Buck, both of them naked, anticipatory.
He's weirdly nervous. They've already done the hard bit; they had sex and they filmed it. Now they've just got to watch, and they have great sex, the best Eddie's ever had, but it's one thing to feel that when you're in it and another thing to watch it happen from the outside.
'Okay,' says Buck, tapping the space bar on his keyboard and the video starts to play.
It begins with a static shot of their bedroom, Buck's phone angled from the corner to get the whole bed in frame. He got very into positioning the camera and getting the lighting right, moving a lamp from his nightstand to the dresser, and Eddie has to admit it does look good; the room without them in it, the bed waiting.
Bookmarked by plaidalecki
21 Apr 2026