1 - 20 of 60 Works by madforyou
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“What are you asking?”
“I think you already know,” Buck says, smugly.
Eddie stares at him. “I think you should assume I don’t.”
Huffing a laugh through his nose, eyes bright, Buck looks at Eddie with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. The moment drags on long enough to make Eddie’s stomach clench with something that feels dangerously like arousal.
“Okay, then. I’ll spell it out for you.” He leans in, just a fraction, close enough that Eddie can see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes. “I’m asking what you’re doing later.”
“Going home,” Eddie deadpans. “With my son. Who attends high school.”
“After that.”
“I don’t—” Eddie shakes his head, a laugh scraping out of him that sounds more panicked than amused. “How old are you? And don’t bullshit me.”
“How old do you think I am?”
Eddie scans his face, searching for any signs of maturity he can cling to. He could pass for mid-twenties.
Eddie needs him to be mid-twenties.
“Twenty-five,” Eddie says. Hopes. Prays, almost, and Eddie hasn’t prayed in years.
“Twenty-one.”
“Oh my god.”
Or,
Eddie gets more than he bargained for when touring colleges with Chris. -
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Buck squints, then winces. “So,” he starts, immediately deflecting, “I, uh— met someone.”
“What?”
Buck swallows, feeling heat crawl up his neck. “A guy. A really…” His eyes go unfocused for a second as Eddie’s voice resurfaces in his head. “A really cute guy.”
Chimney narrows his eyes in suspicion. “And this cute guy… stole our coffee?”
Buck waves a hand, dismissing the logic. “No, no, it wasn’t like that. We were talking and— well, technically, I wasn’t in a position to be holding anything because—” He pauses, tries to reorganize his thoughts, watches them scatter. “Anyway, we hit it off. There were sparks. Well, I mean, maybe not sparks, maybe a flicker? Or a small, emotionally destabilizing bonfire?”
“Let me get this straight. You said you’d get coffee, and instead of returning with coffee, you’re late, bandaged, and dazed— because you met someone?”
Buck shrugs. “Love is unpredictable.”
Hen raises an eyebrow. “Is love also violently physical? Because you look like you fell down a ravine.”
Or,
Buck gets hit by a car and his luck changes for the better, or so it seems. -
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Finally, Eddie looks at him. Then at the cans. Then at Buck again. He looks nervous, his throat bobbing around a big swallow, like he’s about to give a speech.
There’s no reason for him to give a speech. They’re in a Costco.
“I think I love you.”
Oh. Well that’s not what Buck was expecting.
He stands there holding six — no, wait, he grabbed more than six, he’s holding at least eight cans of Kirkland Signature crushed tomato at this point. There’s so much tomato.
Buck blinks. Weird timing, he thinks, but he’ll take it. That’s a nice thing to say, that’s — yeah. That’s nice. They’re best friends. That’s — sure. Okay. Weird, but sure.
Buck smiles, moving to pat Eddie on the shoulder before he remembers all the sauce. “Thanks, man. Love you, too.”
“No,” Eddie says.
Buck blinks. Eddie blinks back.
“No, I mean—” Eddie is looking at the shelf, at the floor, at a point on Buck’s chin. “I mean, I think I’m in love with you.”
Buck’s face is hot. His arms are full of cans.
“I don’t think we need this much sauce,” he whispers.
Or,
One Costco trip. One love confession. So many fucking tomatoes. -
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He tugs his shirt down over his lap, very casually, the most casual of boner cover-ups in the history of—
Eddie’s eyes drop to track the movement, then lower, before shooting back up, wider than before. Then, slowly, back down.
What follows is a silence that has a sound to it. A high-pitched ringing that fills the space between two people when one of them has an erection in an otherwise erectionless situation.
“Buck,” Eddie whispers to Buck’s penis.
Buck squeezes his eyes shut. “Don’t.”
“Are you—”
“I am not.”
Eddie glances down again, quick, like he can’t help it. “Buck, are you getting turned on by us fighting right now?”
Why yes, Eddie, my dearest friend who is also straight and on top of me right now, I sure am.
Buck sure as hell can’t say that, now can he?
“...It’s been a really, really long three weeks, man.”
Or,
Platonic mutual masturbation is all fun and games unless you're in love with your best friend. -
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“So let me get this straight,” Buck says, then pauses, smiling wider. “Actually, poor choice of words.”
“I hate you,” Eddie grumbles.
“No, you don’t.”
Eddie doesn’t. That’s the problem.
“So you think you might like guys,” Buck continues, leaning further into Eddie’s space. Eddie can see the muscles in his abdomen tighten as he moves and he’s looking. Again. He can’t stop looking. Somebody sedate him. “But you’re not sure. You’ve never, what, tried it?”
“I’ve been a little busy being heterosexual, Buck. It’s a full-time job. Doesn’t leave a lot of room for extracurriculars.”
Buck chuckles. “Okay, well.” His eyes meet Eddies, humor still there, but now surrounded by heat, too. Shit. “There’s really only one way to find out.”
Or,
Eddie and Shannon get in a fight about what's missing in their marriage. Enter, Buck. -
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“What if we tested it?”
Eddie blinks. “What if we what?”
“Tested the theory,” Buck emphasizes, as if it’s obvious. “Like, empirically. To see if sucking dick is actually that enjoyable or if the porn is just lying to us.”
“Buck.”
“What?”
Closing his eyes, Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose. “You’re suggesting we— we suck a dick.”
“I’m suggesting we prove a point.”
“Whose dick, Buck?” Eddie asks, nearly manic now. “Whose dick are we sucking?”
“Well,” Buck says, slowly, like he’s working up to it. “You have a dick.”
“I-I do. Have a dick.”
“And I— I have a dick.”
“You do—” Nodding, Eddie’s eyes fall to where said dick would be before snapping back up to Buck’s face. “Uh, h-have a dick.”
“So.” Buck drags out the vowel, buying time, “between us, we have two dicks, and two mouths. The math kind of works itself out.”
Or,
After accidentally watching gay porn together, Buck and Eddie suck each other's dicks to prove a point.Or,
Bottom Eddie Week, Day One: Fixation.
AKA the platonic blowjobs fic. -
buck's guide to impressing your boyfriend (results may vary) by madforyou
Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)
24 Jul 2026
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“You asked me if I like Tommy,” Eddie continues, slightly less manic now. “I don’t dislike Tommy. I just think you’re crossing oceans for someone who wouldn’t cross the street for you, Buck, and it makes me fucking sick because you can’t see it. You can’t see what you’re worth, and he’s never going to show you.”
Buck scoffs. It’s wet and bitter and he hates the sound of it, but he can’t stop it. “Oh, and you will? You gonna show me what I’m worth, Eddie? You?”
He doesn’t mean it to sound like a dare. But fuck, it comes out like one.
Eddie flinches, as if Buck hit him, and for a second he looks so small — hurt and startled — before he closes it off, harder than before.
“Fuck you, Buck.”
Or,
Buck asks Eddie to teach him Muay Thai to impress Tommy. Things get a little heated. -
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He has roughly fifteen minutes of soccer left.
He could just sit here and watch the game like a normal person.
Or.
“It’s actually been kind of a rough year for them,” he says, letting his voice drop a little. Sun Hat Lady immediately leans in closer. “Like, they almost didn’t make it.”
“Oh no,” she breathes. “Oh, honey.”
“Yeah, it was… I mean, I don’t want to get into it.” He absolutely wants to get into it. “But basically, Theo— my little brother, number seven, the one who keeps—”
A whistle blows. Theo’s committed another foul. This one might actually be assault — Chris isn’t a legal expert but Theo basically used that kid as a speed bump.
“—doing that. So, Theo wasn’t planned. And when my dad, the blonde one, told my other dad, it was like…” Chris exhales wearily, having seen too much. “They were struggling. Communication issues. You know how it is.”
Sun Hat Lady nods gravely. She knows how it is.
Or,
Sometimes you have to make up a story and involve some soccer moms to get your stupid dad and his stupid best friend to kiss. -
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Summary
Eddie recaps this in his head a couple more times and he’s — jealous. Fuck, he’s jealous. That’s the word for it, the heat coiling deep in his gut, his whole body wound like a spring about to snap.
Jealousy.
Which is a bizarre emotion to feel about your best friend sleeping with someone. Jealousy implies ownership, implies wanting, implies — implies that 1) Eddie is not straight, and 2) he is possibly in love with his best friend and maybe possibly wants to suck said best friend’s dick about it.
Alright — okay. Eddie feels like he needs to sit with that for a second, give it the space it deserves.
Eddie wants to suck a dick attached to a person who is a man.
Not just any dick, either. Buck’s dick. His best friend.
Huh.
He expected that to feel weirder. He expected sirens, maybe, or a crisis, or at minimum a dramatic internal monologue about his Catholic upbringing and the sanctity of heterosexuality.
Instead, there’s nothing. The sirens are silent, the crisis doesn’t come, and Eddie wants to suck his best friend’s cock. Non-platonically.
Or,
Eddie moves back to LA, finds out Buck slept with Tommy, and reacts accordingly. -
oh pretty baby, and if it's quite alright, i need you baby by madforyou
Fandoms: 9-1-1 (TV)
29 Jun 2026
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No. Whatever it is, no. Eddie would like Buck to stop chasing whatever that thing is. Would like to grab the thought out of Buck’s concussed head and throw it out a window.
Buck’s face drops into something serious, eyes wide. “You called me baby.”
There it is. Out the window it did not go.
“No, I didn’t,” Eddie says.
Very smooth. Convincing.
“You did.” Buck points at him, floppy and triumphant. “At the— the thing. With the— you said it. You called me baby.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Eddie.” Buck is delighted. “I heard you. I was concussed, not deaf.”
“I didn’t call you baby,” Eddie scoffs. “I called you a baby. Because you got a bump on the head and were crying about it.”
“That’s not—” Buck starts.
“You were being a baby,” Eddie continues, standing now, because a moving target is harder to hit. “I’m gonna go tell the others you’re awake.”
“Eddie.”
“Rest your head, bud.”
Or,
Eddie calls Buck baby by accident. -
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Summary
Eddie's hand lifts again, helpless, hauled forward by a gravity neither of them ever managed to bury, like he can't stop it, like whatever's been pulling him toward Buck never once got told it's over. Fingers reaching for Buck's face like the door might still hang open by a crack.
Buck steps away before it can reach him. He backs the full width of the kitchen this time and folds his arms over himself, bracing against a blow that's already a part of him.
"Don't," he croaks. "You don't get to almost have me. You don't get to reach across this space like it doesn’t hold the memory of me belonging to you. You traded that away the morning you decided I wasn't worth staying for. And I get it, Eddie. You had to go, for Chris. I know. But for fucks sake. I would have come with you. I would’ve—" There it is. The thing he never let himself admit. I would’ve come with you. You never asked. I’d’ve followed you across the country without a second of hesitation, and you decided I was easier to leave behind than to bring along. “I would’ve said yes to anything. But you didn’t ask.”
Or,
Buck and Eddie hook up before he leaves for El Paso. Four months later, Eddie comes back with a girlfriend. -
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"Hey, you made it."
Buck turns toward the voice, already saying "sorry, he's got a lot of energy, he's—" and then he gets a look at the swim instructor, and the rest of the sentence walks off a cliff.
Because the swim instructor is shirtless.
Obviously he's shirtless, he's a swim instructor, that's the dress code, Buck understands this intellectually. What Buck did not account for is that the swim instructor would look like that — like someone took every good idea the human body has ever had and put them all in one place and then made him relaxed about it on top of everything, loose, smiling at Buck like Buck isn't a sweating disaster clutching a four-year-old by the swim shirt.
"I'm Eddie," the swim instructor says, and sticks out a hand.
"Buck," Buck says, eventually. He shakes the hand. The hand is tan, and big, and — no. He's not doing this. There's a child present. Several children.
"And this must be Theo."
Or,
Buck falls for Theo's swim instructor, literally. -
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By the third room Eddie can't keep pretending he doesn't get it, because Buck keeps sneaking these looks at him, quick, then snapping his eyes away and going pink at the ears, and Eddie — who has spent an embarrassing amount of his life being a complete idiot about this exact thing — finally lets himself think oh, he's like this because of me, and the thought makes him a little weak in the knees.
"And through here," Buck says, leading them into the living room, "is honestly the best part of the place. Original hardwood, the built-ins are original too, and the natural light in here is just—"
He throws an arm out wide to present the light. His hand goes straight through the window.
There's a crack, then a second worse noise, and then a whole pane of the afternoon just leaves, drops out of the wall into the side yard, and the room goes very bright and very silent, and Buck is standing there with his arm still hanging through the hole where a window used to be.
"Oh my god," Buck says.
"Whoa," says Christopher, deeply impressed.
Or,
Eddie and Chris move to LA and Buck is their realtor. -
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Summary
The phone lights up on the coffee table. It's a number he half-recognizes — a few weeks back a package for his apartment went to 4D by mistake, and he texted the guy to sort it out, and the guy wrote back a paragraph and a half about how the mail situation in this building was, his words, "a war crime." Eddie didn't save the number. He meant to. It just lives in his phone now as a stranger, and the stranger is texting him.
Unknown: hey. HEY. ok this is the package guy from 4D. ur 4B. i need to ask u somethign and its important
Unknown: u have the good dog right
Eddie: Who is this?
Unknown: i JUST said. package guy. 4D. anyway i hear his little feet in the hallway sometiems. tap tap tap. like a tiny gentleman. and i need to know hes real
Eddie knows who this is. Big guy, loud, holds the elevator and then narrates the entire ride down.
Eddie: Are you drunk?
Unknown: thats a seperate issue from the dog
Which is not a no.
Eddie: [image]
Unknown: OH MY GOD
Or,
Eddie gets a series of drunk texts from his hot neighbor. -
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Summary
"What— what do you see?"
"I see," Eddie says, measured, careful, "someone who looks like he wanted somebody to see him like that."
Buck's whole body goes hot.
"And I'm trying to decide," Eddie continues, slower now, his breath heavier, "whether I'm allowed to be that somebody."
The hand on Buck's thigh has migrated upward. He notices it three seconds after it happens, his palm now resting flat against his stomach where his shirt has rucked up, fingers splayed across the skin. The touch of his own hand on his body in this context is sending a current up his spine that he is, evidently, helpless to stop.
"Eddie." Buck's voice cracks. "Are you— are you jerking off to my photo?"
The pause is brief but loaded, and when Eddie answers it’s barely recognizable, every word landing somewhere in the south of Buck's body with a measurable physical impact.
"You send me a picture like that, Buck. What am I supposed to do?"
Or,
Buck wins a boudoir photoshoot giveaway. Eddie reaps the benefits.Or,
Buck accidentally sends his nudes to Eddie. -
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Summary
Captain Buckley, who is steady, who has his shit together, who definitely does not recognize his new probie because he spent a night eight years ago with his hands in that man's hair whispering things against his skin that would get him fired on the spot if anyone in this building ever found out.
"You must be Eddie Diaz." His hand goes out. Not shaking, by some miracle that deserves its own cathedral, its own patron saint, the patron saint of men who are dying inside and shaking hands about it. "Welcome to the 118. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Captain Buckley."
Eddie takes his hand. A firm grip, calloused in places Buck doesn't remember, but Buck's skin recognizes him anyway, every nerve, all at once.
"Captain." Eddie's voice is level, pleasant, perfectly neutral, and Buck would buy it completely if he couldn't see the tension bolted into Eddie's shoulders. "Thanks for having me." A beat. "You got a first name, Captain Buckley?"
"Evan. But most people just call me Buck."
"Buck," Eddie repeats, tasting it, dragging it out, and Buck's stomach drops through the floor. "Suits you."
Or,
Captain Buckley WILL NOT fuck his new probie, okay? At least, not again. -
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Alright, now to prove he’s right.
Finger on the cursor, Buck types an a to start.
Google, in all its autocomplete glory, gives Buck some options. Four suggestions stack top to bottom in whatever order Google decides matters most on any given evening, and the four that come up under Buck's single letter are, in order:
am i gay quiz (visited 2 days ago)
Amazon (visited 5 days ago)
american airlines
ammonia bleach mix
Buck stops chewing the inside of his cheek — which, honestly, he didn’t even realize he was doing.
That’s — huh.
That’s not what he was expecting at all.
Or,
Buck uses Eddie's laptop and sees something he isn't supposed to see. He reacts accordingly. -
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Then, Eddie straightens up and turns around, and Buck revises his assessment, because the front is cropped too. Evenly, which means a person did this on purpose.
The express purpose being to ruin Buck’s day and possibly his life.
The shirt stops right under his ribs. His stomach is just — out, the whole deliciously muscular span of it.
“Hey,” Eddie says, a crooked, boyish grin splitting across his face, as if he isn’t standing in his own driveway basically naked. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
“I-I, uh, texted. You weren’t answering.”
“Phone’s inside.” Eddie tips his head at the engine. “She’s leaking somewhere. Been out here since this morning trying to find it.” He swipes the back of his wrist across his forehead, and the gesture pulls the hem up another half inch.
Which is how he ends up looking at the sweatpants again. And the sweatpants, it turns out, are keeping no secrets. There is nothing on under there.
So now he’s standing on Eddie’s front lawn, stone-cold sober, at four in the afternoon, looking at the unmistakable outline of his best friend going commando.
Neat.
Or: Eddie wears a crop top. Buck sucks his dick about it.
-
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“I heard you two were expanding your family! Another little one at Durand. We were so excited when we saw the enrollment paperwork.” She clasps her hands together. “Theo is an absolute joy. Let me show you what he’s been working on.”
Expanding your family.
Buck opens his mouth to redirect — it's a reflex, the correction sitting right there on his tongue. This isn’t the first time they’ve been mistaken for more than two totally platonic best friends who are both men and also raising children together.
It’s right there, polite and practiced: Oh, we’re not actually—
But suddenly Eddie’s hand is on his back. Not his shoulder this time, but lower. A few inches lower than two totally platonic best friends who are both men and also raising children together would justify.
Eddie’s palm presses flat against the base of Buck’s spine, fingers spread wide like he’s anchoring them both to the same spot.
“Thank you so much,” Eddie says. “We’re really proud of him.”
Or: The totally platonic act of raising not just one, but two kids with your straight best friend.
-
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"So." Buck takes another sip of coffee, real slow, savoring the wind-up. He sets the mug down with a soft clink. "Princess."
Eddie closes his eyes.
This is it. This is where they find him face down in his eggs. Chimney's going to have to call Pepa. Pepa is going to be furious. The funeral will be small and Buck better wear something hideous to it, Buck better wear that godawful floral shirt with the parrots, the one Eddie told him was ugly out loud one time two years ago and has been secretly obsessed with ever since, because Eddie deserves the satisfaction of being buried while looking at it.
"Buck." He says it into his toast.
Buck shrugs. "I'm just asking."
"You're not asking. You're enjoying yourself."
"I'm doing both, Eds, I’m versatile."
Or,
Eddie gains a boyfriend, a pair of lace panties, and learns a lot about himself in the span of forty-eight hours.Series
- Part 2 of veni, vidi, vici