#eddie diaz
- Evan Buckley / Eddie Diaz / Ravi Panikkar Icons
- 300x300 / 3 screencaps
- Reblog or like if you use one
- Find them under the cut and more on the iconspage
black ink (perfect vows)
Like most things, this is for @bieddiediaz <3 also @bedhadakdiaz because we talked about this and I combined both headcanons into this monstrosity dajsklj. The AO3 version has an embedded image so I recommend reading it there!
[AO3 Link]
Word Count: 3632 words
Their wedding was perfect.
Eddie knows how that sounds. Everyone thinks their wedding to the love of their life is…well, perfect. Just for getting tobewith the man he loves most in the world, celebrating it with his son and the other people he holds close, Eddie thinks it ranks pretty far up there on the scale of perfect moments.
But what he knows for sure, is that everything outside of Buck and Christopher’s presence didn’t just getto be perfect on its own.
They had issues with just about everything, from the venue to the flowers to the centerpieces to the seating arrangements and an appearance from Clipboard Buck didn’t exactlyfixmatters.
(And Eddie won’t ever admit this out loud, but Clipboard Buck is one of his favorite versions of his husband. There’s something about how bossy Buck gets the minute he gets a clipboard that’s always gotten under Eddie’s skin.)
Maybe it was their fault for getting married within six months of dating, and booking all the venues last minute, but there had been a checklist of things to do, and none of them had come to fruition. At the end of the day, they chose to have a quick ceremony in the fire station parking lot before a small reception in Tía Pepa’s backyard. There were no fancy centerpieces that cost more than the furniture in their home, no flowers that would make Buck and Christopher sneeze, and no frills to make their pockets hurt.
Eddie doesn’t think it could’ve gotten better than that.
But it does, because one night, a week after the wedding, Eddie stumbles across a crumpled sheet of paper shoved into the kitchen writing desk.
Or rather,multiplesheets of paper.
He furrows his brow as he presses the papers flat against the table, trying to smooth out the wrinkles as best as he can before looking over the words.
And then he freezes.
Because some of these words might be familiar, but the handwriting is more familiar to Eddie than his own — scrawled across the calendar haphazardly hung outside, printed across erratic Post-Its on the fridge, scribbled in the corners of random notepads. Some of Eddie’s books have this same handwriting annotating it, absent thoughts written in the margins.
One of his most prized possessions is his favorite book annotated just for him in this same handwriting.
It’s Buck’s, clear as day. He’d obviously hidden the crumpled pieces of paper in the drawer so Eddie didn’t see them when he took the trash out, but must’ve forgotten to toss them out later.
They’re his vows.
