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Tommy and Buck on a lazy evening after Buck had a rough day at work, commission for Princess <3

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what could have been...

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You know you can't quit, right?

S07E10 - All Fall Down

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my second contribution to @bucktommyzine2025 🚁

this is a hand drawn traditional drawing using ink and alcohol markers featuring buck’s very tight work tshirt and lou’s tommy’s painted nails

once i found out some lafd choppers have that strap at the top of the door i knew exactly what pose i wanted tommy in 😂

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love me anyway

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9-1-1 (8x11) HOLY MOTHER OF GOD

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🕯 Ravi Begins S9 🕯

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catchers… don’t forget to flirt with your pitchers!

dodgers bucktommy for the fabulous @geddyqueer ⚾️

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for the cuddling prompts: 19 "While someone’s sick" if it inspires anything!

Buck let himself in with the key that hadn’t yet lost its newly cut shine.  He took off his shoes and placed them in the rack, heels neatly aligned with the baseboard, and transferred his bag from hand to hand as he shrugged out of his jacket, which went on the hook next to Tommy’s old man windbreaker and his house hoodie that was identical to the designated outdoor hoodie.  He followed the low murmur of the tv to the living room and the unmoving mound on the couch.

“Hey, babe,” he said quietly, crouching down and lifting a corner of the blanket Tommy had managed to cocoon himself in.  “You alive in there?”

“Unfortunately,” Tommy croaked from the darkness.  “Please tell me that you’re here to put me out of my misery.”

Buck brushed a careful thumb over the thin and bruised skin under Tommy’s one visible eye.  “Sorry.  I kind of like having you around.  I come bearing soup.”

A second eye appeared.  “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s why I also brought ginger ale and that gross sugar water you like.”

“It’s not sugar water,” Tommy said, inching further out.  “It’s got other stuff in it.”

“Just calling it vitamin water doesn’t mean it has actual vitamins in it.  It’s just sugar and artificial dyes.”

“Don’t forget the artificial flavoring.”  Tommy fully and resentfully emerged from his cocoon, squinting against the late morning light.

“There you are.”  He gently smoothing Tommy’s lank curls back so he could press a kiss his forehead the way Maddie used to do when he got sick as a kid.  “You feel a little warm.  Did you take your temperature?  Where’s the thermometer?”

“Over there,” Tommy said, flicking his fingers towards where the coffee table presumably still existed under the mounds of tissues and throat lozenge wrappers and empty water bottles, all the detritus of illness.

“You could have called me,” he said, excavating the thermometer from under a pyramid of empty water bottles.  He invested in a couple of forehead thermometers during Covid, but Tommy preferred the ones that went under the tongue because he was an old fashioned weirdo who didn’t see the point of replacing anything that still worked even if it was outdated.  At least this one was digital and not mercury based.

“It’s just a head cold,” Tommy said, miserable and exhausted.  “You were on shift, and I only feel like I’m dying.  I had stuff.”  Another tired wave towards the coffe table.  “I’m fine.”

Buck carefully didn’t sigh as he pressed the button to reset the thermometer.  “I could have kept you company.  It sucks being alone when you’re sick.”

“Evan,” Tommy said, glassy gaze going soft and fond, and Buck only felt a little bad about shoving the thermometer into Tommy’s mouth before he could say something truly devastating.

“Keep it under your tongue,” he said, ignoring the glare Tommy aimed his way.  “Just think, if you had one of the forehead ones, you could be arguing with me right now.”

His nostrils flared, but for once Tommy let him have the last word.  Buck scratched his nails along Tommy’s scalp as a reward.  The thermometer beeped, and Tommy didn’t even put up a sham fight to see the temperature.  He definitely was sick.

“You officially have a low grade fever,” Buck said, rocking back on his heels.  “When’s the last time you took anything?”

Tommy squinted in the direction of the wall clock.  “Around six, I think.  I couldn’t sleep.”

“You’re due for another dose.  Lucky for you, I got your own personal pharmacy.  You sure you’re not hungry?  I make a mean chicken soup.”

“And by make you mean…” Tommy prompted.

“I can actually make you soup from scratch.”  He’d hung a left from the drug aisle to grab egg noodles and chicken brother and actual chicken.  “But also I got a couple cans of chicken and stars.”

Tommy managed a smile.  “The classic choice for colds.  Maybe later.”

“Just let me know when you feel up to eating.  Im going to go get you some drugs and something to drink.”  He pressed another kiss to Tommy’s brow before standing with a wince.  He missed when his knees were twenty-two.

The sugar water went into the fridge for later along with the chicken whilethe egg noodles and broth went to the pantry.  Neither of them had gotten around to unloading the dishwasher, and so he opened it to pull out the plastic cup that once boasted that Rooster Dan’s had the best fried chicken in the country before twenty years of washings had worn it away.  Tommy refused to admit it was his favorite, but that cup was one of the few dishes that made it through four different apartments before Tommy got the house.

Buck filled it with a generous scoop of ice before pouring the ginger ale, dropping in one of those crazy curly straws he picked up on a whim.  After a moment of consideration, he filled a spare cup with ice.  Tommy hated the taste of room temperature soda, and if Buck had his way, neither of them was going to be moving from the couch for at least two hours.  He grabbed the cold medicine and brought his bounty back to the living room where Tommy had definitely dozed off.

“I'm awake,” Tommy muttered when Buck gently touched his shoulder.  “Hi.”

“Hi,” Buck said, nearly helpless with tenderness.  “Got you the good stuff.  And this!”  He pulled out a box of cough suppressant capsules like he was pulling a quarter from behind Tommy’s ear.  “I had to fight three other people for it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Tommy said, struggling upright.  Buck swooped in to help get him more or less upright.  “I can’t keep cough syrup down.  My mom used to yell at me about it.”

Buck very carefully kept moving, settling Tommy back against the cushions before digging the pills out of their little plastic prisons.  “She yelled at you?” he asked lightly.

“Not in a bad way.”  Tommy turned away to cough.  “I’d just throw it up otherwise.”

“I’m pretty sure there are a few other options than yelling at your kid,” Buck said before he could stop himself.  Tommy’s relationship with his father was straightforward: an estrangement that had passed the twenty year mark.  His relationship with his mother was more complicated, not estranged but not exactly loving, and Buck only felt brave enough to probe the edges.

Tommy shrugged.  “This may surprise you to learn, but I was a very stubborn kid.”

“I am very shocked to learn that,” he said dryly as he passed the pills over followed by the cup.  “Take these and then you can go back to sleep.”

Tommy stared at the curly straw in mild bafflement before visibly just giving up and accepting it as one of Buck’s whims.  He swallowed the capsules and began to list sideways.

Buck caught him by the shoulders.  “Just stay there for me.  Two more minutes and then you can lay down.  Promise.”  Moving quickly, he set up a mini triage center by the end of the couch: the cups of ginger ale and ice, a box of tissues, lozenges, and made sure both their phones were plugged in.  “Okay,” he said, satisfied with the placement, “let’s get you horizontal again.”

“You sweet talker,” Tommy said, stuffed nose ruining his normal dry tone, frowning as Buck set a spare pillow against the couch arm.  “What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable.  Come here.”  It took some maneuvering—his legs were more of a hindrance than a help and Tommy was too tired to move his limbs in a way that was helpful—but eventually Buck got Tommy right where he wanted him, tucked into the cradle of his body with the blanket spread over both of them.

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” Tommy said, face turned into the curve of Buck’s neck.

“I’m a big strong firefighter,” he said, scratching gently at Tommy’s scalp until he sighed and went boneless.  “I’ve carried heavier men than you.”

Tommy’s snort was half-hearted and slightly more phlegm filled than usual.  “Just don’t let me crush you.”

“You won’t.”  He finger combed a few tangles free.  “After Maddie moved to Boston, I was old enough that my parents would let me stay home alone when I was sick.  They were teachers so it was hard for them to take a day off.  They used to rent a couple of movies for me.”

“And here I thought you were too young to remember Blockbuster,” Tommy said.

“Smartass.”  Buck dug his nails as a reprimand, but it just made Tommy give a dreamy sigh.  “Anyway, one time my dad got his TA to cover one of his lectures, and he picked up some sandwiches and puzzles.  We spent the whole day together.  He made me soup for dinner.”

The Buck from their first six months together would have been embarrassed at how wistful he sounded over his dad doing the bare minimum of parenting, but that Buck had fumbled Tommy because he was afraid of being honest.  This Buck, seven months into trying again, was trying to be braver.  This Buck trusted Tommy to understand what it meant to be a lonely kid who wanted his parents to just love him anyway.

 “Chicken and stars?” Tommy asked.

“It’s a classic.”  Buck cupped the back of Tommy’s neck, right over his nape, where he was soft and vulnerable.  “Call me next time.  I might not be able to leave early, but I want to know if you’re sick, even if all I can do is Doordash some soup.”

“Don’t use Doordash.  They exploit their employees.”  Tommy turned his head just enough to press a kiss to the hollow of Buck’s throat.  “I will.  And you’ll call me when you’re sick.”

“I will,” he said, blinking the sting out of his eyes.  “Go to sleep.  I’ll make some soup later.”

“Just shove me off if you need to get up,” Tommy said, words slurring with encroaching sleep.

“I'm good,” he said, pressing his lips to Tommy’s crown.  “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

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i flipped this photo and he’s even more handsome

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yay i can now share the piece i contributed to the bucktommy zine! entitled “trip to santorini”

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I'm not a violent dog I don't know why I bite

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Hi! Could I request a tommy drawing from 8x11? Love your art!

here you go<3

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warm up sketch ft buck? it's more likely than you think

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EVAN BUCKLEY and TOMMY KINARD 9-1-1 (2018-) 8.11

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🖤

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The Buckley Han family!