I want Tommy to stick around. I want Buck to finally have a romantic partner who GETS him, who gets all the insane shit and the risks and the dangers of the job that Buck is crazy enough to love so much, because he has the same job, and he's just as crazy as Buck is about it. I want Tommy to be there through the shitstorm, through the chaos, and finally be a safe place for Buck to land in a romantic sense.
(Bear with me, I'm specifying romantic for a reason.)
I don't want bucktommy to be the "lead in" to Buddie. I don't want Tommy to be the stepping stone between them. I want Buck to have a happy, fulfilling relationship with Tommy for as long as it takes. And if/when it ends, I don't want it to have a single fucking thing to do with Eddie.
If/when Buck and Tommy split up, I want it to be amicable. I want it to be fair and decent and kind, and I want them to stay friends. I want them to still hang out. I want them to keep interacting.
Every single one of Buck's exes walked out of his life and never came back. Abby ghosted him. Ali dumped him right after he broke his leg. Taylor wrote a fucking BOOK about him/the 118. Natalia was such a non-event that we didn't even SEE their breakup.
I want Tommy to break the pattern in more than one way. I want him to stay. I want him to be the one at last to look at Evan Buckley and decide "he's not too much."
And then, later down the line, when Eddie has his awakening, I want to see Buck and Tommy BOTH supporting him through it. And when Eddie and Buck eventually realise their mutual feelings for each other, I want Tommy to be their biggest supporter.
Basically, 911 writers, I want Tommy to be more than a brief LI who vanishes into the ether once his "purpose" is finished, and I do not want buddie piggybacking off kinkley. Give them some fucking space to BREATHE. Give Buck more queer friends. Give Eddie a chance to awaken and get comfortable with himself. Otherwise buddie is going to crash and burn, and the last five seasons of groundwork will have been for nothing.
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you’re made of tougher stuff than rafe had realized.
he pampers you, of course, gives you the full princess treatment, even though you get all shy about it, trying to refuse him—which never works. he thinks you deserve it, because you deserve everything that he can give you, but he’s really trying to butter you up, get you ready for when you find out what kind of shit he’s really been up to.
you’ve made a habit out of not questioning anything rafe says, following his instructions without a second guess. your boyfriend is overpoweringly dominant—it’s easy to do as he says and a part of you is convinced that you prefer it this way. you feel your shyness melt away when you’re with him, your real self bubbling to the surface, more sure of yourself now because rafe is sure of you.
you don’t realize when it’s happened—only that it has. hand in hand with becoming more confident like rafe, because of rafe, you start being a little more observant.
rafe usually sends you away—gently murmuring in your ear to go get him another drink, or go say hi to someone for him, while he’s trying to conduct business. he sells coke only when you’re out of eyeshot or back at tannyhill waiting for him—he doesn’t need you knowing the details of what he’s doing to make money. the crap with the pogues is put on hold anytime you’re around since he knows your bleeding heart will only feel bad for them. more than that, rafe doesn’t need those idiots earning your sympathy and making him seem like the bad guy. he likes you as you are, all your emotions just for him.
he thinks this is the way it needs to be to keep you with him, but you start to surprise him.
you come back with a beer for rafe and another lemonade seltzer for yourself, handing it to rafe with a smile and settling on his lap. people at the party might look at the two of you weirdly, but you don’t care anymore, even though the thought of something like that used to make you cry. you lock eyes with rafe, a hand resting on his shoulder while his own hands wrap around your waist.
“that guy over there told me to ask you if you had any coke on you,” you say, taking a sip of your drink and making yourself comfortable against rafe. he freezes for a second, tenses under your touch.
“he said that?” rafe shrugs, fist clenching around the beer bottle. “don’t know why he’d ask that.” you respond with a matching shrug.
“i don’t know. but he’s been talking to those two all night, i bet they’ll buy from you too.” he tries not to act surprised with your words—so comfortably talking about who he could sell drugs to tonight, like you’re discussing what you want for dessert.
“yeah, kid?”
“mm-hmm. he seemed real nervous. you could probably upcharge, doubt he’d notice.” you take another sip of your drink, swinging your legs. “can we get ice cream on the way home?” rafe presses a wet kiss to your cheek, making you squirm and giggle. he gets up, setting you down on the couch.
“yeah. let me go take care of business first.”
“okay. charge him double. then i can get a large.”
“sure thing. you’re the boss.”
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