#cbs swat

[luca-street-chris-deacon-rp]

@ofmymanymuses

For the last fourteen years, Annie and Deacon had lived in a marriage that they had both believed would last forever. But that hadn't been the case because eighteen months ago, Annie had sat him down and told her husband, after quite a serious rough patch, that she wasn't in love with her husband anymore and wanted a divorce. It had come as a shock for Deacon, who had tried reasoning, listening, and trying to fix their marital issues, Annie didn't want to continue trying and she had listed off the many reasons why she wanted their marriage to end. So Deacon had gone from sleeping in his own bed to sleeping on the couch while he searched for some place else to live. The kids had been upset, maybe not even fully understanding what was going on, and they were confused, while Matthew, the eldest, was angry. That was eighteen months ago, and while Matthew was angry and getting into trouble, Lila was upset because she missed her dad, and Samuel and Victoria were confused because they were both still relatively young, both under eight. Sometimes, when couples separated, they found that they got on a little better, but in Kay's case, it just made it worse, going from reasonable to grudgingly amicable to bordering on toxic. Neither the two of them thought that their lived would have ended like that, so it was a big adjustment. What was also a bit adjusted was the fact that Luca had a friend who was single and was trying to set them up. Their lives had been turned upside down completely. So, while they dealt with agreed shared custody, they were also navigating a divorce.

Deacon had put Luca and Street off for a while when they kept trying to set him up with women and he genuinely wasn't interested, but to shut them up he agreed to one date and he was relieved to see a mutual friend at the bar, Fallon. They had been friends for a few years thanks to Luca, so seeing that Fallon was his date wasn't a bad thing after the few date disasters that he had been set up oh by other friends.

"Hi, can I buy you a drink?" He asked her, and he already knew what she drank. "If Luca had told me that you were my date then I wouldn't have been so nervous."

Unbeknown to Deackn, Fallon was into him, and Luca knew this, so he made it happen . He had watched Deacon when he was around Fallon and how different he seemed.

[callmebrycelee]

man crush monday

lou ferrigno jr.

full name louis jude ferrigno jr.

date of birth: november 10, 1984

place of birth: los angeles, california

age: 40

sign: scorpio

best known for: portraying SWAT team leader Donovan Rocker on the CBS police procedural action drama television series S.W.A.T. and firefighter Tommy Kinard on the ABC procedural drama television series 9-1-1.

height: 6 feet and 2 inches tall

[passionwillow]

Riding Deacon's thigh...

I have not been able to stop thinking about this. 😩 His thighs are so-

Like I just imagine he’s on the couch with you one day, kids are gone and you guys are watching some movie. And he looks over at you, arm around your shoulders and hand playing in your hair when he just tells you to sit on his thigh.

You’re a little confused but, sure, why not? You guys had tried far raunchier things than that. So you get up and his hands are on your hips, legs spreading for you as he guides you to sit on his thigh. You’re wearing your (his) favorite sun dress, the blue one he’s lifted up on more than one occasion to fuck you.

At first you feel a little awkward, your cheeks are pink and you’re not exactly sure what to do. But Deacon just smiles and holds you snug, lips on your cheek and jaw as he starts guiding you to move on his thigh.

And oh god, you can feel the muscles in his thigh moving, and the friction against your clit is making you shiver. One of his is moving under the dress, kneading at the soft flesh on your thigh as his listens to your breathing turn quick, the redness in your cheeks growing.

He grins as you grind even harder all on your own, and his hands leave your hips, letting you set your own pace as his hands explore under your dress. Your hands are clinging to his shoulders for dear life, a puddle growing in your panties that are suddenly torn off. The shredding of fabric makes you look down, and Deacon’s casually tossed them aside.

There’s nothing between your dripping pussy and the fabric of his jeans, but the look in his eyes tells you to keep moving. You’re aching for friction, for anything, so your hips resume, and you moan outright. The rough fabric right against your sensitive bud, your wetness soaking his jeans..

He hums at the warm damp feeling that appears, his own cock stirring as your eyes close, as your pretty little noises fill the room. Soft whimpers, little whines, outright moans as your hips roll and grind and push against him for release.

There’s something so satisfying to him, watching (and feeling) you grow so wet just from rubbing yourself against his thigh, watching your lips part as you pant, feeling your nails dig into his skin as you search for a release.

He pushes his leg up harder into your soaked pussy, grinning as you groan in appreciation and grind quicker, your cheeks flushed as you grow closer to the edge. He can see you’re close, can see the tremble starting in your thighs.

He pulls you closer and chuckles as you fall into his chest, arms around his neck and face buried in his shoulder as you whimper, shaky voice muffled. “Please, Deac, w-wanna cum. I’m so fucking close-“

He kisses any exposed skin he can, your neck, your shoulder, before speaking. “You can cum, baby. Make a mess on me. I wanna see it.”

That was all you needed to hear before coming undone, groaning and crying in pleasure as your hips worked overtime, Deacon letting out a soft groan himself at the drenched mess he knew was underneath you.

He made a note to try this again in the future.

[thena0315]

Lou Ferrigno Jr on first responder/law enforcement shows

NCIS [12x08]

NCIS: Los Angeles [8x20]

The Rookie [2x17]

9-1-1 [Recurring]

S.W.A.T. [Recurring]

[autistic-brushstrokes]

*In the chip aisle at Walmart, doing a late-night grocery run.*

Tan: *Minding their own business, looking for tortilla chips.*

Tan: *Finds tortilla chips.*

Chris , to Jessica: See, they know what they're here for. They know what they're doing. Be more like them. Make a decision, Jessica!

[bullet-prooflove]

Reputation - Donovan Rocker x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @oliviah-25 @luckyladycreator2 @crazy4chickennuggets @one-sweet-gubler @janeaustenlover @victoriajhyde @telepathay @genius2050 @irishavengersassemble @crimeshowjunkie

Rocker knows you have a reputation. You’re a good girl, one that follows orders with precision, who always play it safe. In the field no one has to worry about you, you’re solid and dedicated, loyal to a fault. You haven’t got a rebellious bone in your body, at least that’s what they thought.  

They didn’t know you the way he did. They haven’t seen that reckless side of you, the one that comes out to play in the depths of the night, they didn’t know you’re secret.

Rocker discovered it by accident. He’d been listless after the divorce, instead of hitting the same old places he wanted something fresh. That’s how he’d come across Noche, a club known for its ambience and music scene. It wasn’t like the other clubs in L.A with the booming beats that makes your skull throb, it’s dark, a hole in the wall shrouded in mystery and the perfect place for him to disappear for an hour or two.

He’d been on his way home after having a couple of beers with Stevens when he heard the serenade of a violin. He wasn’t into classical pieces but the music he was hearing was an entanglement of soft rock, something more his speed. The notes tapered over the drums, touching something deep down inside of him. He was enthralled by it, ensnared. He found himself seated at the bar, another beer in his hand, his attention drawn to the stage. His gaze came to fall on the violinist, head cradled against the instrument, and it was like he had been struck by lightning.

He knew it was you, he would know your stance, your movement, your posture anywhere. You wore a black sheer Victorian style top, with a high collar and long sleeves with a lace bralette underneath. It accentuated your body, showcasing the lines of your form as you swayed in time to the music. The leather trousers clung to your lower body as your hips swung from side to side. It was the first time he’d seen you with your hair down, normally you wore it in a plait or a tight bun but tonight it was gloriously loose. He wondered what it would feel like to run his hands through it, to kiss you on the mouth and smear that red lipstick you wore. Your eyes, always so expressive were framed with dark eyeliner, making you look just as dangerous as he knew you were.

You up on that stage right now, was the sexiest thing damn thing he had ever seen.

The way you played, it was dynamic and passionate. A sensual experience and he couldn’t tear himself away. He had no idea what you did after work, you played your cards close to your chest but he had never expected anything like this. He’d always had an affinity for the darker side of things, his marriage to Val had been pretty vanilla. The two of them had been college sweethearts but there were things he’d wanted to try, things he knew didn’t fit into her puritan view of sex.

He doesn’t realise you’ve noticed him until you appear alongside of him at the bar. Your set is over and he’s been toying with the idea of approaching you or simply slipping out when your hip bumps against his. The sultry scent of your perfume clings to your skin and it just adds to the allure.

“I didn’t think you saw me.” He says to you as you tilt you head towards him.

“You’re a striking man.” You inform him, taking a sip of your water.

He blushes, he can’t help it. No one has ever said that to him, Val used to call him her prince, it reminded of something out of Disney. The way those words roll off your lips, especially the term striking, it does something to him. He isn’t used to this side of you but he likes it.

“You wanna get out of here?” he ventures.

You smile, before tossing your hair back over your shoulder and giving him a look that makes him weak in the knees.

“Are you hitting on me Sergeant?” You ask him.

“How about we drop the titles for tonight?” He requests, setting his beer bottle down on the bar.

That reputation you have as a good girl, it completely goes out of the window. You ruin him that night, with an inquisitive mouth and fingertips that trail over his scars as your thighs hug his hips. You keep him on the cusp, drawing out his ecstasy until his fists grip the sheets and he begs you to let him come.

Not until I do, you had whispered in his ear.

Fuck he’d never had a woman straddle his face before, it was something he had always wanted to try but Val had never been into it, but you…

He had lost his mind when he got his mouth on you, you tasted like candied honey on his tongue, he’d taken you apart slowly, learning what you liked, what made you say his name. You liked it when his tongue delved deep, his palms grasping your thighs to hold you in place. When you climaxed, he didn’t want to stop, he sucks your clit before pinning you against his mouth and ruining you all over again. When he makes you come for a third time, he’s deep inside of you, his fingers threading through your hair as he grips it in his fist and pulls your head back so he can stare into your eyes. There’s intimacy in the eye contact and he watches your face, your lips parting as he makes you say his name.

The next morning, he wakes up alone, tangled up in his sheets with your lipstick marks decorating his skin. He sees you in work and it’s like it never happened, like he doesn’t know you sound like at the height of pleasure or how sinful that mouth of yours really is.

That night he turns up at Noche again, he sees you there up on that stage. You are a force to be reckoned with, a wildfire, untamed and untethered as you play, and he drinks it in. There’s an erotism to what you do, and it taps into something deep down inside of him. He’s like a moth to a flame, he can’t stay away, he doesn’t want to. Instead he clings to the nights that he has you, the ones where you’re his and only his.

Love Rocker? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Want more Rocker? Check out his Masterlist here!

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[streakyglasses]

Girl, I feel like every one of those injury dialogue prompts has already been written by you 😂 but I’ll throw #23 at you!

“You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.”

I picture Street doing something idiotically heroic and Chris is maaad when she shows up to pick him up from the hospital. Obviously all out of love, but he will probably always be the Street she met five years prior.

Hello love!!

In one way or another, probably 🤣 BUT I’m nothing if not a h/c lover. This was a lot of fun, so thank you! (Will be posted on ao3/ffn later tn!)

prompt from @promptsbytaurie “injury” prompts!

also features Tan & Street friendship! minor description of a car accident, and hospitalization. set post S5, but before street goes to Long Beach full time. & mentions of Chris’s mom 🌝

feel free to send any other you’d like my way! 🩵

Patrol day. 

Never an easy day, but considering their usual level of disaster, Street normally doesn’t mind a few hours of pulling cats out of trees and building community connections. He’s paired with Tan, and left sulking in the passenger seat after losing the coin toss. 

“Just try not to lose your radio this time around.” Street smirks, earning a smack on the arm. 

“It was six years ago. But hey! Maybe you can teach me something you picked up during all your extra patrol time.”

“Oh,” he plays wounded, “below the belt.” 

“Whatever, Man,” Tan smiles back and turns over the engine. “West Side, here we come.” 

They’re almost to their first neighborhood, the sun shining and the streets blessedly quiet, when a blue sedan runs a stop sign and cuts them off. Sharing a look, Tan hits the lights and sirens, but it does nothing to stop the driver or their swerving. 

“There’s too much traffic to cut them off here. We can grab ‘em at the next light.” Street says. Tan agrees, spending up to keep track of the vehicle as Street takes down all the info he can see about the car. 

But the vehicle swerves right instead of stopping. 

“Fuck,” Tan murmurs. 

“Fuck!” Street’s eyes widen and then darken at the playground at the end of the street. 

Children and their caretakers laughing and playing. Too many bright colors to count and endless strollers and benches filled with people in imminent danger with nowhere to go. His blood boils, eyes darting away from the mulch and plastic just long enough to see a college kid getting off his motorcycle. 

“Stop the car!” He shouts, and he’d wince if it were any other situation. Tan slams on the brakes without question as Street jumps out before the wheels even stop turning.

“Hey!” He waves at the college kid, not bothering to flash his badge. “LAPD; I need your bike.”

It’s not a question. He’s already jamming the helmet on his head and snatching the keys despite the protest.

The bike revs to life right away. Smoke blows from the exhaust and Street makes light work darting onto the sidewalk to catch up to the car. White knuckling the clutch, he demands the wheels turn faster. He can barely hear it over the engine, but a quick glance shows him parents and babysitters starting to look towards the road, concerned, and he breaks left before he can think anything better.

He thinks he also hears Tan screaming his name, but pain overtakes him too soon to make heads or tails of it. 

Cells explode as the car rams into the motorcycle and sends him flying. They die as his body slides against the road like a ragdoll before coming to a lifeless halt. But the car doesn’t hit him a second time, and in the haze of agony and tears he hears doors slam and boots on the ground and something like jangling metal. It’s enough to make the fire burning him up worth it. 

“Street!” A voice calls, followed by a hand on his shoulder. Gently, they lift the visor of the helmet to see cloudy eyes and wide pupils, but a self-satisfied smirk that Tan wants nothing more than to knock off his face. 

“What the hell were you thinking?! You could’ve been killed. Jesus, can you even move? Do not try to!” 

“Tan,” he coughs harshly, the slight jolt of his body pushing more gravel into his raw back. It’s the first time he’s taken notice of how there’s nothing between his skin and the blacktop, and how he can’t move his shoulder at all lest an excruciating wave white-out his vision. Still, he tries. “Tan, he would’ve killed them. ‘M gonna—gonna be fine.” 

Tan nods, frantically searching for anything he can do to ease some of Street’s pain but coming up short apart from yelling at the crowd to stay clear for the oncoming ambulance. He can already hear the sirens, and he debates if the paramedics will be able to revive Street if he kills him first. Street’s raspy voice brings him back, fingers curling for something to hold onto, so Tan fills the gaps with his own hand. 

“P—promise me some—something,” Street groans in pain, struggling out a high-pitched breath as Tan promises. 

“What?” 

“Don’t t—tell Chris.” 

With that, the ambulance arrives, as do Hondo and Luca, and Tan wonders if the doctors at the hospital will be able to save him from whatever Chris might do if someone doesn’t call her.  —————————————————————-

She storms into the hospital waiting room like a hurricane and beelines for the group of men she could strangle, she’s so angry. Her heart hasn’t stopped racing since Tan called her. Told her they were already at the hospital and they had been for an hour. That Street was in an accident. 

“What do you mean an accident?” She demanded through grit teeth, throwing her backpack into her truck and turning the key. That’s as far as she got before her world stopped. 

“He commandeered a motorcycle to stop a drunk driver.”

Air shot from her lungs as every cell seized, no function flowing through her. Tan kept talking, her brain luckily able to catch “conscious” and “alive” and “Shaw Memorial,” but her hands ended the call without another word as tears flooded her eyes and panic struck her like a timpani drum. 

The memories came before she could stop them. 

“Christina Alonso? I’m Officer Andrews. I need you to come with me.”

“All dead.” 

“Drunk, probably.”

“Who the hell knows; they’re probably scraping up the highway hamburger now. I feel worse for that guy.” 

“We’re so sorry for your loss.” 

The world comes into focus again the second she hears Luca’s voice, but she doesn’t care to hear whatever he has to say, cutting him off. 

“What the hell happened? When did they last update you—where is Street?” 

And, well, there goes any semblance of remaining calm. The team looks amongst themselves against her sharp eyes. In the end, Tan speaks. 

“He stopped a drunk driver. The last we heard is that they needed to get a CT to assess for internal bleeding, and they started to give him painkillers the second they got his medical history and knew it was safe. I’m sorry, Chris.” 

Part of her wants to bite back that he should be sorry. That six years ago, they all made an unspoken pact to keep Street safe, and she always kept up her end of the deal. But then reality rushes back to her, and she falls heavy into an uncomfortable gray chair as everything except for terror drains from her body. 

Slow tears roll down her cheeks of their own volition. Someone sits on either side of her offering reassurances and soft, soothing hands on her back. None of it matters. They fade away as her mind replays every second of her and Street knowing each other from the moment they met to kissing goodbye that morning. 

“I can’t lose him.” She whispers, raw. Deacon pulls her in, she only knows from the cool metal of his cross necklace pressing lightly into her forehead, but it’s a comforting sensation. 

“You won’t,” he promises with a kiss to her head. “You won’t.” 

They offer to get her snacks and water as the clock ticks by, but she stays like a statue against Deacon’s shoulder until a new voice glides over all the other chatter in the cavernous room and her head. 

“For Jim Street?” 

Chris shoots up like a rocket, abandoning her backpack and the group she left it with. She rubs her arms and feels the knot in her stomach tighten to an unbearable pressure. 

“Yeah—yes.” She chokes out. “How is he?” 

The doctor smiles, but she won’t, can’t let herself believe anything until she sees him with her own eyes.

Still, the relief hits immediately when she hears it.

“Office Street will be okay.”

Her eyes widen, and the doctor continues, beginning to walk in the direction of his room.

��His left shoulder was dislocated, but we set it. He also has severe road rash on his back and left arm, and bruising on his ribs. All things considered, he’s extremely lucky. Whatever kind of helmet he was wearing protected his head extremely well. We’re going to keep him for a day or two to monitor pain and make sure no infection develops in the skin. A few weeks of rest and a few of rehab, and he should be back to one hundred percent.” 

“Great,” Chris says, coughing at her dry throat. “That’s great news. Can I see him?” 

“Of course. He should be awake, although he may be groggy. Visiting hours end at nine.” 

The doctor leaves her with a smile, and Chris turns to see the team a few steps behind her but obviously giving her privacy to go in first. She doesn’t wait another second. 

Street is sitting in a hospital bed, propped up against pillows. His gown is folded down to his waist, chest and arms exposed and covered in thick white bandages. There’s a plastic bag in the corner with what remains of his uniform, and a low, constant beeping from his heart monitor. A small tube under his nose helps get him oxygen; she sees how each deep breath makes him wince. 

He looks up at the sound of her footsteps. When he sees her, he smiles. 

Smiles. All dimples and stars in his eyes. All the anger that left her before comes back with a vengeance. She has the wherewithal to keep her voice down, but it’s no less intense.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” She bites, ripping a chair across the floor to sit right next to the bed, her knees hitting the plastic edge. 

“Tan didn’t keep his promise,” he mumbles. Confusion flickers across her face, but she’s not stopping the train now. Not until he tells her what was possibly worth leaving her for. 

“Do you have any idea—you could have been killed! There is absolutely no reason to do something so, so fucking stupid.”

The tears come again, washing over her too fast and too heavy to stop. They thicken her voice and she takes his right hand in a vice grip, clamoring to feel the life in his veins. 

“What happened to rule number one, huh? Never being in a hurry to die?! I thought we were past the impulsive recklessness. Did you even consider—“

“It was kids, Chris.” Street interrupts her, but he squeezes her hand back with every ounce of strength he can muster. “We had to move fast, and that was the only option I saw. I’m sorry I scared you. I love you.”

There it is. The endearing, self-sacrificial, infuriating Jim Street that she fell in love with. It’s funny, layers and layers below how utterly terrifying it is, how easily he calms her down. Puts everything into a perspective that makes her believe he really will be okay, even if it takes time. That his recklessness was only ever for the greater good. Her gaze drops to her knees in shame and exhaustion and every other too-strong emotion that’s coursing through her.

It makes her hate even more that she isn’t there to protect him anymore. 

“You dumbass.” She whispers. One last failing attempt to get the last word. “Don’t do that. Ever again.” 

He pulses her hand to bring her back to him. He’s still smiling. 

“Okay,” he whispers back, even though they know, if he felt it necessary, he would. He will. He adds for good measure, “It’s Tan’s turn anyway.” 

“Okay,” Chris accepts. Her body starts to relax enough to give him a small smile, and she carefully leans over him to brush a hand through his hair and kiss him. It pains her not to hug him, but she refuses to let him push himself. Sitting back in the chair, his hand still in both of hers, she kisses his bruised knuckles. Her lips are soft against his skin, breath warm when she speaks. 

“Are you okay? Is—is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?” 

“Just you.” 

“Yeah, I’m not letting you out of my sight.” 

“Mm, I’m good with that.” 

They fall into a silence that only gives Chris’s mind the opportunity to run wild with all the horrific what-ifs that have been playing since she answered the phone. Taking notice of her thousand yard stare and the increasing tremor in her hand, he says her name, wincing when she starts. 

“Are you okay?” He asks softly, giving her a look he knows she can’t lie to. Her head shake answers before her mouth, the words hard to find. 

“No. I was so scared. When Tan called me…” Sighing, she looks him up and down and gives into him. “This all reminded me of my mom. We can talk about it later, when you’re feeling better. But I will be, now that I know you will be.”

“We will be.” He swears, and she believes him. 

Brown eyes lock onto green until everything that needs to be understood has been, and then steals another kiss. He smiles and she sees the exhaustion mounting in his eyes. Swallowing, she sets his hand back on the bed and traces a tender hand down his good arm. 

“I know you need rest. Let me get the team so they can see you’re alright. I’m staying until they kick me out.”

Nodding, Street yawns, heart fluttering when he watches her walk. Right before she opens it, she turns back to him, a questioning look on her face. 

“What did you make Tan promise?”

He gets that bemused smirk she never likes, usually because it means antics, but his stomach flips at the reaction he knows he’s going to incur. He gets it out in one go. 

“Not to call you.” 

It fills her with an entirely new rage, and she can’t help but roll her eyes. 

“Unbelievable.” She mutters, opening the door for the team to enter and resuming her position in the chair, taking his hand. “We’re talking about that, too, the second you’re better.” 

“Looking forward to it.” He smirks, words starting to slur as the team piles in. “Talking. Not talking. Two weeks with you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she placates, but gets a soft smile of her own. “Me, too.” 

[luca-street-chris-deacon-rp]

OPEN ROLEPLAY

Open to -Mutuals/Non Mutuals

Muse - David "Deacon" Kay

Open to Female/Male/ Everyone

Sexuality - Straight/Gay/Bisexual

Relationship- Friend, girlfriend, boyfriend, friend with benefits, stranger becomes friend

Plot- Deacon is at the gym, and he's pent up and full of adrenaline and needs to blow off some steam before going to work. (We can discuss interactions and plot out a long term ship)

It had been a very stressful week with various call outs and being shot at, smacked around, and chasing criminals all over the city had left Deacon feeling a little stressed and with what he had going on in his personal life wasn't helping. So boxing was his option for dealing with the pent-up energy, then he saw a familiar face.

"Hey, how are you doing?" Deacon asked the other as he removed the boxing gloves from his hands. "How's things going?"

[chosenimagines]

i think it is really sad that we get to hear all of those amazing stories about hondo especially about him being a parental figure for many kids and teens but we rarely get to see it aside of darrell  there were raymond harris and calvin but there wasn’t much to see

[callmebrycelee]

This photo is the equivalent of getting good dick after a nasty breakup.

[passionwillow]

I'm dying for Luca 🥲❤️‍🔥

Allow me to deliver. 😏

Horny Luca who loves to just pick you up and man handles you. Not in a rough way, but he loves to pick you up and set you on the counter to fuck you, or press you into the wall.

He loves loves loves to take you from behind. Laying on your stomach, face buried in the pillows as he fucks you slow and deep.

He kneads and spreads your cheeks as he thrusts, watching his cock slide in and out of your soaked cunt.

Master of giving head!!! He loves to bury himself between your thick thighs, tongue collecting your juices and lips suckling your clit as your thighs squish his head. Give him those ear muffs.

Sit on this man’s face. Do not hover. Smother him.

DO NOT BE SHY. RIDE HIM. If you are shy he’s sweet talking you and guiding you through it no doubt. He loves seeing you grind and bounce on his cock, head thrown back in pleasure as your tits bounce.

Adores taking baths with you. Fingers buried in your pussy, lips on your throat as you sit back against his chest, his free hand kneading at your soft tummy because fuck he loves it.

He loves to lick and suck on your tits. Hickies and bruises all over the soft flesh of your tits, nipples peaked and hard from all his attention.

He’s biting and licking on your thighs too. He loves how thick and plush they are, and you’ll have hickies all over your inner thighs too.

[thena0315]

Everyone Wants Fowler for their Relay Team [4x14]

Too bad they never showed us the race.

And it did seem like Fowler did end up joining 20-Squad based on how the episode ended

[autistic-brushstrokes]

Tan: How is spring not everyone’s favorite season? The trees are PINK, guys!

Hondo: Allergies are also a problem, y'know.

Tan: But pink.

Jessica: And it's hot.

Tan: PINK!

[24-david]

—“lay you on the floor, heavy like the force between us”

(I still haven’t moved on from them)

[thekennyjohnson]

Another crappy little gifset to make myself smile. SWAT Season 1, Episode 1. Luca.

[elysiumnotes]

Hey….so what the fuck is this?!

Im just catching up on this season’s CBS Swat and I get to 8x12, which is already a bit fruity, but then…. You know what? Just watch and tell me what you think.

Tell me….what do you think happens after the cut off????

A. They kiss after all this tension between them

B. They dap each other up and head touch

When I tell you how actually upset I was 😭😭😭