#fic: SWAT

[covetyou]

the best of the world in the palm of our hands

part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3 ⋆ part 4 ⋆ part 5

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), pussy spanking, unprotected PIV, fingering, oral (f receiving), cumplay, anal play (blink and you'll miss it), derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap, joel miller is a massive slut word count: 4.9k chapter summary: You find a way to pay your fathers debts

A/N: pussy spanking! lets go! you know the old saying, open mind open legs.

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song: damage gets done by Hozier

Your dad had been rationing his pain meds for months, barely taking one every two days now that the world had gone to shit and they were so much harder to come by - and so much more expensive as a result. Lean times were made leaner still by missed shifts and slow work, which meant for even fewer pills to ration out.

Eventually, you would listen, night after night, as he groaned and writhed in pain, meds long gone. Nights like that meant another missed shift, fewer ration cards, and the ever looming threat of debtors coming to collect on what was theirs.

That was the situation that had brought you here, to his door. Desperation, and a debt needing to be paid.

Your knock on the door sounds sharp in the silence of the hallway. You're in a "nicer" part of the QZ - the apartment block cleaner and less crammed full of bodies than others. Here there are fewer people to care, fewer people to see. Fewer people to hear you scream.

The door in front of you suddenly flies open and you wretch you head around, straightening your back. You'd told yourself you'd play it cool, but already you were failing.

Joel Miller, self appointed pharmacist, medication supplier, drug dealer, stands before you. He's tall and broad, taking up almost the entire doorway as he rests one hand on top of the frame. He ticks one hip to the side and tucks his fingers through his belt loops.

You'd seen him from a distance, people pointing with whispers of "that's him", but never up close. Flecks of gray dance around the scruff on his jaw, his dark brown eyes wrinkling as he assesses you. The firm expanse of him so much more intimidating from this distance, you square yourself before you speak.

"I -" you begin, but he immediately cuts you off.

"I don't do business in the hallway," he drawls. "This is business, right?" he quirks a dark eyebrow at you.

You nod, all words snatched from your brain. You'd never heard him before - his southern drawl sounding cocky as he sizes you up, standing meek and mild in the corridor.

"S'always business. Come in then, sweetheart," he says, barely moving his body from blocking the doorway for you to squeeze past him. You push yourself against the door frame as much as possible so you don't drag your body along his.

The living room of his apartment is bigger than the entire place you share with your father. As far as you can tell, Joel lives here alone.

The door slams shut behind you, and heavy footsteps walk past you. Joel picks up a bottle and a single glass, pouring himself two fingers of whisky before setting the bottle back down and taking a sip. You knew you would be vulnerable, coming here alone, but you hadn't taken into account feeling trapped.

"So, what y'here for?"

"M-my dad, he's -"

"I know who your dad is, sweetheart. Seen you together. He owes me. Ain't heard from him in a few weeks. I asked what you're here for, not about your dad."

"Yeah," you nod, trying to feign confidence, "Yeah well, that's why I'm here. He needs more medicine."

"What I gave him weren't medicine, it ain't fixin' shit. I gave him pain relief. That's it."

"Well, he needs more. He's out, and he's hurting, and he can't work - " you ramble, but he cuts you off again.

"Now, sweetheart," he raises a finger to stop you. "I don't see why I should be giving you, or him, anythin'. I owe you nothin', and from where I'm standing, you're the one who owes me. Two weeks worth, right?"

Your eyes go wide. You were hoping he'd make it easier than this - go easy on you because you were a girl and you were here alone. You were hoping to play on his heartstrings, but you were starting to realise that maybe he didn't have one.

His glass thunks down on the table.

He circles you like a predator circles its prey, looking you up and down, assessing for weakness. You stare straight ahead, unwavering as possible.

He stops in front of you, tall and foreboding, before tilting your chin up with a single finger.

"You got the cards for that?"

You shake your head no.

He clicks his tongue, smiles, and says, "That's a damn shame". You have a feeling he doesn't think that at all.

"Dad's been hurting too much, he can't work, we haven't been able to get the cards, I've been trying I - "

"Looks like you'll have to do then," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his broad chest as he leans back against his dining table. "Show me what you can pay me with."

You'd never done this before - well, that was a bit of a lie. You'd done something like this, once, before, with someone else, someone different, someone who probably couldn't hurt you in the ways the massive figure of Joel Miller could hurt you.

You take two small steps toward him, and move to lower to your knees - you'd heard men like him accepted this mode of "payment" all the time - but he grabs your arm in one giant hand before you can make your descent.

You balk at him, "Wha - "

"I don't want a half-hearted blow job, sweetheart," he licks his lips and his thick fingers tug at the hem of your too big t-shirt. "Why don't you take this off. Show me what you can pay me with."

The implication was clear - he didn't want anything you could give him, but you had plenty he could take. Your breath hitches, but you don't let yourself hesitate for long.

Swallowing thickly, you yank your t-shirt over your head and dump it on the floor beside you in one swift action. You're painfully aware that your bra is the least flattering thing you could possibly be wearing - it's soft and old and entirely shapeless, but you weren't expecting to be stripping off for him. You shouldn't even care what he thinks of you but it'd been so long since anyone had seen your bare skin that even this twisted exchange felt like you should've made more of an effort.

You stare directly ahead, not daring to meet his eyes as heat flares in your cheeks. He stalks back to the table and picks up his whisky. You watch him raise it to his lips before he notices you looking. You haven't moved.

He's on you in an instant, grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks with force as he directs your eyes to his. The heat still burns through your face, but you feel it start to snake traitorously down your spine.

"I said, show me or do you want me to fuckin' rip the rest off you."

Nodding, you scramble to remove the rest of your clothing. It's not sexy, why fucking would it be, and you fumble with the buttons on your pants longer than you'd like, but eventually you're stood entirely nude for him in his apartment.

A puff of air huffs out if his nose and his face twitches as he appraises you like some kind of show cattle. You don't know if he likes what he sees, but that traitorous drip of warmth down your spine hopes that he does. You can trick yourself into thinking it's because he might go easier on you if he likes you, but the longer you stand there under his gaze the more you don't want him to go easy on you.

"You are a pretty thing," he says, rubbing the scruff of his beard. "I think you got just the thing I need to let your dad off the hook, don't you? Might even throw something else in to sweeten the deal if you're extra good." He strokes your hair, and you try to hold back a shudder of arousal. Maybe he'll think it's fear, and maybe it is. Maybe it's both.

"How's that sound?" he prompts as he laces his fingers through your hair and tugs.

You look at his face, his eyes are dark, darker than before, the way he's looking at you makes that traitorous drip into a flood. "Okay."

He wordlessly grunts as he tugs your hair some more and pushes you toward a door on the otherside of the room, making you walk ahead of him.

Even with his hand in your hair, guiding you, your feet move of their own accord. You want to object, refuse, but you can't. You want this. You want a man like Joel - big, protective, in control - to pay you any attention. Whatever the cost.

One final nudge of your head and you stumble into the room as he releases you.

His bedroom is sparse, as expected. Interior decor went to shit with the end of the world, and Joel didn't seem like the kind of man who would've cared about that before anyway.

You stand at the foot of his bed looking down at your toes as they bunch and un-bunch in the carpet. You hear him come in and close the door. If you weren't trapped before you definitely are now. You don't look up at him, you can't, so your eyes remain fixed at your feet when his step into view.

"You ready to get on the bed for me, sweetheart?" His hand strokes gently across the swell of your breast as he talks to you. It's the first time he's really touched you and the flood down your spine has now gathered into a slick pool between your legs.

You do as you're asked sitting on the edge of his bed, feeling even smaller now as he towers over you. You could have been 8 feet tall and still felt small and vulnerable in this moment, Joel Miller cascading above you fully clothed.

A large hand rests on your shoulder, a gentle pressure pushing you to fall back to the mattress below.

"You lay back now. Relax."

You try not to scoff but you can't help it.

"Ain't goin' to hurt you. What good would that do me. I like my customers alive."

You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself with your back flush to the mattress, looking at him as he still hulks above you. You can do this. He'll just... take what he wants. And you'll let him. Then you'll be on your way.

He's still standing above you as he directs you. "Good girl. Now open your legs for me. Lemme see."

You take another deep breathe, hold, and exhale, opening your legs for him just a fraction.

"I'm a patient man, sweetheart, but when I tell you to do something, you fuckin' do it," he growls as he kicks your legs open further. You spread them even wider, wanting to keep on his good side. You're completely exposed and bare for him now. Everything is on display and he still towers over you, looking down at your naked form on his bed.

"Fuckin' beautiful," you think you hear him mutter as he moves to a crouch between your spread thighs. You hold your breath, tensing and try not to clamp your legs shut at his inspection.

"I'm just lookin', sweetheart," Fingers rub calming circles over the softness of your thighs and your legs twitch.

"Keep your fuckin' legs spread," he says with a sharp slap to your thigh. Gasping at the shock, you push your legs to spread as wide as they can. You feel obscene, so open for him and his hand strokes the spot he'd just struck, soothing it.

You were beginning to see how this would go - do exactly as he said and he'd be gentle. Disobey, or be slow on the uptake (patient man my ass) and you'd soon feel the sting of punishment. The thought of that makes you clench around nothing, and you curse under your breath as it's surely now drawn attention to just how wet you are.

You stare up at his yellowed ceiling and hear a chuckle from between your legs - he definitely fucking knows. You don't dare to look down, you just want him to get on with it, until suddenly fingers come dangerously close to your sex and pull you apart, spreading your bare cunt even more for him.

"Well, you're a pretty little thing," he says to your pussy.

The fingers, his thumbs you realise, massage up and down the sides of you, avoiding any direct touch to your folds, but massaging the flesh in such a delicious way that you can't help but feel it right where you need it most.

Joel hums as he moves to his knees, getting closer to your spread cunt, still rubbing his thumbs up and down the sides of you, gradually moving closer and closer to the center of your sex until he's dragging the tips of both thumbs through your wetness and up to the sides of your clit.

You take another deep breath and try to muffle your whimpers with pursed lips, trying to hold back a moan.

"She's likin' that," you hear the amusement in his voice, "I wonder if she'll like this." He moves one of his slicked thumbs directly above your clit and begins to gently stroke. Your hips jerk, unsure if it's toward or away from the pressure of his thumb.

"Oh, she does," and he applies more pressure, circling torturously around your nub as his other hand continues to explore your folds in gentle strokes, parting your opening with two fingers occasionally to see the wetness gathering there, to see how ready for him you are.

"You ever touch yourself like this?" he's talking to you again now, not your cunt.

"N-no," you stutter, as his thumb keeps its languid pace on your clit.

"You don't touch yourself? Y'look well old enough to have done this before."

"No, I-I do, just... not. Not like this."

Joel hesitates for just a moment, fingers stilling, before continuing on. "You like it though." It's not a question. "Tell me how you touch yourself." That wasn't either.

"I don't - I. Fuck," you hiss. You try to relax your grip on the sheets, but his rough thumb on your clit is distractingly good. "I - rub," you pant out.

"With fingers?"

"No," you squeeze your eyes shut. You can't say you expected much from this visit, but telling a stranger how you get yourself off in the dark of the night definitely was not on your list.

"Againstapillow," you mumble, a soft moan being pulled from shortly after as he increases the frequency of his circles on your clit.

"So you're a sweet girl whose sweet pussy only knows soft things?" he hums in thought. "Anything ever been in here?" his index finger circles around your opening, slick now dribbling out of you and being spread around by his thick finger. You must glisten.

You gulp down a sigh. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're getting at."

"That's good," he chuckles. "Can't imagine you'd want your first to be like this. Of course a pretty little slut like you has had somethin' in here before." His finger circles more around your hole, barley dipping inside as his well practiced thumb swipes firmly over your swollen clit.

Two thick fingers suddenly plunge into your dripping cunt with ease, stretching you. You pull back with the shock, trying to shuffle up the bed and away at the sudden intrusion, pulling his fingers from you. His hands grip your thighs, anchoring you down and pulling you back toward him.

"Did I say you could fuckin' move?" You shake your head. You didn't even mean to move. It felt good, it shouldn't feel fucking good, you were just surprised.

slap

You hear it before you feel it - a wide hand colliding bluntly with your exposed cunt, sending a sharp stinging, buzzing sensation straight back up your spine. You think your brain shuts off entirely for a second before you gasp for air.

"I know you wanna be good for me. You wanna do right by your sick old dad, right? Help him out of a tough spot?"

His entire palm engulfs your mound with ease, covering you completely as he massages his fingers side to side, easing the sting and jerking your clit in a way that has you rolling your hips and biting back a moan.

"Try getting away again and I'll give your worse than that," you push your pelvis toward him at his words. You really try not to be obvious in your disappointment, you want to be good, but you want it. You want worse. And you know he knows. "But be a good girl and I'll give you exactly what you want. That's why you're here, ain't it?"

Before you can answer he delivers several quick light smacks to your bare pussy. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough send the vibrations through you and straight to your struck clit. He removes his hand to look at your quickly reddening pussy before returning to smack you some more. You gasp, trying desperately to keep still and not moan at the building sensation he's pulling from you - you shouldn't be enjoying any of it at all, let alone this, but fuck you are. There's nothing violent about the way his hand is striking your naked cunt, the light slaps against you turning you on, zinging through you like a tuning fork being tapped on a hard edge.

You hear another laugh from between your legs.

"You've only been givin' it to her soft, sweetheart, when she's just crying out to have it rough."

He spanks your pussy again, this time you can't help the moan that escapes you, your back arching into his quick slap slap slap against your cunt. The speed of his palm slows, but the force increases, drawing obscene noises from you with each blow.

"Uh," the breath huffs out of you with each firm smack to your swollen cunt.

His hand pulls off of you and he spreads you wide again before a warm wet sensation draws up from your fluttering hole to your tender clit in a broad stroke. He's soothing your pussy with soft licks when he latches onto your clit and suckles gently before pulling back to look up at you.

"I like 'em pink like this," he mumbles around your clit, "You're bein' so good takin' it for me."

He's holding your thighs obscenely wide as his tongue lathes your clit, wrenching you open as you wiggle beneath him. You are so close, on the absolute precipice and moments from tipping over the edge, when he pulls from you completely, spreading your cunt open with an his thumbs for inspection once more. The man fucking loves looking at you.

"Look at her twitchin'. I think she likes being spread wide for me, look how wet she is." He dives in for another broad lick, slurping as he goes.

"It's just dripping outa you," he breathes. You feel the warm trickle of wetness drip its well worn path from your pussy and down between the cleft of your cheeks. His finger trails it, and you take in a sharp pull of air when the pad of his finger strokes your tight asshole, spreading your slick across it and causing your legs to twitch closed a fraction once again.

slap. You feel the sting and its aftershocks buzz through you before you hear it. "Keep 'em," slap, "fuckin'," slap, "open!" He soothes your pussy with his full hand again and you moan into him, fisting the sheets at your sides.

"Won't go there today. But don't think I'll be feelin' so generous next time." Next time. He rubs and squeezes your pussy, and you rock your hips into his palm, desperate for more anything.

"You likin' this?" he murmurs, his words almost sounds tender -

- Until another slap rings against your bare sodden skin.

"Answer me."

"Y-Yes!" you gasp out with the next spank to your oversensitive cunt. "Yes, please - I - fuck - please I need to -" slap slap slap slap

Your mind goes blank as a series of slaps are delivered straight to your pussy. A groan is pulled deep from your chest and you spread your legs more for him, pushing into his palm as it rains its gentle smacks down onto you.

"You're goin' to come, ain't you?" he growls out, his smacks getting quicker.

You nod frantically, so fucking close, you shouldn't be so close from this but you are. You're just about to beg for something more, anything more, when the smacks against your pussy get even quicker, and quicker, until he's rubbing frantically at your clit, so swollen from his attention that you practically scream at the sensitivity.

Your orgasm tears through you, drawing a deep guttural sound right from your belly. Your back arches, your dripping hole so neglected as it grips around nothing.

"Fuck," he grinds out from below you, stuffing two fingers quickly into your pussy to feel you grip around them as you rock through your orgasm. You can't see him do it, white blaring across your vision, but you hear the hiss of his breath as he pulls his cock out from his pants.

You whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, stroking himself with the slickness of you. He stands and presses himself between your legs, hot and heavy.

"You want it here?" he says, grinding the heft of his cock against your spent cunt. "'Cause you're making a mess, drippin' all over my sheets without me to plug you up." You're in a daze as you nod, still floating from the intensity of your orgasm as you stare dumbstruck at his rock hard length for the first time. It's so big.

It's too big.

"W-wait, it's too bi- "

"Fuckin' look. Watch as I fuck this into you sweetheart," he growls as he feeds the tip of his cock into you anyway, the solid width of him stretching more than you have ever been before, but your wetness letting him slide right in. He fucks the tip in and out, and you watch him do it.

In previous years you'd had nothing more than clumsy fumbles with men, some drunken, but most just uncaring one night stands with promises of more. There was never more. One way or another you were being used, but this time, and for the first time, you could call it what it was. There was no illusion of care here as Joel took what he wanted and made you watch.

And you liked that. You liked being used by him. You liked letting him do anything he wanted to you.

"I want you to watch her swallow me darlin'. Keep your eyes right there," he pushes his hips forward, the pressure of him filling you immense, and he groans as your cunt gives way to him and swallows him whole. "There she goes. Such a good little pussy for me."

"Keep lookin'," he groans again as he retreats from you only to fuck his full length back inside of you in one swift movement, "You look or I send you out of here jus' like this. See how the locals treat a naked slut in broad daylight."

Your cunt pulses with the threat, and Joel notices. He cocks his brows at you, still relentlessly fucking into you. "Oh, she likes that. You like bein' a slut, huh?"

Fuck yes, you want to scream, but instead you nod meekly, still watching him fuck you, obsessed with the sight of his cock disappearing into you over and over again.

"Good fuckin' girl."

Never once does he lean down to steal a kiss, or swipe his tongue across your bare nipple. You're naked for him but he does nothing with it except pound into your flesh, using your cunt to get himself off. His eyes flit between where he's disappearing into you and your eyes, watching with a sneer as they roll back into your head with each knock to your cervix.

"Fuu-uuck." He's hammering into you now, hips smoothly pounding your pelvis, when he grabs one of your arms and flips you onto your side, pushing your knee up so high it's practically by your ear. He slams back into the hilt again, rocking you back as you moan out wantonly around his cock.

From this angle his cock drags across you in ways you've never felt. You'd seen trees being felled as a kid, a wedge being hammered into a cut far too small to fit. You felt like you were being split, just like those trees.

"Ah - uh, I, Joel, please, I -" tears are in your eyes from how good it feels, the dull throb of the impact into your cervix melting your insides.

Joel brings one of his legs up beside you on the bed, the other planted firmly on the floor, giving himself leverage to fuck so deep and hard into you that the air is knocked out of you for a moment. When you can finally take another breath, you're screaming for him, your pussy creaming around him from the endless pounding.

The sloppy wet sounds of your cunt accepting his battering over and over are eventually taken overby moans being ripped from your throat. His belt rattles about his waist with each smack of his hips into yours, you can feel the metal of his buckle, bitingly cold against your skin.

"That's it - fuck - you just fuckin' take - it. You take this cock." You can feel his balls draw up and his cock twitch inside you as he gets close to bursting. He fucks you relentlessly anyway, desperately holding back as long as he can, until he can hold no more.

He drags his cock sharply from your used cunt, throwing you back onto your back on his mattress. His large hand grips his cock and he jerks it over you.

"Oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah," he's practically chanting as he jerks himself, letting out a deep stuttery groan when he finally comes, spurting hot cum all over your soft thighs, belly, chest.

He doesn't aim, he doesn't care where he gets it, the action more akin to a dog pissing on a tree to mark its territory than anything else.

The only noise in the room when Joel's shoulders finally relax are your twin heavy breaths, punctuated by light whines that you just can't help. You're so overstimulated that when his hand comes down to your thigh, you don't realize that he's smearing his cum into you until he's rubbing it into your belly, spreading it across the peaks of your tits, up your neck and across your cheek.

He gives you a light tap on the face. "Look at me," he says, swiping a come coated finger across your lips. You're entirely fucked out, all you can do is look dumbly at him, totally cockdrunk.

"What do you say?"

"I... wha-..." you know what he means when he raises his eyebrows threateningly once again. "Th-thank you."

"That's right."

Suddenly he's yanking you up into a seated position and the blood rushes to your head. Another tug, the world spins, and you're on your feet, but you can barely trust your legs. He drags you from the room and before you know it your own clothes are in your arms, the remains of his come dribbling down your body.

"Get dressed," he stands with his arms crossed, looking at you, expectant.

You stare for a moment, totally lost in his dark eyes, before moving to get your clothes back on. You are still covered in his come, your pussy still buzzing from his spanking. At some point, he tucked his cock back into his pants. You didn't even notice, and you try to push down the disappointment of not getting to see it one last time.

Pulling your clothes back on with skin sticky from sweat and come isn't easy, but you eventually manage. When you stuff your feet into your shoes, he grabs you by the arm and drags you toward the door, unlatching it and pushing you toward the exit.

"I'll consider your debt paid," he murmurs into your hair from behind, pushing you out of his apartment a second later.

"Oh and, catch," he throws something to you but you miss, barely even turning in time at his words. It rattles as it hits the ground. Pills.

"Told you I'd give you something if you were good." Confirmation that you were good for him is all you need to feel another gush of wetness between your thighs. You feel like you could come again from his words and the rough feeling of your panties against your abused cunt.

"What do you say?" he asks again.

"Thank you."

He smirks before closing the door in your face.

You lick your lips as you walk away down the empty corridor tasting Joel Miller for the first time, pills in hand and debt paid.

He never even kissed you.

next part

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[fluentmoviequoter]

Cop Meet Cop

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader ; platonic Deacon Kay x reader

Summary: When your best friend, Deacon Kay, finds out that you're dating a cop, he wants to know everything. Introducing him to Tim Bradford is easier said than done.

Warnings: fluff! Tim's a little grumpy but we love him. cop show inception

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | S.W.A.T. Masterlist

Deacon yells your name before you even see him. S.W.A.T. HQ has become your home away from home, and your home away from Deacon’s home. As you walk in today, you’re greeted by Deacon’s excited greeting and a tight hug.

“It’s been too long,” Deacon says as he steps back.

“I saw you yesterday,” you remind him.

Deacon rolls his eyes before asking, “Is it wrong to miss my best friend?”

Your eyes widen as your smile grows, and Deacon regrets reminding you that you’re his best friend. You know, of course, he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember, but you like hearing the acknowledgement in his own words.

“Adopted Kay,” Hondo greets when he sees you.

“Still funny,” you deadpan.

Since Hondo found out you and Deacon grew up next door to each other and have been inseparable since you could walk, he’s taken to referring to you as Deacon’s adopted sister, or his preferred sister from another mister. You don’t mind; Deacon is the best “brother” you’ve ever had (including any blood relatives you may or may not have).

“You ask her yet, Deac?” Hondo inquires.

“Ask me what?” you interject.

“The mayor is treating all of us and our families to dinner at La Boucherie,” Deacon explains. “You’re family, so I wanted to extend the invitation to you.”

“That’s thousands of dollars for that many people!”

“Why you should go when it’s free,” Hondo says with a smile and a shrug.

“When is it?” you ask Deacon.

“Next Friday,” he and Hondo answer.

You purse your lips as you think. Next Friday, you have plans with your boyfriend. The boyfriend that Deacon knows nothing about.

“I actually have a date next Friday,” you admit slowly. “Maybe we could reschedule.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hondo interrupts, raising his hands toward you.

“A what?” Deacon yells.

“I was going to tell you,” you promise.

“This doesn’t seem like my business, so I’m gonna go,” Hondo says. He stops by your shoulder with his back to Deacon to whisper, “Fill me in later.”

You push him away before looking at Deacon. The apology in your eyes is enough to calm him, but innumerable questions are running through his mind.

“How long?” he asks first.

“A few months.” Deacon takes a deep breath, wondering why you didn’t tell him sooner. “How’d you meet?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumble.

“More embarrassing than when you fell off my bike because you weren’t tall enough to reach the pedals?”

“Why would you bring that up? Deacon, look, I trust you, don’t doubt that. I was worried that the relationship wouldn’t work out; he’s so different than anyone I have ever dated. If it fell apart after a few dates, I didn’t want to… push it on you or anything, I guess.”

“I am here for you, no matter what.”

“Thank you. We-“

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to interrogate you. My house after work.”

“Okay. Be careful today, Deac.”

“What’s his name?”

“Whose name?” you ask as you walk away.

Deacon grumbles as you round the corner. He has a lot of information to find out tonight, and he hopes you’re more forthcoming in private. It’s been a while since he scared away a guy who wasn’t good enough for you, and he hasn’t had to deal with Lila dating yet, but S.W.A.T. operations and defending your honor can’t be that different.

After you leave Deacon, your phone buzzes with a text from the man you were just talking about. You smile as you read the short message but turn down his invitation to hang out later. As you pass a police cruiser on your way to your car, you have an idea. Maybe asking your boyfriend to meet Deacon would make everything easier. Hopefully it ends differently than junior prom.

Your afternoon flies by in a storm of nervousness and excitement. If Deacon expresses any interest in meeting your boyfriend, you will jump on the opportunity. Although, you know it will take some convincing to get your boyfriend to agree. You’re imagining his reaction as you knock on Deacon’s door, lost in thought.

“Lose your key?” Deacon asks as he opens the door.

Annie waves from the kitchen, and you give her a quick hug. Deacon shakes his head at your blatant betrayal and favoritism, and Annie reminds him that she doesn’t bring up past embarrassments and injuries like Deacon does.

“That’s what friends do,” he argues.

“Best friends, right, Deac?” you ask, batting your lashes.

“Did she tell you about her boyfriend?” Deacon asks Annie.

“Boyfriend?! Since when?” Annie turns to you with wide eyes, and you glare at Deacon across the countertop.

“Start asking questions,” you say with a sigh.

“What’s his name?” Deacon repeats.

“How’d you meet?” Annie asks.

“Um, he’s a cop,” you explain. “And we met while he was on patrol.”

Deacon falls silent as he considers every cop he has ever met. You don’t know half of them, at the least, yet Deacon still runs through a mental list. His search for one worthy of your time or attention comes up empty. While he thinks, Annie continues asking you questions.

“No, he’s not on patrol anymore,” you say to Annie. It snaps Deacon out of his thoughts as he realizes he’s analyzing the wrong officers.

“If he’s not patrol,” Deacon begins before trailing off.

“Metro Sergeant,” you say softly.

“Metro. Metro?” Deacon repeats. “Not at our station.”

“What makes you so sure?” you challenge.

“Because I know you, and you wouldn’t go for any of them.”

“David,” Annie chides.

“No, he’s right,” you admit. “He works at a different station, in a different division. But, if you want to meet him, I can ask.”

“Of course, I want to meet him! You’re not giving me answers and I need to vet him.”

“You’re talking like a cop.”

“You’re dating a cop!”

“Look, Deacon, my boyfriend is… he can be hesitant and standoffish. I’ll ask, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll agree.”

“They’re both police officers, so at least they’ll have something to bond over other than you,” Annie whispers as Deacon leans against the counter.

“If I don’t like him,” Deacon begins.

“You don’t like anyone I date.”

“If I don’t like him or he’s not good enough for you, I will tell you.”

“I know. You care, even if you show it by bringing up the time I asked to hold your keys to feel more grown up.”

“That’s adorable,” Annie murmurs.

“Ask him, please,” Deacon requests. “And let me know what he says. As long as you’re happy, I’ll give him a chance.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your conversation with Deacon and Annie, you try to find the perfect opportunity to ask Tim. If he says no, you’ll just tell Deacon the truth. But then Deacon will get suspicious and will try to… You close your eyes and take a deep breath to keep your thoughts from spiraling.

When you open your eyes, you blink quickly at the sight before you. Your boyfriend is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He raises his brows, and you know it’s his invitation for you to speak.

“Hi, Tim,” you say.

“No.”

You nod and interlace your fingers together before tapping your joined hands against your chin. Tim tilts his head to the side as he tries to decipher what is making you nervous.

“Do you want to come to my house for dinner this weekend?” you ask.

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Tim,” you groan. “Okay, just let me tell you all of it before you say no, okay?”

Tim nods once and you step closer to him.

“I want you to meet my best friend, and I thought having you both over for dinner would be the best chance to do that. He, um, my friend is a S.W.A.T. sergeant in the LAPD.”

“Is that all?” Tim asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think-“

“Look, he’s been my best friend for my entire life. We grew up next door to each other and have stayed friends for all these years, so he means a lot to me. And I know you’ve met a ton of S.W.A.T. officers and some of them are really stuck up, but you haven’t met him. Please just think about meeting my friend, not another cop, before you decide.”

Your plea was intended to convince Tim, but it only makes him more hesitant. His concerns don’t come from your friend being in law enforcement, but from the idea that it is a man who knows you and what you deserve very well. Probably knows you better than Tim does. Plus, Tim is not a fan of socializing and making more friends, for the most part.

“If you don’t want to, I get it,” you add.

It only takes another moment for you to wear Tim down; you murmur, “Please?”

“Fine. Tell me when,” he agrees with a sigh.

You bounce in place before throwing your arms over Tim’s shoulders to hug him. He sighs again before pulling you close and kissing your forehead.

“I promise it will be fun,” you say.

Tim raises his brows, and you take it as a challenge.

✯✯✯✯✯

On the day of your dinner with Tim and Deacon, you spend the day at home. You clean, cook, and do anything else you can think of to keep your mind off how the evening could go wrong. Being nervous that they won’t get along isn’t a completely unfounded idea, but you don’t know why it is bothering you. As dinner is nearing completion, someone opens your door, and because both men have keys, you’re not sure who it is until Deacon says your name.

“Kitchen,” you call.

Deacon steps in with a dish in his hands. He sets it down and you recognize it as Annie’s baking and your favorite dessert.

“Oh, thank you! And thank Annie!” you say before hugging Deacon.

“Sorry I’m early, I got off work after a call and wanted to see if you need any help,” he explains.

“No apologies necessary. If you can check the pot on the stove, I’m going to grab something from the pantry, and I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

When you return, Deacon is looking at you with a smile.

“What?” you ask, running your hands over your outfit to remove any nonexistent wrinkles.

“I know you said I’ve never met the boyfriend, but are you sure?” Deacon asks.

You don’t have a chance to answer before someone knocks. Tim usually lets himself in, but you’re sure the sight of another car parked outside is what deterred him. As you walk to the door, you take a deep breath and hope for a nice evening.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hey,” Tim replies with a smile. “These are for you.”

He passes you a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane and a gift bag before he closes the door behind him. You run a finger over one of the petals and smile.

“What is this?” you ask while looking at the bag. “A bribe?”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he murmurs, “Something like that.”

“Alright, uh, come on in.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Tim whispers.

He lays a hand on your back, and it helps to calm your nerves, at least until you see Deacon standing by the table and watching you.

“Deacon, this is my boyfriend, Tim Bradford. Tim, this is my best friend, Deacon Kay,” you introduce.

Tim removes his hand from your back to shake Deacon’s hand, and you watch them nervously. You invite them to take seats and you move into the kitchen to gather a few items. The quiet is unsettling, and you need to do something to eliminate the awkwardness.

“Deacon asked how we met,” you say as you lower into the chair between them. “I was out walking one night, and this guy was following me. After making a bunch of random turns and going in a circle, he was still behind me, so I called the police. Tim was the responding officer.”

“Who was the guy?” Deacon asks.

You look at Tim, who shakes his head before answering, “He and his teenage daughter live around here and were out for a walk together. He was distracted looking at his phone and answering work emails and ended up following the wrong woman around the neighborhood.”

Deacon shakes his head and smiles. “I tell her all the time that her youthful good looks are going to get her in trouble.”

“Oh, no, it gets better,” Tim continues. “When he did see her while we were questioning him, he asked her out!”

Deacon tilts his head back and laughs, while Tim chuckles, and though it’s at your expense, you’re glad they’re able to laugh about something together. You notice Tim glance between you and Deacon a few times; unknown to you, he’s wondering if you ever had a thing for your neighbor and best friend, Deacon.

“I’m glad the most frightening event of my life is so humorous,” you joke.

“Hey, that’s not even the weirdest call I had that month,” Tim offers.

“It’s not just me, right?” Deacon asks. “People are getting crazier?”

“Oh, absolutely. My last boot and I got called to a psychic studio in Hollywood, and the girl admitted she was making stuff up, but revealed the location of a missing person. She was more concerned with the condition of her $900 crystal ball and flirting with me though.”

“Hollywood calls are always more interesting,” Deacon agrees. “We raided an illegal poker club and everyone inside was dressed as assassinated presidents and their widows. Bloody clothes and all.”

“Oh, that beats anything I’ve got,” Tim concedes. “Metro doesn’t get as many calls as patrol cops, but I know they’re going to be good.”

You lean back in your seat and smile, glad to see the most important men in your life getting along. They start talking about how anyone will flirt with cops to get out of trouble, and you chuckle at their excited discussion of the weirdest things people have said.

“Luckily, your friend over here didn’t flirt with me until after,” Tim says. He winks at you as you roll your eyes.

“You asked me out,” you remind him.

“Not my fault you’re cute,” Tim murmurs.

“Oh, you think she’s cute when she’s being followed. Have you seen her when she-“

You cover your ears and look down, regretting bringing them into your house at the same time. Deacon reminding you of your worst moments is one thing, but telling your boyfriend is different. They’re both lucky you love them. Tim wraps his fingers around your arm to pull your hand away from your hand, while Deacon does the same with the other.

“All good things,” Deacon promises.

“I’m going to tell Annie that you’re being mean to me,” you threaten. Tim fails to conceal his smile, and you add, “And Angela.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Tim responds.

“Doesn’t do much good anyway,” Deacon adds.

“Why did I agree to this?” you ask yourself.

“Because you thought we could bond over being cops. You were wrong, we’re going to bond over you.”

“Careful,” Tim warns. “She won’t invite you to the wedding.”

You look up quickly, your eyes wide as they search Tim’s face. He and Deacon begin laughing at your reaction, and you stand silently before walking to the kitchen. Annie’s dessert will be your only source of comfort it seems; more so when Deacon and Tim walk in with half-hearted apologies. You love them, you remind yourself. When Deacon hugs you before leaving, and Tim pulls you into a kiss after, you forget all about the previous teasing.

“Wait,” you say, pushing Tim back. “What’s in the bag?”

“It’s a picture of Kojo. A failsafe apology if dinner didn’t go well.”

You smile before kissing Tim again. Everyone knows that this dinner wasn’t the last, and when you get a text from Annie asking how it went, you invite her to the next one.

[bellaxgiornata]

Me in the middle of the most menial task: *suddenly hit by five new Matt fic ideas as he finally comes back to me*

Me to Matt:

Matt to Me:

[violetflowerswrites]

Taking it Slow

Summary: An unexpected explosion severely injures you, and Jim Street, your LAPD SWAT roommate, comes to your rescue. The life and death situation makes you reevaluate the status of your “just casually dating” relationship.

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

Disclaimer: Cannon violence and danger. Mentions of fire, explosions, and bombs. Location is an elementary school, mentions of danger to minors, but reader is the only one injured. Gruesome descriptions of bodily injury and blood. Some angst and mentions of divorce. BUT ALSO consensual kissing and touching. The smut in this is absolutely filthy as usual. Oral sex (female receiving). Consensual P in V sex. Street has a big cock. 18+ for explicit smut, violence, and language

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: I finally got around to watching more SWAT after taking a break from crime dramas and I gotta say, Season 4 has been SO good. The commentary on our Covid and post-Covid society especially with race and Black Lives Matter is so thoughtfully done. I was re-inspired to make a part 2 of my Jim Street fic from back in July 2022! This fic can be standalone but it is technically a continuation from “Too Complicated.” Enjoy!

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Masterlist Here

…

“All Units please respond, bomb at Harriet Tubman Elementary, repeat bomb and fire at Tubman Elementary.”

The police scanner radio squawks to life in the leather-scented interior of Sergeant Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson’s sliver Dodge Charger.

Hondo locks eyes with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. His expression falls immediately, drawn and serious.

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

”20 David, Sergeant Harrelson responding. Let’s roll!”

…

Your pink highlighter squeaks across the tiny Times New Roman text of each signature line on the paperwork you’re preparing.

A tightness in your neck forces you to pause and lean your head to the side, trying to release the tension in your body.

It’s another tough case. The student was expelled out of a previous school due to repeated fighting. His current teacher is young and inexperienced, and the counselor is definitely overwhelmed. You were called in to take over his case and then recommend him to a therapist, a behaviorist, a specialist, someone before he was expelled again.

Who knew that an 8 year old could wreak so much havoc at a school?

You glance out the window of the 2nd floor classroom, watching the poor kid get into a screaming match with a yard duty. The bright red digital display of the classroom clock shows 9:00 am in blinking lights that seem to say…

tick

tock

It’s

only

9

freakin

AM

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

[oldfangirl81]

Fic Idea 911 x SWAT

These two are cousins.

Sergeant Donovan Rocker

Tommy Kinard

It gets discovered during a LAFD vs LAPD charity event.

At one point Street yells "I knew you were hitting on me!" when Buck kisses Tommy. Turns out it was a similar incident as the one with TK. And Eddie almost hurts something laughing at Buck's baffled face.

[givehimthemedicine]

blind Max elmax getting their first place together. El trying to get Max to describe her favorite colors with suspicious specificity until Max asks what she's up to. It's that El wants to paint (she doesn't care what color as long as the walls don't stay white, it reminds her of the lab) and she wants Max in on the decision. Max thinks this is ludicrous - why should El not paint the walls her own favorite colors? El tells her that this is her home, too, and it matters to her that Max would like what it looks like even if she can't see it.

[tswwwit]

Hey! You mentioned a while back that if the other dimension Dipper/Mabel/Ford might call the penthouse for advice in dealing with their Bill, and Familiar!Dipper might pick up the "call". I've been rereading the Bill v Bill series and can't get the scene out of my head. Any chance you'd be interested in writing it?

I'm certainly interested in writing it! I think there's a lot of opportunity for Shenanigans, and that's totally my jam.

The problem is: Actually Getting Around to writing it. But perhaps one day!

[ellieslittleburrow]

Masterlist

Hello there, peeps! 🥀🥀❣❣ Welcome. Ellie or Rusty here! I write for multiple fandoms, mostly Supernatural

Materlist on Rusty's

4am confort Masterlist

Supernatural :

Siblings (Dean/Sam Winchester x sister!reader)

Christmas time (Dean winchester x sister!reader)

Top Gun Maverick :

Balls of fire (Rooster Bradshaw x sister!reader)

Hannibal

Protective family(AU Sherlock Holmes/Hannibal Lecter x daughter/sister!reader)

S.W.A.T :

Drunk rookie (Team x Platonic!reader)

The witcher :

Geralt headcanons (Geralt x daughter!reader)

Enola Holmes :

The detectives (Sherlock/Enola holmes x sister!reader)

The Last Of Us :

A father like no other (Joel Miller x daughter!reader)

[pastaxandria]

The Red Thread: Chapter 151

The Library of Pastaxandria has recorded for its shelves: Chapter 150 of The Red Thread.

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Chapter Summary:

Matt growled and rolled over. You lifted yourself up just enough that he could flop over onto his stomach and grumpily mash his face into your pillow.

“Goodbye, my cuddly Matt-delion,” you sang, leaning down to plant a kiss on the back of his neck. “And hello, my grouchy, growly Devil. I knew that’d get you.”

He grunted, shoving his face further into your pillow to hide his scowl.

Or: in which Matt is grumpy and territorial about Eli coming over, and coffee is yet again a battleground.

Wordcount: 6.8k

Warnings for this chapter: some scent marking but that’s abooooout it

Read me on AO3 because that’s where penguins hang out

[bullet-prooflove]

Dominique Luca Masterlist

Dominique Luca x Reader:

- Bite Me - Luca decides to help you out after a bad day.

- Keep It A Secret - Luca asks you to keep a secret.

- Pain - You notice Luca is in pain.

- Tonight - You make a choice regarding your relationship with Luca.

- Being With Dominique Luca - Luca’s relationship with you.

- First Time (NSFW) - Your first time with Luca.

- Tied up By Luca (NSFW) - Luca ties you up.

- Tying Up Luca (NSFW) - You return the favour.

Bad Timing Series

- Part One - Luca discovers your back from UC.

5 Sentences

Kissing

[covetyou]

when we begin again

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dub-con (reader was paying a debt, less so now), oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, thigh slaps (three small ones), small description of a hand injury, cumplay/cumshot/cum marking, praise kink, maybe Joel has a bit of a pain kink idk, possessive slutty Joel, derogatory names ("whore"), drug reference, unspecified age gap word count: 4.1k summary: He wasn't one to lick his wounds, but after a deal gone wrong Joel finds something he'd much rather put his mouth on.

A/N: and here we be, the first of the SWAT oneshots that serves as a sort of bridge between the main series and the few ideas I have brewing and ready to go. This is a whole re-write in less than 24 hours because the original fic I was almost finished with felt too me and not enough SWAT. no one needs sad girl monologuing about life and death and grief with their porn. you're welcome.

follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Hrrrmph!"

Joel's lips crash into yours the moment you step inside. One moment he's running an anxious hand through his graying hair, and the next he's making quick work of the space between you, striding across the floor to grab you and plant his lips firmly on yours.

It's not what you'd come here for, funnily enough. You wanted to talk and, glorious as it was to have your lips against his, you couldn't talk like this.

Wretching yourself away is stupid. After everything you know it's stupid, yet you do it anyway.

"Joel -"

Cupping your head in his hands his lips find yours again before you can get another word out, teeth knocking together as he licks into your mouth, and you briefly lose yourself, turning to putty in his arms, ready to sculpt into whatever he sees fit that day. Before the bonelessness takes hold completely, you pull back once more.

Searching his face you look for the sudden need, the sudden rush, the desire to kiss you and have your face in his hands that hadn't been there any other time until now. You see nothing, his dark eyes refusing to meet yours as his hands find themselves at the front of your pants, deftly unbuttoning them before you can even question him. Before he can unzip them, your hands find his, holding him gently in place.

Joel freezes, hands stilling on your zipper, and he pulls a small, sharp breath of air in through his nose as if you hurt him, wounded him by daring to slow him down.

"You want me to stop?" he growls.

"No, I just -"

"Then quit your complainin'."

You do. Briefly. Until the zip snags as he pulls on it again and he curses in frustration.

"Let me do it." Until last time, which wasn't really like any other time, he'd always asked you to strip yourself, made you strip in front of him before he touched out. His clumsy hands on your clothes felt alien, and as it was he was being too slow, even in his desperation.

"You not want me to touch you or somethin'?" he snaps, frowning down at your pants now as he fiddles with the zipper, trying to get it to budge.

"I never said that."

"Then quit your fuckin' complainin'."

And this time you really do when you finally see the tremble in his hands and the blood on his knuckles, and it occurs to you that maybe you did hurt him, that grabbing his hand to stop his frantic movement caused him pain.

Joel hadn't been in a rush before you got here. He'd been the opposite, pacing the floor, willing himself to slow down, calm down. And it had been working - each turn he could feel himself relaxing, all the pent up energy from a deal gone to absolute shit steadily leaving his bones. But your delicate knock on the door had sent his blood boiling in a different way. He'd fought with himself to ignore it, to tell you through the door to fuck off for another day, but the idea of something warm and wet and compliant to soothe his aches and pains was too enticing to pass up. Making you in particular moan and writhe and give in to him was even more impossible to let go. In the end, the door had practically let you in all on its own.

So when his hands pull at your zipper again, yanking it in frustration, you will it down, beg with your mind for it to not snag again, and you sigh with relief when it doesn't.

In one fluid movement your pants are unceremoniously pulled to your knees, and Joel is crowding you back against his dining table, rough and aching hands on your hips to guide you. Your exposed ass collides with the solid wood, and he's pressing into you, the hardening lump in the front of his jeans poking into the softness of your belly. You can feel the frustration in him and how it twitches through his fingertips, swells in his cock, and each time you feel how the need wins out over frustration as he grinds into you, latching him onto you as his veins hunt for some kind of relief.

Another yank of your jeans and he's pulled them to your ankles, stepping on them as he pushes you to sit on the table. Your jeans stay behind, dragging your shoes from your feet with a dull thud, and Joel kicks them away. Winters in Boston are bitter, none moreso than this one, and your frozen ass barely registers the feeling of the wooden surface as you sit on it, still kitted out in your hat, coat and gloves. When you move to pull them off his hand pushes between your breasts, knocking you back onto the table. A second later there's a harsh scrape of a chair across the floor and, just as you manage to tug one glove off, he's yanking you down the table toward him.

You sit up and look down where he sits between your legs, enraptured by the softness of your skin beneath hands that glide up and down your thighs, gripping and squeezing the soft flesh more gently than the wounds on his knuckles suggest he's capable of. He's holding off, you realize then as you watch his hands, trying to slow himself from taking what he needs.

Tossing your hat to the side you lift your hips, shimmying your panties down just enough for Joel's fingers to work them down the rest of the way. Sitting back in his chair he looks between your legs, and you know that he can see what you've been feeling since you stepped onto his street. By this point, the response was Pavlovian. Each step closer to Joel's apartment you could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your cheeks feeling hotter and hotter. You wonder if one day he'd stop having this affect on you, or if he'd stop responding to it exactly how you knew he would, but with a knowing quirk in his brow, you know that day is not today.

"Fuck me, sweetheart. You sure no one else been down here today?"

Shaking your head, you manage one more look at him before he's pulling your legs up, hooking them over his shoulders and diving into your slick folds with a firm lick.

"N-no," you gasp, bucking slightly into his face with your legs spread over his broad shoulders. He should know that you haven't, that you wouldn't, but you think he just needs to hear the confirmation, needs to know that this thing in front of him right now is just his for the taking, and so you let him have it. "Haven't even touched myself today."

He moans into your cunt, cold nose pressing into the softness of your mound as his tongue laps and laves you. With a slurp, having cleaned up the arousal that had leaked out of you on your way here, he looks up at you, ticking his head to the side and nodding down to your bare pussy. "Well, shit, looks like all o' this is just for me, huh?"

There's no air left in your lungs for you to respond when his tongue circles your clit and makes you groan into the cold air. Whatever he needs, if this is how he was going to take it, you were damn well going to let him take everything you had.

And so, pinning you to the table he begins to devour your cunt, licking messily all over you, coating you in his saliva. He pulls you open with his arms hooked over your thighs, spreading your lips further for him. The chill hits you for just one second when you're fully spread to the cold air, but his mouth soon descends on you and all you can see are his eyes and the curve of his nose, his mouth hidden as he buries it into you.

You shuffle your jacket off, the room suddenly feeling much warmer than when you first entered it, and earn yourself a small slap to your thigh, making you squeak out a yelp of surprise, when Joel's mouth involuntarily pulls from your cunt.

"You gonna keep still? Or you gonna keep fuckin' wrigglin'?"

You shift again, biting your cheek as you test him. Channelling his energy into eating your cunt is working wonders for him and he seems calmer already, but that doesn't stop him lightly slapping your thigh again, shooting a warning look up at you.

"Got a way to keep you still if you can't fuckin' do it by yourself, sweetheart," he warns and, as if sensing you're about to test him again, he unhooks one arm from you and pushes a finger straight into your wet heat.

You moan, gasping again when he sucks your clit for good measure.

"Huh?" He's coaxing you, trying to get you to wiggle again and earn yourself another surprise. Not one to push your luck you simply moan, letting your back arch slightly when he begins to move his finger inside you. "What was that?"

"Fu-nothing. Just - fuck - so good."

You mind is liquid, seeping out of your ears and making a mess of your jacket when he licks you again, dancing the tip of two fingers around your entrance before sliding both into you. If it hurts him, he doesn't let on, but you can tell it does something to him by the groan he makes into your cunt as his fingers curl in you, making your walls clamp and twitch around his fingers.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Like gettin' this pussy ate, don't you?"

"Mm."

"Thought so. Needy fuckin' pussy. Not just your mouth that wants to be kissed is it, she needs it too?"

"Oh god, yes please, she needs it too."

And you can feel it, the moment he switches from eating your cunt to kissing it. You know the shapes, the trails he kisses, the way his tongue dances. You'd committed it to memory the past week, made yourself come at the thought of his mouth, the scratch of his beard, the feel of him beneath your fingertips, touching him as much as he was touching you. His mouth and the memory work together then, bringing you so impossibly close to coming you can feel as your moans leave you more high pitched, how you push into him, chasing and chasing that feeling that's right there -

"See," he says, stopping your orgasm in it's tracks when he pulls back, a knowing smile on his face. He pushes another finger into you too, watching as your legs twitch open wider to take him, the rim of your pussy spreading across his fingers with slicked up ease. "Don't even gotta stuff your mouth, just gotta keep this thing right here stuffed and suddenly you're actin' all nice and polite."

There's a brief hope in you that he'll go for a fourth finger, stretch you out across his sore knuckles and ready you for his hard cock, but the hope fizzles away, cast to the side and forgotten, the second his mouth joins his hand back between your thighs.

You're almost there again already, the crest of the orgasm he stole from you a moment ago barely behind you. His tongue laps rhythmically, never ceasing, and his breaths come in heavy, fanning across your folds as he feasts on you, fingers pumping so deep you're sloshing around them. You're hot, so impossibly hot in spite of the cold. You want to shed more layers, bare yourself for him, but you're so close and he's getting you there fast, goading you on with each satisfied groan into your cunt.

"That's it," he mumbles into your twitching pussy. "Fuck that's it sweetheart, come on my fingers."

You can feel it build, Joel's mouth engulfing you and lapping at everything you have to give. The beginnings of your orgasm start to shudder through you, your legs stuttering with every flick of his tongue. Your back arches from the table, toes curling in thick socks as your heels press into his back, pushing him into you. And then it hits you.

The coil in your belly snaps, letting loose an orgasm that swamps all your senses. Held down by Joel's muscular arm and pinned by the fingers hooked in you, you buck into his mouth. Quivering thighs have clamped around his ears, attempting to draw up and pull back as you squirm in his firm grip. You're screaming too, you think, a breathy high pitched shout of his name that you just can't hold back, that gets shakier and shakier the longer it goes on.

And it does go on. Joel doesn't stop, determined to wring from you as much as he can. His fingers are locked inside of you, forced to stillness by the pulsing in your pussy. Still, he can flex them, curling his pruning fingertips into you while he tongues your clit, groaning with each twitch of it beneath his tongue. You know that sound, how it's gotten deeper and more desperate as he's devoured you. It's a sound that tells you he's hard, that he needs relief and will be desperate for it the second he pulls away from you. That thought only makes you come harder, and by the time your cunt has stopped its erratic pulsing around Joel's fingers and you've fallen limp, deaf, and winded against his table, he's already standing, pushing the chair back and letting it crash to the floor.

Dragging his fingers from you he pushes between your legs, pulling his jeans open as best he can, wincing when he rasps his knuckles on the fabric a little too harshly. You reach for him, wanting to help, wanting to be a relief for him like he is for you.

"Let me -"

But he knocks your hand away, tugging down his jeans a moment later, his cock springing free and knocking into your thigh before he can capture it in his fist. It's hot against you, burning and dripping, likely feeling as achey as his knuckles do.

You expect him to plunge into you immediately, to take advantage of the position between your thighs and your pussy still fluttering with want at the sight of him, but he doesn't. Instead you watch for a moment as he strokes himself, the bloody scrapes on his knuckles contrasting harshly with the smooth, solid plains of his cock.

"Your hand, Joel, I can -"

"Fuck, my hand," he growls, resting his unmarred hand on your though to hold you still.

Your legs fall open further, his touch light on your thigh barely applying any pressure to open you up for him. Still, he doesn't take the clear route in, and you're rocking forward trying to notch his tip on your entrance just as the rough scrape of his knuckles drags across your sensitive inner thigh.

"Please put it in me," you finally beg, needing to feel the deep stretch of his cock as it pierces you.

"Nuh-uh, sweetheart, you get what you're given and you be grateful. You gonna take it?"

"Yes," you say quickly, following on with a small, "Please."

He groans at your eagerness to please. Making a man like Joel desire you so much he can't help but moan, just with small words and gasps of your own, makes you feel a power you've never had before and your eyes just about roll back in your head.

"Use your hands, show me that hole," he demands, giving you a little space to reach down and spread yourself for him. Your pussy is leaking, still, you can feel the slick spread on your fingers as you spread yourself for him. "That's it, hold yourself open. Fuck she's still twitchin'. Fuuuck. That's it."

His strokes become longer, more fluid, as he stares at your aching, empty cunt. You still want him inside, would do anything to get him there, but the desire in his eyes tells you he's getting exactly what he wants right now, and you almost want that more.

Tilting his head back as he strokes his cock with pussy drenched fingers, his bruised knuckles rub against your cunt with every stroke. Holding yourself open is easy, but keeping your legs from snapping shut each time his fist rubs your clit feels almost impossible. As if noticing, Joel pulls back, looking down where your cunt is spread open for it.

"That's it, keep it open. Good girl."

You know you're glistening for him, he'd eaten you so fiercely his saliva had been dripping from you, mixing with your own slick as you came on his tongue. He can see the evidence of it now, and the evidence of what his words do to you at the tell tale twitch of your cunt at his praise.

You can't take it any more and you beg in desperation again. "Please put it in, please."

It does nothing but earn you another soft slap to your thigh, which he rubs, grabbing the meat of you and squeezing in his large hand as his cock twitches and drips in his damaged one.

"No," he grunts, breath coming in more ragged now. "Want you to fuckin' wear me. Know who's pussy this is?"

"Yours."

"Fuck," he hisses. "Yeah it is. Pussy's mine, sweetheart. Mine."

Gripping your thigh tighter he moves in closer again, his hand bumping your sensitive nub as he jerks so closely you slick up his knuckles, soothing the soreness and jerking your clit in tandem.

"Oh fuck, that's it, sweetheart. Keep it just like that, show me that pussy. Show me," he's saying, over and over as he watches you.

A second later he's looking up, staring straight into your eyes and pinning you there on the table with them. You nod, words stuck in your throat when all you want to scream is for him to come, to cover you in it, to claim your pussy just like he needs, just like you want.

The sneer on his lips tells you he wants it too, and before you know it his tip is pressing firmly to your clit, jerking it with every frantic movement of his fist, his hips thrusting minutely into it like he can't control it, can't hold it back any more. And neither can you. The pressure and the movement on your clit is too much and you're coming again, so soon after the first it brings tears to your eyes.

"Ohhh, f-Joel, pleasecomeonme."

Looking down where he's pressed to you, he hisses a breath in through his teeth, holding it for just one second until it pushes out of him with a deep, shakey moan, cum exploding out of his tip and coating your folds, dripping through you until the last spurt coats your mound and he's left breathless.

You flop onto the table, grateful for the padding your coat offers your bones as you collapse into the wood. He's leaning over you, finally releasing his grip on your thigh and running a thumb across his mouth, cock still in his aching fist. Using the oversensitive tip, he smears the cum into your bare cunt and the insides of your thighs, catching your eyes just in time to watch them turn from glassy to rattling in your head, your mouth in a small O when he jerks your clit with his head, making you both gasp.

"You did say this pussy was mine," he says, letting a small wry smile tug at his cheeks. He pulls back then, letting go of his spent cock to run his fingers through your cum covered folds, scooping up a drop with his thumb.

Leaning leaning over you, he swipes his cum slicked thumb against your lips. You suck on it, tasting him, salty and bitter and sweet and Joel exploding on your tongue all at once. You want to thank him for it, but he pulls your mouth open with his thumb and pushes two fingers in, making you clean them with broad soothing strokes. You're careful not to catch him with your teeth, still aware of the wounds on his knuckles as you taste yourself off of his cum soaked fingers. If his hand looks like that, you wonder what the person on the receiving end looks like - the thought shouldn't make your cunt twitch, you know it shouldn't, that it's likely sick and twisted and wrong, but it does, and you moan around his fingers just has he pulls them from your mouth.

When your eyes flick to his lips, he smirks, knowing what you want without even asking. Cupping your face with his bruised, wet fingers, he makes you look at him, waits for the desperation in your eyes to ramp up to the point of frustration before he gives it to you.

Just a peck, that's all he gives, soft lips and the tickle of his facial hair so fleeting you could have blinked and missed it, before picking up the chair with a groan and settling back in it with a deep sigh, inspecting his wrinkled fingers. They'd spent so long buried in you the tips are starting to pucker, the ache that your warmth had soothed slowly crawling back down his knuckles.

Your mind is slowly pulling itself together, slowly crawling back into your ears and taking root in your skull again. Joel's eyes scan across you before finding something apparently considerably more interesting on the floor by his dining table.

"Where the fuck you shoppin' this late in the day?" he says with a frown, and you sit up, following his gaze to the floor.

Your pants are in a tangle, a sprawled mess on the floor with your shoes from where Joel had dragged them from your body and there, next to them in a messy pile, is a small stack of cards that you'd brought with you.

"Oh."

Right. You came here to talk to him, to renegotiate your arrangement, before Joel had needed more from you than a chat in that first moment through the door and pushed all thought of conversation from your mind. You clear your throat and square your shoulders, pushing away the last haze of orgasm and look back up at him. "I'm not. They're for you."

With a groan, he bends to pick them up, counting them as he stands and then raising them to you with a question on his lips.

"What're these for?"

"For the pills," you say, like it's obvious, like you hadn't been using your body as payment for months.

"I've already taken my payment," he says with a look to your cum coated cunt. "'n' if you wanna pay me for your daddies pills, you know it's more than this, right?"

"I can take 'em back if you don't want 'em. I just figured we can pay a bit now and, y'know... I wanna come here because I wanna come here, for me, not just for pills all the time." It sounded better when you rehearsed it in your head this morning, but coming out of your mouth now it sounds ridiculous.

He looks at you for a moment, taking you in, sat pantsless and dripping on his dining table.

"Y'know, there's a simpler solution to this than dumpin' cards on me without warnin', right?" If there is, you haven't thought of it. "Stop only comin' by when you need pills." Oh.

"If you want somethin' else, you know where I am. Now, if you don't wanna whore yourself for meds anymore, if you wanna be respectable, then that's fine. I'll take your cards. But I ain't takin' all of 'em. I'm keepin' these," he says raising a few cards up to you. "And you're takin' these," he pushes the remaining ones into your hand along with a small bag of pills he slips out of his pocket and you frown. You already weren't offering him enough.

"Now I get a nice respectable, good girl to fuck, and you get to pretend you're not a whore. Win-win."

"I'm not a whore," you insist, rolling your eyes, even though you know it's not exactly true.

Joel simply shrugs, shaking out your jeans and throwing them on the table next to you before placing his hand by your ass, thumb stroking delicately along the soft skin there, and leaning down toward you. He tilts your head up to face him, his nose catching yours as your eyes meet his.

"Whore or not, sweetheart," he smirks. "Pussy's still mine."

You weren't going to argue with him there.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

[fluentmoviequoter]

They See Deacon Loves You (5+1)

Requested Here (such an amazing request & a fun question)!🤍

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: 5 times someone realizes Deacon loves you, and the 1 time he realizes for himself.

Warnings: fluff, more fluff, some slight angst, reader is injured and goes to hospital (#3). Irina Zemanova (#2) is from 1x19, which is my favorite episode (thus far at least)!

Word Count: 3.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

1. Hondo sees that Deacon loves you by how he looks at you.

Every member of 20-David is exhausted. The entire week has been spent working on a complicated case with numerous raids, two hostage situations, and no casualties. When the case is considered solved and is closed by the head detective, you all take a deep breath and prepare to leave.

“Hey, guys, I know we’re tired, but is anyone interested in celebrating?” Hondo asks, raising his wallet. “It’s on me this time.”

“Suddenly, I’m wide awake,” Street jokes.

“I’m in,” Tan answers with a shrug.

Deacon looks at you, and you purse your lips as you shrug. “Sure,” Deacon answers for both of you.

Of your team members, you’re the closest to Deacon. You’ve grown close over the years, and you can talk without speaking, communicate without listening, and naturally gravitate toward each other no matter where you are.

On nights like these, you and Deacon tend to sit together, but Chris drags you to one end of the table as Hondo stops Deacon to talk at the other. Hondo asks a question, and when Deacon doesn’t answer, he checks his face for signs that something is bothering his friend. Deacon’s eyes are trained on something across the room, his facial expressions changing from smiling to furrowing his brows as he watches… you, Hondo realizes as he turns.

You’re deep in a conversation with Chris, leaning forward across the table as you laugh and make small gestures. Deacon’s watching you closely, his expressions mirroring yours as a different emotion appears in his eyes.

Hondo learned years ago that Deacon talks with his eyes. Everyone on the team describes Deacon as ‘strong and silent,’ but he’s only silent until you learn to read his eyes. Hondo sits back in his chair, crossing his arms as he watches Deacon’s eyes. Deacon glances away, so Hondo looks over to see what happened. You look up when the waiter approaches to ask if anyone wants refills, and Deacon turns the other way before you can catch him staring. Hondo laughs to himself, but Deacon’s attention is back on you. Deacon leans toward you, likely unconsciously.

Hondo shakes his head as he answers for Deacon, getting refills for the whole table. He knows Deacon and you separately and as a team, but now he sees another way to know you. You and Deacon don’t know it yet; Hondo is sure of that, but he hopes he can get to know you together soon. Hondo realizes what that look in Deacon’s eyes was: love. Deacon Kay is wildly in love with you, and his eyes say it.

2. Irina Zemanova sees that Deacon loves you by how he protects you.

Irina trusts you more than Hondo. Though you’re unsure why, you’re happy to stay with her if it makes her safe and comfortable. She convinces you to go to the outdoor café with her, and you radio to Hondo as you walk out with Irina.

“My source says to go to the table with a bagel and coffee,” Irina tells you, looking up from her phone.

“It’s there,” you say, pointing to the table.

She sits, but you stay to the side, looking around for any threats or her unknown source. Irina is looking at something, and when you clock the man dressed in black removing a gun from his waistband, you yell for Irina to get down.

Hondo beats you to it, tackling Irina to the ground as you train your weapon on the gunman. He smirks at you before you hear more gunfire behind you. Someone pulls you to the ground, cradling your head to protect you from the concrete. You see Deacon hovering over you, his eyes glancing down your body to ensure you’re okay before he pulls you up.

Deacon moves to kneel behind a seat as you do the same, back-to-back as you protect the civilians around you. Hondo calls it in as the gunman gets away in a stolen Jeep. As he turns to yell at Irina, she finds a more interesting subject to focus on.

Behind Hondo, Deacon pulls you to your feet, laying his hands on your shoulders as he ducks his head and looks you over. You grab his wrist, getting his attention before you smile and shake your head.

“I’m okay. Thank you, Deac,” you say, assuming Irina is reading your lips correctly.

Deacon’s shoulders fall as his hands raise to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks. He leans in slightly, his eyes roaming your face, catching on your lips momentarily before he pulls his hands away.

“This is all on you,” Hondo accuses, pointing at Irina. “And you will explain back at S.W.A.T. headquarters. You just made yourself a witness to a crime, so now I decide where you go.”

Irina tries to control her anger, choosing another subject. She asks, “Who are they?”

Hondo glances over his shoulder and tells her your last names. “And you nearly got them killed,” he adds.

✯✯✯✯✯

As Irina prepares to leave Los Angeles, she stops to talk to Hondo once more. 

“Too bad you’re not coming with me,” she says.

“Oh, I would, but… duty calls,” Hondo replies, placing his hands in his pockets as he shrugs.

“We could be like them.” Irina points to you and Deacon with her chin.

“If they ever realize,” Hondo responds.

The rest of his comment dies on his tongue as Irina pulls him into a kiss. She steps back and makes a comment about why she did it; Hondo can’t exactly think straight after the unexpected affection. Irina walks away, slowing as she passes beside you, standing alone after Deacon left.

“You’ll be very happy together,” she says.

Your brows furrow as she leaves, unsure what, or who, she means. Irina returns to her home with the knowledge you don’t have yet: that Deacon Kay loves you, and because of that love, he protects you.

3. Commander Hicks sees that Deacon loves you by how he cares for you.

Hicks enters S.W.A.T. headquarters searching for a few volunteers for an upcoming police charity event. You and Deacon are two of only four officers present, so Hicks calls your names, summoning you out of the boxing ring and into his office.

“I know it’s late notice, but we need a few more volunteers,” Hicks explains once you’re in his office.

Deacon glances over at you and nods, so you answer, “We’d be happy to help.”

“What would we be doing?” Deacon asks.

Your head swims slightly, and you blink against the lights above you as Hicks answers.

“You would be working with the kids, I believe, showing them- hey, are you okay?” Hicks interrupts himself when you close your eyes and tilt forward slightly.

“Yeah, I…” you begin before tensing your facial muscles.

You don’t feel or hear anything after Deacon says your name. You tip back after losing consciousness, and Deacon rushes to wrap his arms around your waist, lowering you gently onto the couch beside you as Hicks calls for help.

“Paramedics will be here in less than five minutes,” Hicks tells Deacon, moving to stand beside him. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m just keeping her head up. Her pulse seems okay,” Deacon answers quietly.

Hicks watches Deacon’s jaw work, a storm in his eyes as he fights to stay calm. Deacon has always been open in showing that he cares for his team, but Hicks wonders if he would be this concerned if it were Hondo or Luca instead of you.

The paramedics enter the office, and Deacon reluctantly moves back, allowing them to work. Hicks lays a hand on his shoulder, not sure what to say to comfort Deacon.

“She’s strong, Deac. Whatever happened, she’ll recover,” he promises, hoping he’s right.

“I’m going with her,” Deacon says as the paramedics move you to a gurney.

“Of course. I’ll fill Hondo in and be by later,” Hicks answers.

He watches Deacon take your hand as the gurney is wheeled out. Deacon’s actions toward you are more than caring for a teammate; Hicks has work to do before he can evaluate your relationship with Deacon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Hicks knocks on the open hospital room door before he steps inside. Deacon looks the same as he did earlier, though Hicks knew he wouldn’t have left your side and won’t until he is forced to. Hicks smiles to himself when he sees Deacon sitting beside your bed, leaning toward you as you talk. Deacon interrupts to ask if you need anything, and your smile grows as you shake your head.

Hicks thinks you mouth, “Just you,” but Deacon’s head turns toward the door when Hicks enters.

"How are you feeling?" he asks as he sets a small bag by your leg. “That’s from Molly.”

“Tell her I said thank you,” you reply. “And I’m feeling okay. Thanks you for getting me help so quickly.”

“That was mostly Deacon. Do they know what happened yet?”

Deacon looks at you with raised brows. “Yeah, what happened?” he asks, sarcasm bleeding through under his continued concern.

You sigh as you turn toward Hicks. “I didn’t know it was that bad.”

Hick’s brows raise, just as Deacon’s had, before he asks for more information.

“Last week, I got hit by something during a raid. I thought it was fine, just a bruise, but apparently it was deeper than I thought. My kidney was bruised and there was some slight internal bleeding,” you answer quietly, picking at the hospital blanket.

“Why didn’t our guys catch that?” Hicks asks.

You remain silent, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, so Deacon answers, “She didn’t tell anyone.”

Hicks laughs and shakes his head. He pats your shoulder and tells you not to do that again.

“I won’t. Sorry for worrying everyone,” you say, smiling up at Hicks.

“Feel better. Deacon will be here if you need anything, I suppose.”

Deacon nods, and you turn your attention to him as Hicks leaves. It’s just a glance, but Hicks sees that Deacon’s hand is under the cover, your hand gripped tightly in his. Even though they know what happened, Deacon can’t turn off the worry and the care because it’s ingrained in who he is.

4. Annie sees that Deacon loves you by how he touches and holds you.

Annie’s bed feels empty and cold. Since the divorce was finalized, she has slowly realized that the divorce was a mistake. Leaving Deacon was the biggest mistake of her life. If she had been more understanding or willing to talk to him, maybe they could be starting a family or working through their issues. Several months of being single have made Annie understand just how special what she had was. She needs Deacon back, she decides, and will do anything to get him.

Despite being divorced from Deacon, the officer at the front desk waves Annie through and hands her a badge. On the drive to S.W.A.T. HQ, Annie practiced what she would say. She needs to talk to him, and she’s not above begging him to give her another chance. Annie had Deacon once but made the terrible mistake of letting him go. With another chance, she won’t make the same mistake twice.

Annie stops when she sees Deacon and ducks behind a pillar as she listens and watches.

“So, your back hand will come around as you step out,” Deacon explains, his chest pressed against your back as he holds your wrists up.

“Front foot and back hand?” you clarify, glancing over your shoulder at Deacon.

“Yep.” He taps his foot against yours, signaling you to step out as his hand leads yours into the first move of a spinning hook. “From here, spin on the ball of your foot like a roundhouse and keep the hook pulled tight.”

“One more time?” you request, moving with Deacon as he moves through the steps, pulling you with him.

The movement pulls you closer to Deacon, and Annie sees he doesn’t mind. Not at all.

“Try one by yourself?” Deacon asks, stepping back.

Deacon’s hands drop slowly, his fingertips dragging down your arms until he backs away. He watches with a smile as you go through the steps slowly before taking a deep breath and doing it at full speed. The move feels identical to Deacon’s demonstration, but you look at him for confirmation.

“You did it! That was perfect!” Deacon cheers, his smile wide as he looks at you.

Deacon never looked at Annie like he is looking at you, but that’s not what catches her attention. Rather, it’s how he touches you.

You jump into Deacon’s arms, wrapping your arms over his shoulders as his circle your waist. Deacon spins you around before setting you down. His hand raises to your face, brushing over your cheek as he pushes a stray piece of hair back. Deacon’s touch is gentle and caring and so full of love. A kind of love that Annie didn’t experience. Deacon was never hers, Annie realizes, she just got lucky to have him for a while. His heart has been waiting for you, and she is no longer in his way.

5. Luca sees that Deacon loves you by how he serves you.

Luca’s grand opening of his food truck has come to the LAPD. He’s working, wanting to meet everyone and get a feel for how to best run the business. What better way to test operations and efficiency than feeding hungry law enforcement officers?

As he’s handing someone a plate of food, Luca notices you and Deacon standing side-by-side in line. The sunglasses on your face look suspiciously like Deacon’s, and his lack of sunglasses proves Luca’s suspicion. You turn your head and look up at Deacon, the sunglasses slipping as Deacon laughs at you, causing your smile to grow.

“Hey, man,” Deacon greets when he reaches the truck. “Busy day?”

“You’ve got no idea,” Luca answers. “What can I get ya?”

“Whatever you suggest.”

Luca looks at you, and you nod as you say, “Same for me.”

“Two suggestions comin’ up,” Luca replies before turning around.

You reach for your wallet, but Deacon grabs your hand. He shakes his head and hands Luca cash when he returns.

“Keep the change,” Deacon says with a smile.

“That’s against my morals,” Luca jokes.

“Then consider it a tip for the excellent suggestion,” you call as you step back. “And for keeping me alive.”

Luca laughs and waves before you turn around. Rocker steps forward to order, but Luca raises a finger to ask him to wait. Deacon’s hand is on your lower back, and Luca is invested in the affection and smiles you share with Deacon today.

“What are you looking at?” Rocker asks. He turns to follow Luca’s line of sight. “Oh. They finally together?”

“Not that I know of. Wait ‘finally’?”

“You don’t see it?” Rocker asks incredulously.

“They’re best friends,” Luca argues, furrowing his brow.

“Watch,” Rocker says with a laugh.

Deacon takes your food while you sit, then passes it to you before sitting beside you. He passes you napkins and a few packs of condiments and spices. You lean toward him to say something, then turn to eat.

“What are we missing?” Luca asks before taking Rocker’s order.

“You’ll see. Hopefully they will too,” Rocker answers, sighing.

✯✯✯✯✯

Luca’s eyes find you again just as Deacon stands. He raises his hand to you as he gathers your empty plate with his. Returning from the trash can, Deacon takes your hand to help you up. You jump to your feet, jostling your Deacon’s sunglasses with the movement. Deacon straightens the glasses against your face, smiling as you beam up at him. Your eyes are hidden behind the glasses, but Luca guesses you look similarly lovesick. Deacon has always been willing to serve people, but how he looks after you and provides for you is different.

“Told you,” Rocker says as he walks by, returning to work.

+1. Deacon realizes that he loves you by how you honor him and yourself.

Los Angeles is being hit by “the storm of the century,” according to the weather forecasters. The LAPD has opened several storm shelters, including S.W.A.T. headquarters. 20-David volunteered to help, and you were quickly separated from Deacon when you jumped to action.

Deacon finishes his assigned task and moves to a corner to look around. He wants to find something else to do, to help the people who need it, but he sees you and gets distracted. You’re rushing around, smiling kindly, as you help people. Giving out small care packages, finding blankets, giving people directions, everything you do is done with a smile, respect, and honor for yourself, your station, and your city. You care for the people around you, even though they were strangers before the storm.

Deacon watches you kneel in front of a small boy. His face is hidden, pressed against his knees as he curls into himself. You place a hand in front of you, palm up, as you say something. He raises his head just enough to look at you. Whatever you say works because he places one of his hands in yours.

Deacon feels something he hasn’t felt before. His heart feels like it’s being squeezed, and he’d be concerned if you weren’t around, but you’ve always caused unique feelings in him. This is different, though.

You pull the boy into your arms, standing as he hides your face in the crook of your neck. Slowing down, you look around before your eyes find Deacon. Smiling at each other, you walk to the quiet corner where Deacon has been waiting. 

“Tommy,” you whisper, rubbing the boy's back as you approach Deacon.

It’s only been a few minutes, but Deacon missed your voice and presence beside him more than he thought possible.

“This is Sergeant Kay,” you tell Tommy. “He’s like a superhero. He saves people, but he gets scared, too.”

Deacon smiles as Tommy turns his head against your shoulder to look at the supposed superhero. Deacon’s heart rate increases with your comment and how gentle you are with Tommy.

“Nice to meet you, Tommy,” Deacon says.

“You, too. Do you really get scared when you’re saving people?” he asks quietly.

“All the time. Lots of things can be scary. But, you know what helps me?”

“What?”

“Remembering that I’m brave and strong. Like now, that thunder is super loud and scary right?” Tommy nods, and Deacon adds, “But you’re so much stronger than that noise! I bet you could yell or clap just as loud.”

“I could,” Tommy affirms, nodding against your neck as he smiles.

“One other thing that helps is having other strong people around you. Like the beautiful lady holding you?” You laugh quietly, and Deacon fights to stay focused. “She is brave and being around her makes me brave. Who do you have here that is brave?”

“My mom.”

“Well, then you can stay with her and make each other braver.”

Tommy nods and looks up when his mother walks toward you. You set him down and watch with a smile as he runs into her arms. He nods excitedly, and his mother picks him up and walks toward you.

“Thank you,” she whispers to you.

“Thank Sergeant Kay, he did all the heavy lifting,” you tell her.

“Thank you, sir,” she adds before turning away.

You release a sigh before turning back to Deacon. His eyes are fixed on you, silently staring at you. Furrowing your brows, you frown, and Deacon feels another heart squeeze.

“What’s wrong?” you ask quietly, raising a hand to rest on Deacon’s bicep.

“Nothing, nothing. I just noticed something,” Deacon replies.

“What?”

“That I want to do this.”

You want to ask what ‘this’ is, but Deacon grabs your waist and pulls you against his chest before you can. His lips capture yours, and you gasp into his mouth. Clutching his shirt, you push yourself closer as you move with Deacon. You’ve always been close and in sync, but this feels like the moment where everything you are and have shared intersects. This is the beginning of where your relationship was leading you all along. Deacon pulls back, looking at you with a smile while you stay close, your eyes closed.

“I,” you begin, pausing as you open your eyes to see Deacon. “I just realized something too.”

Deacon’s eyebrows raise, and his lips part, nervous as he waits to hear what you’ve realized.

“I want to do that forever,” you say, pulling him down for another kiss.

The way you treat yourself, the way you treat Deacon, the way you treat total strangers: that’s what Deacon thinks about as he realizes that he loves you. That he’s always loved you.

“We’re at work, guys,” Hondo scolds as he walks to Deacon’s side. You pull back and see Hondo’s smile before he yells, “20-David, they did it!”

Luca, Tan, Chris, and Street cheer, soon joined by a room full of strangers. You hide your face in Deacon’s chest as he walks out of the room, pulling you into a hallway to kiss you again. After all, forever is a long time, and he’s lost enough already.

[jay-911]

Hidden Love - Donovan Rocker

Summary: I don't know how to summarize this?

Warnings: Age-gap (9yrs), injury by gun (idk how to tag either)

Word count: 2,625

You are in the ring with Luca, messing around and warming up for your shift. Throwing jabs at each other both physically and verbally.

"Whoa, low blow! Even for you, Luca."

"Hey, I've got to take you down some way."

"Admitting that you can't do it with your fists anymore, old man?" You tease.

In a swift motion, he lifts his leg up, hooking his foot behind your knee and pulling back towards him, causing you to stumble forward. Then he gets you to the floor.

"Nah, I reckon I still have it." He looks down at you and raises his eyebrows, causing you to laugh and roll your eyes.

"Yeah, okay, whatever." You hold your hand out, which he takes to help you up.

While you two were having fun, the new recruit, Jim Street, arrived. Buck had told you guys about him before his retirement. You elbowed Luca.

"Is that our new recruit?" Luca nods.

Street is standing by the entryway talking with Hicks, and when they're done, you're quick to get his attention.

"Hey. Street!" When he looks at you, you beckon him over with a nod. You take off the wrap from your hand and shake his hand.

"Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

"Likewise, I've heard a lot about you." He looked you up and down. "Uh, about all of you."

"All good things, I hope?" He nods and confirms that. "Welcome to LAPD S.W.A.T."

"Thanks." He smiles at you and nods.

When he has walked away, Luca lets out a low whistle, causing you to look at him with a confused look.

"I think he's already in love with you." You scoff.

"Oh, shut up," you say as you get out of the ring.

"You're blushing" he quips, and without turning around, you flip him off. You can hear him laugh to himself.

You head to the locker room to put a few things away when a hand grabs your waist. You look up at your boyfriend.

"Hey Rocker" you turn to hug him. He embraces you back for a short moment.

To the team, you two were just close friends, but despite the nine-year age gap, you had been dating for nearly a year. The relationship started before he became squad leader, and the two of you tried to end things after his promotion. It was a clear rule: no dating your superior, but you two were happy to break that rule. You made a couple of promises when you decided to stay together: 1. Keep it a secret, and 2. Never compromise a job for the other.

Later in the day, you are all hanging around in the gym area. You were talking to Street, getting to know him. It felt like he had some secrets, but you didn’t push; you knew the truth would come out in time.

It didn't take long for the team to get along with Street. As much as you all missed Buck, it was nice to have a new member. Until the team attempted to push you and Street together, probably because of your similar age, similar interests, and the way he obviously took a liking to you.

The whole ordeal caused some jealousy from Rocker, even when he trusts you and is very self-confident. When your shift finished, you headed to his apartment. He has another two hours left of his shift if he’s not on a call. You kept busy by showering, baking dessert, and tidying up before lounging on the couch and flipping through TV channels. You hear the keys, and the door opens.

“Hey Baby” He greets you as he throws his keys onto the hall table and places his bag under it, next to yours.

“Hi, the rest of your shift went well?”

“Yeah, just bits and pieces around HQ," he says as he approaches you, gently cupping your chin, guiding your head up, and connecting your lips for a sweet kiss. When you break apart, he takes a step to the side, lifting your legs from the couch to take a seat and placing your legs on top of his lap. He keeps his hands on your legs, his thumb caressing your knee.

“Something on your mind?” you question after a few moments of silence. He looks over to you. “I can tell from the look on your face that somethings bothering you” he exhales deeply and shakes his head.

“Just the comments about you and Street. I know I have nothing to worry about, but still, it irks me." He shrugs

“Yeah, it’s frustrating. I’m trying to pull back from him, not be seen alone with him, things like that. We’ve had a chat, and he understands that I don’t want a relationship with him. It still feels a little off; I just don’t want unneeded tension to affect the team.”

“I’m sure it’ll start to die down.”

“I was thinking about talking to Hicks. Get him to say something about it; shut it down now.”

“I don’t think that’s a bad idea. It would definitely stop public chatter about it.” He says

“Public chatter? You’ve heard people talk about it in private?” I laugh

“Chris and Street the other day. He was looking at you, and she told him, ‘Give up already'.” He accompanies the words with air quotes. “Said that you obviously wouldn’t date a cop considering you’ve rejected a few now.”

“Mmm, if only they knew.”

“If only” He gives your thigh a squeeze.

Both Squad 20 and Squad 50 were called for a briefing. An undercover job, a drug bust, just like you have all done many times before.

 “We’re sending in Street; he’s dealt with these guys before. Y/N, you’re also going in; he’ll need you to keep them occupied while he gets the information.”

“Yes, Sir” you say, looking over to Street and nodding.

“Hondo, Rocker, Street, Y/L/N, stay. Everyone else, clear out, and get ready” You five stand around the table. “Street's alias is Enzo; bosses hire him for one-off, in-and-out jobs; you’re going to be Ivy, his girlfriend who’s new to the business; you’re there to learn.”

“These guys are all bark, no bite. They’ll try to intimidate you, but overall, they aren’t violent for a drug gang” Street informs the team, and it helps put you at ease.

“Sorry to throw this on all of you at the last minute; the shipment got moved to today, and you know we’ve been trying to get these guys for a while. Hondo, Rocker brief the rest of your teams. Street, Y/N, my office.”

You two follow Hicks to his office, and he talks about what your backstory is, how you met, etc. An officer comes in with two clothes bags.

“Alright, that’s it. Grab your bag, get changed, and be ready to roll out." You and Street head for the lockers. You take a look at your outfit; it’s quite short and revealing, but you get dressed and apply some makeup. The clicking of your heels on the floor catches your co-workers attention.

“Whoa-oh-oh. Look at you” Chris says, holding her hands up. You smile at her and give her a twirl. You look over to Rocker, who was already staring with a heavy gaze up and down your body. Your eyes narrow at him, warning him to stop.

“Look at you all dressed up, looking pretty” Luca compliments. You thank him.

“Hey” Street says as he comes in, then wraps an arm around you. “I got myself a pretty hot girlfriend.”

“Cherish it while it lasts.” The team laughs.

“This is only the beginning.” He overdramatically winks at you.

“I’d believe you two are a thing." Luca says

“And a good-looking one at that” adds Chris.

“Alright, we’re out of here in five” Rocker orders. You hang back, and Rocker takes a step closer, towering over you. “Don’t let Street get a big head thinking that you’re his.” He says it in a joking tone. “I have command on this mission; I promise I’m going to keep you safe, got it?”

“Like always” he holds up his pinkie, and you interlock it with yours.

“You do look hot, by the way.”

“Yeah? My new boyfriend thinks so too." Rocker lets out a chuckle at your response. You head out front, get into a car with Street, and head towards the secret location.

The two of you enter the building arm-in-arm. Street introduces you to the gang, and not long after, he says that he’s going to have a walk around to solidify the plan in his head with the setup. You’re left with four men. You ask them some questions, trying to keep them preoccupied. After around fifteen minutes, Street signalled to the squads that he was finished, and he came back to you, wrapping his arm around your waist again and kissing your temple.

“Everything good, Babe?” you question

“Exactly as I had expected.”

Rocker gave the order to move in after Street gave the signal. Shouts echo through the shed: “LAPD S.W.A.T., PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN, ON THE FLOOR NOW.” The team comes in, pining down each of the suspects. Rocker reaches the boss and goes to disarm him, but he pulls the trigger. You don’t know what you comprehended first—the loud bang or the intense pressure in your leg. It causes you to stumble backward and fall.

“Street, watch him” Rocker orders as he and Street switch places. He looks down at the wound, just at the hem of your dress, the fabric turning maroon. “This is 50 David; we need an R.A., 52 David with a GSW to the leg.” He pressed down hard to slow the bleeding, making you whimper. “I’m sorry.” You can’t tell if he was saying it about adding more pain to your leg or for not keeping you safe.

The police escort the arrested suspects out of the building and into their cars.

“Get me out front for the ambulance." He picks you up in bridal style, his hand staying firm on your injury. You hear the sirens getting closer, and before long, you're in the back, getting taken to the hospital. The team said that they’ll meet you there as soon as they can. You’re told they are going to take you into surgery to see if they can remove the bullet.

A steady rhythm of beeps is what wakes you up. Then you smell the array of antiseptic cleaners. The soft cotton sheet laying over you tries to block the coolness of the room from your body, but still you feel chilly. Your eyelids twitch a few times before you slowly start to open them, the harsh white light causing you to squint.

There is a knock at the door, and then a doctor enters.

“Good evening. It’s good to see you awake. Your surgery went well, and we were able to remove the bullet with no complications. You have quite a few visitors out there waiting to see you; shall I send them in?”

“Thank you, and yes, please.”

“We'll talk more tomorrow about your next steps for recovery.“ She leaves the room, and about a minute later, both teams enter.

“There she is,” Luca says, coming in first. He gives you a hug. “Glad you’re okay.” he says, taking your hand. You squeeze it twice to say thank you.

“We’re all glad you're okay” Hondo says.

“Thanks guys. The doctor said she'd come by tomorrow to talk about recovery. I’ll be back out there with you guys before you know it." You look over at Rocker, who is standing at the foot of the bed. “Thank you, Donovan." He smiles back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You know he’s feeling guilty. You look towards everyone. “Now go! Get outta here; you’ve seen I’m okay. That was a long shift; your beds are calling you names.”

The team filters out except for Rocker and Street. You look back and forth between them.

“First of all, I just wanted to say thank you.” Street starts, “I have so much admiration for people who go undercover; it’s a tough gig sometimes, and I appreciate that you were there. Also, I’m sorry; I should’ve known that something could’ve happened. Had I been more prepared in some way, maybe then you wouldn’t be in a hospital bed.”

“Street” You cut him off quickly. “Don’t do that to yourself. Neither of us clocked it. He got defensive and pulled the trigger; there’s nothing we can do about it. I’d never blame you! We did our job; we got them off the streets, and the team is alive.”

"Yeah.” He nods. “Keep me updated, please. I’ll visit after shift tomorrow.”

“Good night, Street” he leaves the room, all your attention shifting to Rocker, who is still standing in the same place. “Take a seat.” You nod to the chair beside the bed. He walks over and kisses your forehead before taking a seat and grabbing your hand.

“I’m Sorry”

“You’ve said that twice now. What for?”

“I was in command. I should’ve taken extra precautions; maybe I wasn’t fast enough or maybe I didn’t use a tactical enough plan, and you got hurt because of it, because of me.”

“So you’re sorry for not seeing what none of us saw and for not being able to tell what he was going to do. We know we’re walking into danger every time we put on our uniform, and that’s a risk we’re willing to take. I won’t have you thinking it’s your fault. You weren’t the one who shot me.”

“I’m just the one who promised to keep you safe and failed." His voice wavering slightly. You squeeze his hand.

“You could never fail me! I’m going to be fine, and you’re going to be a pain in my ass, getting me up every day, pushing me to do my best, caring for me—probably a little too much, but you’re going to because you only want what’s best for me, and I know that. Look at me.” His eyes meet yours. “I love you, Donovan Rocker.”

“I love you too." He brings your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.

Before afternoon hits the following day, you are signing discharge papers. You get handed antibiotics, painkillers, and a slip for a check-in visit two weeks from now. Rocker drives you to your place, getting you comfy on the couch. Then you hear him fiddling around in the kitchen, and not long after, he comes out with two bowls of pasta.

“Mmm, thank you. This is why I love you." Both of you sit and enjoy each other’s company and the food. You notice the time: “You need to get going in a minute; you’re adding twenty plus minutes to your commute." He takes your dishes and cleans them before coming back.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, a small smirk on your lips, knowing he’s going to be a little pedantic. “Do not forget your medication; wait, you’ll need a drink.” He wanders off, coming back with water. “Do not push yourself; I don’t want you off this couch if you don’t have to be. When you need to get up, use the crutches; that’s what they’re there for. Also, I’ve let Lisa know because I know you two are close; she’s going to check in on you while I’m gone.”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, okay, Babe. I get it. I’ll be fine. You have nothing to worry about. Except for maybe getting to work late.” He looks at his watch, kisses you, and rushes out the door.

[violetflowerswrites]

It’s Been A Long Day - David “Deacon” Kay 

It’s Been A Long Day - SWAT x Reader Drabbles 

David “Deacon” Kay

Prompt: How does the team seek comfort after a difficult day on SWAT?

Pairing: Deacon x GN! Reader

Disclaimer: reader has children with Deacon, married couple. Vague mentions of police work, politics, fear of police. Reader and Deacon use gender neutral pet names (honey, sweetheart, etc.)

Word Count: 600

A/N: I am on Season 4 of SWAT which is full of complex and difficult topics like racism, Black Lives Matter, Blue Lives Matter, and more. I love the way the show handles modern day conflicts and struggles. I felt like it was fitting that Deacon would bring some of those thoughts home. He just needs to be comforted and supported!

The house was silent, save for the quiet crinkle of the page as you flipped through the book you were reading.

It was in this quiet that you heard the front door open and shut. Expecting footsteps to come upstairs to where you were, you continued to scan your eyes across the page.

After a few moments of hearing nothing however, you paused.

Why wasn’t David coming up to bed?

Concern furrowing your brow, you swung two feet out of bed and into your soft slippers, sliding a satin robe around your bare shoulders.

You stepped down as gently as you could, trying not to disturb your sleeping children, an action you’ve done a hundred times over.

In the same practiced whisper, you called out from the bottom step:

“Honey?”

The still form on the couch stiffened, then the tension released from his shoulders as you laid a gentle, warm hand on his back.

“What do you need?”

Deacon leaned back to look at you with appreciation. He loved that you didn’t interrogate him, scold him, or even ignore him.

You simply offered your unconditional support.

That’s just who you were and he couldn’t help but fall for you a little more in that moment.

“I just need a minute to…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

“Can I sit with you?” You asked.

Your husband made space for you, and you cuddled into his strong side, hip to hip, head to his chest, hearing that comforting heartbeat steady under your ear.

David automatically wrapped his arms around you, the stress in his body already melting away from your warm embrace.

Sometimes, he just needed you near and that was comfort enough.

Eventually, he released his hold on you and you leaned back, gazing patiently into his warm brown eyes. Tonight though, those eyes were lined with worry.

He lifted up your left hand, rubbing a thumb across your wedding ring thoughtfully.

“You know, this ring, it’s a constant reminder of our love, and our commitment to each other.”

You reached over and lifted his left hand, pressing your lips to the cold metal of his ring in silent acknowledgement of what he said.

“In the same way, my badge, it’s a symbol of my loyalty to the force, to my fellow policemen. And my dedication to protect and serve the citizens of LA.”

David leaned back and rubbed a hand over his tired face.

“But to some, this badge is a symbol of power. A power to exploit for their politics, or a power to fear of being targeted.”

He looked at you now.

“That’s not why I decided to be a cop.”

“I know.”

“It’s just, it feels like just being a good cop isn’t enough anymore.”

“Life isn’t black and white. It’s messy and complicated and full of the unexpected.”

“I know…I’m just tired of trying to defend myself. Protecting what I think is right.”

“You are a good cop. And an even greater man. I trust that you’ll do what’s right. Always.”

David pressed a kiss to your hair, but you saw that he didn’t quite believe what you said for himself.

“And if you don’t, if you make a mistake, you know I am here. Your team is here. You aren’t alone in this, David.”

At that, the deep sigh that your husband exhaled seemed to take some of the burden off of his heavy shoulders.

“Yeah. You’re right sweetheart.”

“Aren’t I always?” You smiled.

He chuckled and lifted your chin, pressing the softest kiss to your lips.

“Thank you.”

…

[brinleyparke]

S.W.A.T. (2017) fanfic ideas/prompts

I add new ones pretty often, so keep checking the lists for new prompts.

Some of these ideas can be combined.

Who did go see Street while he was in the hospital after the surgery if Hondo was in Mexico, and Luca and Chris were in Germany?

Street is tired and sore after a long day at work. Molly gives him a massage. (SFW).

Sick Street

After Street gets kicked out of S.W.A.T. and sent back down to patrol, Street starts doing more undercover work.

When Luca is staying at Street's place in season 1, Luca finds out that Street has nightmares, but not about cases. They're about his old man and the bad foster homes.

(Season 1 or early season 2) "Look, Hondo," says Buck, "deep down, Street is still just a scared kid who's been used, abused, neglected, manipulated, and abandoned by the people who are supposed to take care of him too many times."

What if Deac and Annie or just Annie visited Street in the hospital after the transplant surgery?

H/C – Molly comforting Street

What if Street's uncle somehow found out about the transplant and decided to visit his nephew? Luckily, Deacon (who I like to think of as one of Street's work/surrogate dads; Hondo is the other) is there, too, to check in on the kid. Even better if Annie is there, too, and goes Mama Bear Mode.

Street offers to babysit Vivien for Hondo and Nichelle. After seeing how good he is with her, they say yes. Based on the scene at the beginning of 6x18, where Hondo says, "I thought we were gonna have to kick Street and Chris out last night." Nichelle replies, "I had no idea Street was such a baby person."

Street tells Buck he's going to give half of his liver to his mom. Buck is supportive.

Buck finds out about the team's tendency to treat Street like 💩 (maybe Buck is at HQ and sees it happen or maybe Street tells him inadvertently). He is none too pleased with his former team.

Street has never been to the aquarium before, so Molly takes him there on a date.

The team throws Street a surprise birthday party, not realizing he's never had any kind of birthday party before.

Street goes undercover as a male stripper

Suggested by @erinsworld – After Street gets kicked off SWAT and put back on patrol, he ends up without a partner. Patrol commander thinks he's a hot-shot trouble maker who needs to be taught a lesson. Street tells his Capt that it's policy to have a partner. Street doesn't question it when the captain falsely tells him that the order for him to ride solo came from Hondo because "Since he likes being a lone wolf so much, he doesn't need a partner." Street has been neglected, used, abused, and abandoned by all the people who are supposed to take care of him and protect him. He sees Hondo as just another person who has abandoned him. So why would he question Hondo's "orders"?

Slight AU – What if after Hondo kicks Street off the team, Street gets really hurt when he responds to a call where things went sideways? By really hurt, I mean really, really hurt. They search Street's locker for the letter, but they don't find it because he burned it after Hondo fired him.

Slight AU – What if Street wrote his letter to Buck or to Nate instead of to Chris?

Slight AU – What if Street reunites with Nate after being kicked out of S.W.A.T. instead of on a case in season 3?

Slight AU – What if after Street's bike is stripped for parts, he calls Buck instead of Chris?

Slight AU – After getting kicked out of S.W.A.T., Street decides to put in a transfer back to Long Beach. He starts taking more risks in the field. (Maybe he starts doing more undercover work because he has nothing to lose.) When he is injured pretty badly, the hospital calls Buck bc he's Street's emergency contact.

Slight AU – What if Street stayed with Buck after the fight with his mom instead of couch surfing?

Slight AU (6x10) – What if after Street was benched from the case, he went with Rocker's team on a raid or something because they were down a man for some reason, and Hicks approved it? And what if on that raid Street gets hurt (maybe he takes a bullet for one of the team or a witness or victim, or he takes a necessary (to him) risk)? Maybe, for some humor, Rocker can be like, "Oh shit. Chris is gonna kill me." (Or Molly if you are a Strolly fan like me) Street can reply, "Nah, she'll kill me." Then, Rocker will say, "You know what? She'll probably kill both of us." Street will be like, "If Hondo doesn't kill us first."

AU – What if Hondo didn't just kick Street off of SWAT? What if he took his badge and gun, too? Possibilities: (1) Maybe Street starts racing to get money instead of just doing it for fun. (2) Maybe Street starts up his own garage where he fixes bikes. Perhaps he hears some of his customers talking about something illegal. He tells Hicks. They send him undercover. (3) Maybe Street goes back to Club G (from 1x04, where the bouncer said Street has "potential") and works there to make ends meet.

AU – Victor and Bonnie got to have a real wedding. Bonnie doesn't turn out to be a cheating, lying tramp, and Molly catches the bouquet.

AU/Slight AU – Street never breaks up with Molly. Street asks Hicks' permission to marry Molly.

AU – What if Strolly (Street/Molly) stayed together?

AU – Nate doesn't die. (Maybe Nolan couldn't find him. Maybe Street got there on time, or maybe Nate was somehow able to get away.)

Arrow x-over: Werner Zytle has managed to distribute his new version of Vertigo (it makes you hallucinate your biggest fear) to L.A.. Oliver finds out and goes to L.A.. On a S.W.A.T. raid, Street gets dosed with the vertigo. His team tries to comfort him, but to little or no avail, and they don't have an antidote. The Green Arrow comes in and saves the day.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine x-over: Terry/Street

Brooklyn Nine-Nine x-over: Street and Peralta as chaotic besties.

Brooklyn Nine-Nine x-over: Luca and Peralta as chaotic besties.

Moonlight x-over: What if the foster parents at one of the homes Street lived in were vampires who like to feed on children? One night, Buck tries to call Street. Maybe just to check in. At first, Buck doesn't think much of it. Then, it happens again the next night. The next day at work, Buck finds out several kids have just disappeared from that neighborhood. A private investigator offers his help to find the missing kids.

[24-david]

Nothing to Lose

S.W.A.T. (2017) | Stris

Street struggles to cope with Chris getting caught in the crossfire.

AN: here’s my first Street x Chris fic, loosely inspired by 3x21! (I can’t get enough of these two)

It all happened so fast.

It had only been a matter of minutes since they contacted HQ to let them know they were tailing a suspect who ran into the apartment complex. The next thing Street knew, they were taking fire from all directions, bullets piercing the concrete behind them. Normally, the two of them could hold their own until the rest of the team got here but given the dwindling amount of ammunition they had left and the number of gunmen they were up against, the odds were not in their favour.

As they enter narrow hallway, Street hears Chris say that she was running low and was switching to her secondary firearm. Looking for cover, he tries to open a door to no avail when one of the gunmen approach from the end of the hall, firing his weapon.

He yells for Chris to get down, but its too late.

The ringing in her ears was deafening, seizing a hold of all her senses as she clutches her shoulder. Chris can’t think straight—her training useless against the pain that was radiating across her chest. She gasps and heaves, the air not quite reaching her lungs.

All Street can think of is her.

He fires a bullet that neutralizes the shooter before turning to Chris. Instinct taking over training for a split second, Street kneels besides her to check on her. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that her vest caught the bullet before reassuring her that she was okay.

Chris could barely make out his words with the deafening ringing in her ears, but she could feel him helping her towards her knees and off the ground. She barely registers Street handing her weapon, wrapping her fingers around the cold metal.

She is still gasping for air as Street urges her to follow, desperation lacing his voice as he tells her that its not safe to stay here. Tugging on her vest, Street does his best to push out the sound of her gasps out of his mind. If he allowed himself to think about the pain she was in, then there would be no way the both of them make it out of here alive.

She stumbles on a couple of childrens toys, unable to catch her footing. Her mind is racing, the pace rivalling the pounding from her chest. Finally, they reach the corridor and take cover.

Another gunman comes down the hall, opening fire on the both of them. One of Street’s bullets fire right into his chest, sending him into the ground. Taking advantage of the calm before the storm, he checks on Chris.

He feels lightheaded when he sees her slumped against the wall, barely conscious.

Before he could run over, more bullets are sent their way. Street curses, unable to fire his weapon back. His hands were trembling and numb, rendering him useless in returning fire since he couldn’t steady his hands enough to pull the trigger. Street calls out her name, hoping that she’d be able to say something, say anything, to let him know that she was okay.

When he hears them reloading their weapons, he takes that as his opportunity to run over to her. Street cradles the side of her head, his hands gentle as he touches her cheek. He calls her name again, hoping that her eyes would open at the sound of her name.

He finds out that his hopes are futile when nothing changes.

With shaky hands, he brings his fingers to check her pulse. Street calls out to her again, but it comes out sounding more like a plea. He feels a faint pulse, making him blink back the tears that were forming.

This couldn’t be happening, he thought.

Not to Chris—anyone but her, he begged.

He could feel the wetness pooling around his knee. Glancing down, he sees blood. Street curses, taking off her vest with shaky hands until he sees where the blood was coming from.

He puts pressure on her abdomen. The vest that was supposed to protect her was laying a couple of feet beside them. Hondo says that he’s 2 minutes out over comms, but seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like hours with Chris in this state.

He unbuckles the helmet strap under her chin, hoping that would make it easier for her to breathe.

“Chris you gotta stay with me,” Street pleads, his voice breaking. He could feel his hands slicked with a mixture of his sweat and her blood.

He could hear footsteps coming from down the hall. During his early days of training, Hondo had reminded him to never lose his cool. Street was never an angry kid, despite his childhood. However, it seemed as if all the anger he had suppressed during all those years had returned, and with a vengeance.

He wanted to make them pay for what they did to Chris.

He was in position, ready to fire whatever bullets remained into those men when he hears a soft whimper beside him. Glancing over, Street sees her eyebrows scrunched together, pain written on her soft features.

He must have put too much pressure on her wound, he thought.

Abandoning his weapon, his hand reaches up to hold her cheek. His other hand never left the wound on her abdomen ever since he found it. He tells Chris that he’s right here and help is on the way.

When more bullets fly their way, Street uses his body to cover hers without hesitation.

I love you and I’m sorry, he whispers into her hair, pulling her tight against him.

The footsteps grow louder as Street prepares to die for her. More gunfire rings through his ears and all he can think of is how much was left unsaid between them. As someone who grew up with nothing to lose, one glance at her and he realised that he had everything to lose. This couldn’t possibly be the way it ends.

“Street! Chris!” Hondo yells.

Street calls them over, a wave of relief washing over him when he hears them.

The team stare silently, mouths agape in shock at the sight before them. Chris, who they were always fiercely protective of, was unrecognizaable. Street was covered in blood, one arm holding Chris while the other was draped over her torso. She laid unmoving in his lap, her helmet and vest laying in a pool of red.

Luca closes his eyes, unable to stomach the sight. Years of training seemed useless at this very moment, since seeing Chris like this was enough to cut through his thick skin he built up for the job. Tan knew to never take any moment for granted, but his mind kept thinking back to how they were just laughing in the ring earlier this morning. It didn’t feel right, and it didn't feel real. Deacon stands back, saying a silent prayer that she’ll pull through. He puts everything he has left into the prayer, not knowing how to cope if he loses a teammate.

Street can’t bring himself to leave Chris’s side, but moves to give the paramedics some space to work on her. He doesn’t know how, but someone his hand finds hers in the midst of the team and medics getting here. Street watches helplessly as they tend to her injuries, unable to move from his spot or acknowledge the team just yet.

They were supposed to have each others six—and yet one of them was being wheeled away on a stretcher, her blood staining his clothes.

“I thought she had only caught one in the vest.” Street says, his voice breaking when he looks at her.

No one on the team protests when Street volunteers to ride with the medics in the ambulance. He climbs into the rig, squeezing her hand to let Chris know that he was still there. Before the ambulance door closes shut, Luca watches silently as Street presses his lips against the back of her hand.

The lights and sirens aren’t enough to drown out the noise in his head. The medics stabilized her, even reassuring him that she’d have the best surgeons working on her. That wasn't enough to pull him out of whatever trance he was in—he needed to see that she was okay with his own eyes.

Finally, the medics hand her off onto the team of emergency doctors and nurses. He holds Chris until a nurse stops him, guiding him into a waiting room for family members.

Feeling impossibly heavy, all he can do is wait.