#SWAT Season 8 Time

[bollywoodboxoffice]

SWAT Season 8 Release Date, Is It Coming Out? Time, TV Channel

What is the SWAT Season 8 Release Date? SWAT is an American procedural action drama series. This series is based on the 1975 television sereis and the 2003 movie of the same name. This series is created by Aaron Rahsaan Thomas and Shawn Ryan. SWAT sereis was started to premiere on CBS on 2 November 2017 and recently the final and last season of SWAT premiered on CBS on 16 February 2024 at…

[loulovingho]

Donovan Rocker may not be very smart but he sure is pretty!

[shrimpybbq]

season 4 pt1 with rafe, high school gf and their son!

rafe and high school gf who spread his dad’s ashes together. they’re on rafe’s boat together as he spreads the ashes, her arms wrapped around his waist comfortingly. he wouldn’t want anyone else to be with him for this moment

rafe is pretty content with hiring a babysitter to look after the kids when he wants to spend some time alone with his girl, and when he decides to compete at the enduro, he deems the day kid-free. no one would think the couple had two kids and a house together as they stood together on the beach, her hands brushing tenderly against the nape of rafe’s neck as he sat on his bike.

“You’ve got this baby, you know that? It’ll be a piece of cake,” she said, her voice quiet. This was a moment between the two of them, and no one else needed to hear. Rafe still disliked sharing intimate moments in public brazenly, but he still needed reassurance and love.

He nodded, bringing her closer to him as he placed a quick kiss against her lips. “I’m gonna win this for you, baby.”

rafe absolutely adores when he gets to bring his smokin’ hot wife out with him to the events on figure 8. he loves to let his girl get dressed up and all pretty (for him), knowing she sometimes felt frumpy after looking after their kids all day. they’re at the club when rafe starts yelling at a random girl, enraged by her comment about his dad. his wife now having to drag him away with the help of topper, her hands soothing over his chest to try and distract him. it had been really hard for him since his dad died, and he swore he’d only survived bc of his wife and kids.

the couple are at the club they frequent together when hollis speaks to rafe, who after their conversation was no longer paying attention to the older woman, instead focusing on the girl he suddenly tucked under his arm

“And who is this?”

“This is my wife,” Rafe said with a smirk, his arm wrapping around his girls shoulders, placing a quick kiss to the top of her head. At that, the older woman’s smile dropped minutely, quickly excusing herself.

“Who was she, baby?” His wife asked, watching as Rafe turned the business card over in his hand.

“Uhh.. the biggest realtor/cougar on the island.”

“Oh ok, sounds like just your type, huh?”

“Baby, nonono, why would I want a cougar when I have the hottest milf standing in front of me?”

Rafe shielded himself from her playful swats as she came closer, his arms wrapping around his wife’s frame easily and lifting her off the ground.

“Come on baby, you know you’re the only one I want.”

rafe talks about his business deals with his wife often, her lounging on the pool chair as he vents his frustrations. he felt she was the only person he could tell everything to, and she would provide him with advice and solutions that actually helped, not just telling him what he wanted to hear

their son is resting on the other pool chair, exhausted after playing in the pool for hours with his mother and father, whilst their daughter rested on her mother’s chest, sleeping after being fed

rafe feels all of his frustrations slip away when he’s with his children - their innocence and happiness making him feel much lighter

girl dad rafe! he loves charlie but there’s something about his little girl who looks so much like her mother, who adores him and always outstretches her chubby little fingers towards him, that makes rafe’s heart melt

he spoils his little girl more than he should, buying her all the little dresses and shoes and accessories a baby could ever need

rafe who asks his wife to teach him to braid so he can practice for when she’s older!!!!!

girl dad rafe training charlie to be protective over his sister and make sure he’s always by her side

rafe had been addicted to coke, and while he’d managed to give it up, he had replaced the coke with alcohol. high school gf notices and does her best to reduce his intake, but truthfully, after seeing how difficult is was for rafe to stop the coke, she knew that this was probably the best she would get for a while. still, he doesn’t escape without a raised eyebrow when he goes to get another drink from the fridge

topper who knows never to talk bad about rafe’s girl - EVER. he made that mistake once and lived to regret it, having to lie to his parents that he fell from his bike. topper actually likes her now, and he gave himself the title of uncle topper to the cameron kids

as a husband, rafe is so handsy in public. he doesn’t care what people think about him anymore, so he lets himself squeeze and touch as much as he wants

beach time bby! i feel like honestly, rafe doesn’t like bringing his kids around the drunken kooks. they’re rowdy and rude, and rafe is trying to be better

so instead, he loves to take the family down to their private stretch of beach adjacent to the house, and relax and play with the kids. it’s so peaceful to him, and he truly feels content with his life in those moments. he’s got his hot as shit wife in a little bikini with their daughter tucked in her side, and little charlie is climbing all over rafe as he tries to get his father to throw him in the water again

oh he 100% helps his wife pick out her bikini that day, tying the tie for her, his hands roaming a little too much as she giggles in front of him

she had told him once that she felt insecure after having their children, her body a little different than it used to be. truth be told, rafe loved it. every time he looked at her body naked, fucked her or held her in his arms, he was reminded that she brought their children into the world. she gave him purpose and love

(he also likes that her tits are bigger from breastfeeding and loves to squeeze them whenever he can)

rafe is such a good dad bc he puts everything he has into being there for his children. they’re his entire world and everyone can see it

still, he needs frequent reassurance that he is nothing like the father his dad was, instead, he cares and nurtures his children

rafe discusses his plans to make amends with sarah with his wife, and she gives him strategies to try and talk to her (not that he tends to take them), but she also misses sarah

charlie who still asks for his aunty every now and then, making his mothers heart break. sarah hasn’t even met their daughter yet :(

when he makes the decision to do the deal with hollis, he does it for his family. he wants to look after them, and this deal would do that for them.

but when she hits on him, sensually touching his hand, he makes his priorities clear to the woman as he scoffs, pulling away from her

“I’m married…. And you know that - you even met her. I’m doing this deal for her, and for our family, so….”

rafe has problems but that man is so loyal, he actually couldn’t ever imagine wanting anyone else. he fought so hard and went through so much to keep his high school gf by his side and now he feels that she is the only person in the world who understands him fully. in his mind, it’s them against the world

click here for pre-season 1 rafe, gf & their unborn son

click here for season 1 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 2 rafe, gf & their son

click here for season 3 rafe, gf & their son

click here for the 18 month gap before season 4 rafe, gf & their son

[boy-cow000]

Drained

Spencer x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Mention of a case, Spencer feeling rough

Summary: After a particularly long case Spencer happens to lock himself out of his apartment. In need of help, he stumbles into the home of the only non-bau friend he has left. However, he finds himself much more comfortable with you than he originally thought.

Word Count: about 890

A/N: Pretty short blurb because I’ve been dying to write again but I’ve been too lazy to rub my two brain cells together and produce something :,D btw IDK what season this is in so use your imagination

_______________________________________

Spencer couldn't be more thankful for his job. Knowing the lives he saved and the people he helped was enough to get him through most of the especially rough cases. However, this most recent one had been particularly troubling. The random small American town they had been flown to was not known for their technological advancements, to say the least, and the lack of documentation had made Garcia's job almost impossible. On top of that, the intrusive and misguided opinion of the head chief of police had completely skewed the case in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Spencer was rightfully exhausted, along with the rest of the members of the BAU.

After landing and leaving the jet, he told himself that all he had to do was head home so he could finally sleep. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that late; the plane had landed around 8:20 PM. Yet, sleep was the only thing on Spencer's mind after that 48-hour case.

It took him some time to get home, but at this point, nothing but the sweet relief of his bed mattered. Except, much to his dismay, he seemed to have a little trouble finding his keys. Unfortunately for him, that “little trouble” turned into a full-blown panic very quickly. Spencer tried to remember where he had put it. Mentally swatting away the thick fog laying over his mind, he let his head smack against his front door in defeat when he realized that his keys were left on the jet. Calculating his options, it became apparent there weren’t many. His coworkers were probably already sleeping, and it's not like Spencer had a history of having an extensive list of friends. Well, except you, that is. Spencer didn’t feel like paying upwards of 65 to 120 dollars for some locksmith to come in the middle of the night, so you were starting to seem like the best option. Knowing you didn’t live far away, he grabbed his things and started to text you. On the drive over, he began feeling a little nervous. He wondered if the reason you weren’t answering was because you were asleep and if he was going to bother you.

Upon arriving, he felt at ease seeing the lights in your apartment on. He fumbled with his bags but managed to get to your front door without dropping anything. He was so tired. Blinded by the light of the inside of your apartment, he resorted to a curt “hi” once you opened the door. You let him in a bit panicked; to be frank, you didn't know why he had suddenly asked you if you could crash. You were still happy to see him, however.

After explaining the situation, you let out a sigh, knowing nothing serious had happened. You told him to make himself at home while you figured out where your extra covers were. He took off his shoes and sat himself on your couch, awaiting further instruction.

When you came back, you saw Spencer, palming the socket of his eyes. Your heart stopped for a second, worry took over, and you wondered if maybe the case was weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. You rushed over.

“ Spence! Are you okay?” You laid the covers on the edge of the couch and rested a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer peeked into your eyes for what seemed like forever—a breathless moment between his answers. You felt your heart form a lump in your throat; your cheeks flushed, and you suddenly felt guilty. What if Spencer was actually doing terrible and you couldn’t help him because you were too busy wrestling with the effect he had on you? Eventually, you broke the intense eye contact, and Spencer sighed in return.

”I’m fine, really. It’s just… I was exhausted a minute ago, and now”

”Not so much.” You finished his sentence for him. He let out a light chuckle and bumped shoulders with you. He must’ve been delirious, because you couldn’t think of another reason why he would’ve been comfortable enough for all that physical contact. Your torso stiffened, and while still trying to calm yourself down, he let his head roll onto your shoulder and nudge itself into your neck. Spencer was going to kill you if he kept this up.

Spencer snaked his arms around you, entrapping you and making you fall back into the couch a little. You grabbed his opposite shoulder, hoping to lay him back, but his head bobbled a little lower, and it was clear he was no longer awake. Spencer kept snuggling, and it was making it increasingly harder to get yourself out of his grasp. An incoherent thank you left his lips before he fully fell asleep. So you sat there, absolutely surrounded by Spencer. Glaring at his slumbering state. Overtly aware of his faint sent, of his hair brushing against your face, of his slowed breath on your neck, of his hand grasping your waist, of him.

Your own exhaustion was catching up to you at an alarming pace. Despite your brain and dignity screaming at you not to fall asleep in his arms, your thoughts were starting to blur. Eventually, you fell asleep, caged in, breathing to the sound of his heartbeat. With that, tomorrow promised itself to be interesting.

[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”

Part Three Here - “I’ll Be Here”

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.

….

[aplaceinme]

[Kind of a coda for episode 4, season 8; Tommy's POV. Additional information: Lucy Donato appears; as well as two original characters.] You can also read it on AO3

The popcorn sails through the air and then neatly falls inside Lucy’s mouth. Her eyes dance with mirth as she watches Tommy pace back and forth in the hangar. 

“What’s up with him?” Julia says as she approaches the table where Lucy and Matt are sitting. 

Lucy, who had briefly turned to look at her, goes back to watching Tommy. 

Tommy is still pacing, listening intently to whatever it is that the person on the phone is saying. One side of his hair, the one he keeps messing up every time he passes his fingers through it, is completely dishevelled and the expression on his face is one of worry and frustration. 

“Buckley called him,” Matt replies, stealing some of Lucy’s popcorn. 

Playfully swatting his shoulder with a noise of protest, Lucy then says, “Knowing Buck, I’m gonna guess that he did something impulsive on a call and now it’s telling Tommy all about it in full detail.”

“That explains why he looks as if he is having an aneurysm,” Julia chuckles while grabbing the bowl of popcorn from Lucy’s clutches. 

Matt looks expectantly at Lucy. When nothing happens, he pointedly looks at Julia, the bowl, and then Lucy. 

“She can have them. I like her better.”

“Hey!” Matt yelps. “That’s so rude.” 

While Julia looks at them amused, Lucy shrugs her shoulders pretending to be unmoved but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips gives her away. 

The three of them sit up straighter when they hear footsteps approaching and watch in silence as Tommy sits up in the only chair left, carelessly throwing his phone on the table and sighing in defeat. 

“Everything ok?” Lucy asks him, at the same time that Julia offers him popcorn. 

Grabbing a handful, Tommy tells them with a sarcastic tone, “Oh yes, everything is fine. Just, you know, they had a call of a tiger attacking someone. And there was obviously no time to call animal control, so Evan had to walk into the apartment hoping that a sedative would work.” 

By the time he finished talking, his volume had increased and he had ended up dropping all the popcorn from his hands from all his wild gesturing. 

“Well, did it work?” Matt asks 

“Yes,” Tommy admits. “But that’s not the point!”

“And what is the point?” Julia asks while sharing a look of glee with Lucy. 

“The point is that they are all so reckless,” Tommy thumps his fist onto the table. “I mean, last week he fucking tried to stop traffic on the highway with just some flares, right after stealing a firetruck from a TV show set, by the way!”

Matt is biting his lip so hard that Lucy fears that he will start to bleed soon, while Julia's shoulders shake with her silent laughter. Lucy is not faring any better, her amusement hard to contain. 

Since they know that nothing bad happened, it’s easy to laugh about it. Besides, the irony is just too big for them to not make fun of Tommy.

Crossing her arms on the table, Lucy looks at Tommy and asks him, “Weren’t you the one who stole a helicopter with all of them despite the fire chief's orders?”

“Yeah… I seem to remember that. Didn’t you have to fly over a hurricane?” Matt adds.

“And it was all based on a hunch, right?” Julia continues, snapping her fingers at Tommy. 

“That was different,” Tommy huffs. 

“Because…?” 

All three of them stare expectantly. 

“Because I was there. He could get seriously hurt and I won’t know until he is in the hospital, or worse.”

Lucy exchanges looks with Matt and Julia. Neither of them is dating first responders, so they can’t fully relate to that all-consuming worry of getting a phone call telling you that the person you love had an accident while on duty. But they are first responders themselves, they care about their team and it is always possible that one of them will get hurt. That feeling, they can understand. 

That’s why Julia pokes Tommy’s temple and says, “You are getting grey hairs there, my friend.”

Tommy sighs in annoyance and eats a handful of popcorn. “Isn’t there any cake?”��

Matt laughs but brings him a cupcake that Lucy knows for sure he was saving for himself to eat once their shift ended. 

Lucy gives Matt a thankful smile, making him blush. 

Looking in slight disgust as Tommy devours his fears with the cupcake, Lucy decides to be serious for a minute. 

“Look, Buckley is an incredibly capable firefighter. The entire 118 are, and you saw how they have each other’s back. It’s normal to get worried but he will be fine.” 

Tommy swallows hard and nods. “I know, I know that. But I can’t help but worry about him, even though I know how amazing and wonderful he is.”

“Now, he is getting all sappy. I shouldn’t have given him my last cupcake,” Matt jokes. 

Grabbing some popcorn, Tommy throws it at him, and they all laugh. 

Slowly, Tommy’s shoulders start to loosen up, and he looks more relaxed. 

Lucy smiles, and thinks about how they will probably continue to tease him for the rest of the shift. 

—

“My coworkers say ‘hello’,” Buck hears as soon as he enters Tommy’s place. 

Following the smell of meat cooking and the noise of the sink, Buck goes to the kitchen, where he finds Tommy cooking them dinner. 

“Oh, no! What did they do?” Buck asks. “You only refer to them as coworkers when you’re mad at them.” 

Tommy turns off the burner and approaches him while looking him up and down. 

“They were being annoying,” Tommy says deadpan. “I might hate them.”

“You love them, actually,” Buck says, shaking his head. 

When Tommy is closer enough, Buck leans in to greet him with a kiss but Tommy instead grabs Buck’s arms and keeps looking him up and down. 

“What are you doing?” Buck pouts. 

“Making sure that you don’t have a scratch on you,” Tommy explains while walking in a circle around Buck. 

“Oh my god! I told you I’m fine,” Buck huffs, but he secretly loves it. Having someone be worried about him feels amazing. “And? What’s the verdict then?”

Stopping in front of Buck, one of Tommy’s hands goes up to his face and his pointed finger taps his chin. 

“Hmm… I can’t say for sure. A more thorough inspection is required.” 

Tommy gets closer and takes off Buck’s shirt. 

“Let’s see now,” Tommy says, doing another circle around Buck. “This is not enough. This just won’t do. The inspection is still incomplete.” 

Buck smiles at Tommy’s playful nature, loving that he gets to see this side of him.

Walking closer again, Tommy goes for Buck’s trousers. He takes off the belt and it makes a clunk sound when it hits the floor. 

Without taking their eyes off each other and maintaining eye contact, Tommy pops off the button of Buck’s trousers and slowly moves the zip down. 

Out of his trousers, Tommy does one more circle around Buck. “Everything seems to be alright. No scratches, no bruises.” Tommy says with a smirk. “You’ll be glad to know that you have just passed the inspection.” 

 “That’s good to know, but I think you forgot to check an essential part.” 

 “Oh? Do tell.” Tommy asks, barely able to contain his smile. 

 Instead of answering, Buck takes off his boxers. 

 “You’re right, how could I forget?”

Buck shrugs his shoulders and flexes his arms, enjoying this game. 

“You know? I think that this will require a much closer inspection,” Tommy says hungrily. 

 “Oh, I definitely agree,” Buck growls, and grabs Tommy in a fireman's carry, taking him straight into their bedroom.

Their dinner can wait, they have more important things to do. Their dinner can wait, they have more important things to do. 

[sarah-bear706318]

Chasing Storms and Finding Love. Chapter:2

Summary: When Tyler's baby sister joins him and his team for a season she seems to catch the eye of a certain StormPar member much to her brothers dismay... will she listen listen to her big brother or follow her heart?

Pairing: Scott Miller X fem!reader, Tyler Owens x sister!reader

Warnings: Sneaking around, Pissed off Tyler, Love Struck Scott, ALOTS of kissing, A little age gap, Cussing, Drinking, Storms(duh), Falling in love, Slow burn

@nikkicloudie

If you wanna be tagged in future parts let me know!

The next morning you are awaken with banging on the door, seeing as you are not a morning person this was not the wake up call you wanted. "Tyler get the fucking door" you say still half asleep.

BANG BANG BANG

"Tyler get the damn door " you yell again to your brother turning over to see his bed empty. You groan while you get out of bed and stumble to answer the door, when you answer it you see your brother ready for the day with a big smile on his face. Your face not so friendly.

"Sorry I forgot the key, but I come with coffee" he says with a beaming smile trying to make you less mad, he knows how much you hate mornings so he's hoping the coffee will stop you from yelling to much. "You know instead of banging on the door like the swat team there are these things called phones you could have called loser" you say letting him in the room.

"Yeah I forgot that too" he says putting the coffees down on the table in between the beds. "Whatcha get me" you ask reaching for the coffee. He rolls his eyes knowing how picky you are about your coffee "Just what you like and how you like it an Iced Caramel Macchiato 2 pumps extra caramel made with almond milk extra cold foam and carmel drizzle" he says

"You are the best big brother all is forgiven as long as this coffee taste right" you say taking your first sip to check it. "You are so forgiven this coffee is better then sex" you say closing your eyes at the taste. "That is not something I never want to hear you ever again" your brother says.

You roll your eyes taking another sip of your coffee and picking up your phone to look at the time seeing that its a little before 7. "What time are we heading out?" you ask your brother. "I told the crew to meet us at the diner next door around 8 figure we can have some breakfast and make plan for the day. I also have something to talk to the crew about. You think you can be ready to go by then?" "Yeah I'll be ready by 7:55" you say with a smile while still sipping on your coffee.

True to your word you were ready to head out the door at 7:55. You knew this would be your first time on the Wranglers Youtube channel so you wanted to look cute, and you were hoping to see the tall cute guy from last night. You opped for a cute messy bun and light make up with one of your many UT Austin longhorn shirts and some shorts. You grab your bag and phone and head out with your brother to meet the crew.

As you're walking down stairs you see the cute tall guy with the ballcap from last night, and you cant help but smile.

Scotts POV:

Scott and Javi are standing by StormPar's truck when they see Y/N and Tyler making their way down. Scott feels the breath from his lungs get sucked out and his heart stop. "Hey Owens" Javi says as soon as the 2 of them get within speaking distance. As Y/N get closer Scott get his first up close view of her and all he can think of is how drop dead gorgeous she is.

He can see the freckles on her nose and cheek, the dimples when she smile, her pink full lips(man all he can think about how they would feel against his own lips) her bright green eyes. He can see the little nose ring along with a couple piercings in her ears and the tattoos she has on her legs and arms . He's not normally a guy that goes for girls with piercing and tattoos but she pull them off very well and looks classy not trashy. He catches himself wondering what other tattoos and piercings she may have that he can't see.

"Hey Javi and clipboard" Tyler says to the 2 men with a nod of his head. Scott rolls his eyes at the nickname and before he can say anything Y/n starts to speak "Tyler that was so rude" she says and smack her brother. His smile gets even bigger hearing her voice and the southern twang it has to it and also putting her brother in his place.

"Hey sorry about my rude ass brother I'm Y/n its nice to meet you" she holds her hand out to him "I'm Scott nice to meet you Y/n". Scott shakes her hand and he swears he feels electricity go through his body, and he sees a blush forming on her cheeks. You both held each other's gaze until Javi cleared his throat

"Hey Dr. Owens nice to see you again" he sees Y/n playfully roll her eyes at the formal title "Nice to see you too Javi but you do not have to call me Dr. How have you been" she asked while giving Javi a quick hug, Scott cant help but feel a twinge of jealously run through his body watching Javi wrap her in a hug.

"I've been good, its great that you're going to be here for the next few months, looking to be a great season and having someone with a PhD in the field will really come in handy for us" Javi says

"Us? Scott and Y/n say at the same time. Scott looks to Javi while Y/n looks to her brother both with a confused face.

"Yeah that's what I wanted to to talk to the crew about over breakfast" Tyler says looking between his sister and Scott. "While I was getiing your very very complicated coffee order" Tyler starts but is cut off by you, "Its really not complicated but go on" Y/n says to her brother "It really is but anyways Javi and I ran into to each other and started talking about how all the radars and data are giving reading of this being a very big season and maybe teaming up for some chases might be a help to both teams" Tyler says looking at his sister.

"First I've heard of it" Scott looks to Javi who puts in his hands in the air and says "It was just an idea and I was going to talk to you and run it by you this morning, so what do you think, Y/n is hella smart" Scott looks a tad annoyed by not being included in the first place but if he works with the wranglers that means he can spend more time with Y/n. Scott looks over to Tyler and his sister.

"So you have your doctorate in meteorology?" Scotts turns and ask Y/N

"Yeah I graduated from UT Austin just a couple months ago, I also studied a environmental science for a few semesters"

Scott stands there for another moment thinking. Working with Tyler and his crew was not something he wanted to do, they were reckless loud and got on his last nerve, but having someone with your educational background could be a big help. And getting to get to know you better would make it alot worth it.

"Fine but don't make me regret this either of you" Scott says looking at both Javi and Tyler Pointing his finger at them. When Scott looks over to Y/n he sees her are already looking at him with a smile, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

"Great I'll go talk to my crew and I'll let you know what they say" Tyler says has he reaches to shakes Javis hand then Scott's.

"It was nice to meet you Scott hopefully the crew is okay with everything and we'll be seeing a lot more of each other" Y/n says with a smile reaching to shake his hand again

"Yeah lets hope" Scott says with a smile reaching for her hand.

As Tyler and Y/n walk away Scotts eyes follow her. As much as he hated the idea of working with Tyler and his group of misfits he hoped the rest of the hillbillies would be on board he really wanted to spend more time with Y/n.

"Man don't even think about it" Scott hears Javi behind him.

"Don't think about what" Scott ask trying to act normal, while still looking your way

"Owens is very protective of his baby sister and he would kill you for even thinking about her"

Scott didn't reply he just kept his eyes on you watching away and heading across the parking lot to the diner. He could handle Owens.

Y/N POV:

As You and brother walk away and to the dinner your mind and body is filled with excitement, hopefully the crew would be ok with everything and you could spend more time with Scott.

Seeing Scott up close made your insides like jello. His tall muscular build, his blue eyes, dark hair, his chiseled jawline, his beautiful smile with the cutest dimples his deep voice, and man did he have arms for days. All you can think about about is how good they would feel wrapped around you and his lips on yours...

Tyler sees the small smile and a dopey look in your eyes and he doesn't like it. Scott of all people has caught his baby sisters eye and from what he could see she has caught his eye too.

"No" is all you hear as your brothers voice breaks you from your day dream. You look over to your brother and see him with a stern look on his face.

"What are you talking about Ty"

"I saw the looks you and clipboard were giving each other and its not happening not with him"

You came to a stop and looking to your brother. One thing about you is you don't take took kindly with people telling you want you can and can not do. You are a grown ass woman and could do as you please.

"Well Tyler last I checked I am a grown woman and do what I want, see who I want and make my own choices, now I'm hungry so stop playing big brother and hurry up" you say staring down your brother.

"I mean it Y/n no not him not happening"

"I mean it to I'm hungry hurry your ass"

Tyler rolls his eyes and points his finger at you "This isn't over" "Whatever" you say walking past him to go meet the crew and get some food.

As you make it to the diner you turn to look over your shoulder and see Scott looking at you, he shoots a wink and smile and walks to the other side of StormPars truck. You say a silent prayer the crew goes along with teaming up with StormPar!

[loullaby]

Lou Ferrigno Jr is the only presumably straight man I trust with queer characters now. Oliver Stark's comments were incredibly Biphobic and I'd rather they just write this off as a phase for Buck and he goes back to being a straight manwhore then hurt any other queer male characters, which is what is going to happen with his "Let Buck Fuck" BS. Oliver doesn't deserve the fandom love that he gets based on literally how he's acted on social media for the entirety of season 8 so far and that deleted Non-Apology on Instagram was the cake that makes me hope that 9-1-1 is the last main role he gets and he gets religated to bit parts for the rest of his career until he learns an actual lesson on how to be respectful to the fans you have. He might not like it but the fans are the reason he actually has any career at all and being rude to them on a regular basis isn't how you do it.

Lou deserves the world on the other hand. He gave so much care into playing Tommy, crafting a backstory that we will never know, and he deserved better than what they did to him. Some showrunner with a new show needs to scoop that man up and have him play a main character because so many people would flock to watching that show. Bonus points if they let him play another queer character because we know he will take the care to play them non-stereotypically and will actually make a compelling character.

lou got me in the divorce, and i'm not above being used for views. someone get him a main role and i'll be tuning in. me and the girlies (gn) are already talking about watching swat for him lol

but in all seriousness, yeah, oliver really did give us hope that he would treat the storyline with respect even though he's straight as far as we know. but apparently the respect ended at the same time as the relationship.

i was never an oliver dick rider, but even some of them are turning on him and it's well deserved. i just hope that some of the lou hater also see the stark (pun intended) difference between their behaviors and realize they were defending the wrong side all along.

[sideeve]

for da pookie @mordeiswrld

⇆ give dat boy a chance !🙏🏾 i don’t feel like he’s educated in other ethnic groups and cultures . but if he had the time to, he would know it all.

⇆ i don’t know about you, but i hate when white people touch my hair. so the first time you swat his hand away from your hair, he’d feel offended and almost hurt. are you upset with him? what did he do?

you had the bathroom door closed; the counter covered in product and a few combs. “babe! i like—really have to use the bathroom!” mike whines from outside the door. you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom since 8 AM. it’s now 11. “fine.” you grumble, opening the door. mike’s eyes widen in shock. not in a bad way, he was just surprised. “wow…i didn’t know you had so much hair…” his hand inches to your hair before you had the chance to slap it away. “no!” you slap his wrist, making him wince and retract his name. “ow! what was that for?!” he shakes his hand, trying to reduce some of the pain. “it’s not done yet.” you turn to the mirror, combing out a section. “well it looks beautiful. you should keep it out like that.” you smile, chuckling a bit. “you mean an afro?”

⇆ eventually, you let him touch your hair at least once. his eyes lit up like a child on christmas day. sometimes, he offers to wash and help keep your hair kempt. always asking if the water is too hot or cold or if he’s hurting you. we love an attentive bf

⇆ i think he fits the stereotype of no seasoning in his food whatsoever. just salt and pepper. now imagine if you gave him some jambalaya…you’d have this man dancing like this. and Abby—she’d beg you to be the cook. no more pizza and spaghetti😈

⇆ on the topic of food…this mf enjoys chitlins…disgusting, ik. but you dragged him and Abby to a cookout for the first time and it was an experience for him. his plate was full of every dish on the table. even your aunties dry as macaroni.

you watch in horror as mike picks up his fourth fork of chitlins, bringing it to his mouth. “what?” he asked. “don’t kiss me until you brush the fuck out of your teeth and disinfect your lips with a clorox wipe.”

[beachy--head]

Drabble, japril, season 8, based on a silly idea that keeps popping up every time I rewatch this scene.

___

Zola Shepherd is one adorable baby.

April’s living with her and her parents, so she has a front-row seat to all things Zola, but as she watches Meredith enters the room with the little girl in her arms for her first birthday party, she’s reminded of how cute the little girl can be.

“Hey, girl!”

“Look who didn’t just wake up, uh?”

Next to her, Jackson seems under the little girl’s spell too, and it’s a sweet thing to witness. It’s not a surprise, because even Alex softens when she’s around, but she still enjoys watching her best friend interact with their friend’s daughter. 

“Look at you! You look so beautiful, look at that bow!”

She would gladly spend her entire evening playing with Zola (parties, even for a child’s birthday, aren’t completely her scene). But Meredith, having spotted Dr. Webber, is quick to move, and April is left with a kind of longing she mostly gets after phone calls with her mother (Karen Kepner is, not surprisingly, a big proponent of having as many grandchildren as possible). Maybe that’s why she shakes her head and speaks before she can think.

“Uuugh, I want one.”

“Not tonight, honey, I’m tired.”

Jackson looks way too proud of his stupid joke, so she swats him.

“Hey!”

“You’re watching too many Friends re-runs.”

“It’s because Zola kept everyone up all night last week when she was teething. We don’t all sleep with earplugs, like someone.”

“You would, if your room was next to Alex’s, which is another reason I need to move. And I wouldn’t wear them if I was taking care of a child.”

“I would. I need my beauty sleep.”

She resists the urge to swat him again, because he’s being impossible today, but opts to pick up on what he just said, because they’ve never really discussed this topic before.

“Hey, you want children in the future?” 

“One day, maybe. Though I don’t know how I’d fare as a dad.”

Jackson complains all the time about his mother (April doesn’t know why, because she still mourns the day she had to unfriend her on Facebook, per her best friend’s forceful request), but he never talks about his father. Up until a drunken night a few months ago, where he mentioned briefly that his father left them and the Avery legacy, April was not even sure if the man was still alive, and there never seemed to be a good moment to ask. She doesn’t need to know his whole family history to give her opinion on that subject, though.

“What? You’d be brilliant. Zola adores you, and all the kids you treat in peds love you. Well, their moms do, too. But mostly the kids. You know how to talk to them without patronizing them.”

Jackson shrugs, a shrug that frustrates her, because God forbid Jackson Avery should accept a genuine compliment about himself. He acts like she’s just said these things to flatter him and not because she genuinely meant what she said.  

“You want kids too, right?”

Redirecting the conversation is another classic Avery move, but she lets it slide for now, because she doesn’t want to argue with him, not when they’re at a party and he seems so relaxed.

“Absolutely. Though, for that, you kind of need to find a partner first, and it’s not like I have a vast array of choice here.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but she cuts him off.

“Please tell me you’re not about to say something cliché like any guy would be lucky to have me. Or suggest that we should do one of these pacts when if we’re both single by the time we’re 33, we have a baby together.”

He chuckles.

“I wasn’t, but hey, it worked for Sloan and Torres. Also, not to brag, but with our genes combined? That kid would be so good-looking. And hella smart.”

April smiles at his assessment, and adds her own input. 

“And… So incredibly stubborn.”

She can’t help but chuckle, trying to imagine a baby Jackson refusing to do what is asked, and a weird, warm feeling spreads through her body.

“And bossy.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s a good quality. When not aimed at me. Helped you become Chief resident.”

“Yeah, because Averys aren’t bossy at all. Have you met your mother?”

He tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, an acknowledgment that the Kepner genes wouldn’t be entirely to blame for this, and it makes her think of something else.

“Your mom would so buy them their first doctor coat on their first birthday.”

“First birthday? Try at birth. Their spot at Mass Gen would be reserved from the first sonogram. Surgery specialty chosen at 2. Also, you’re one to talk. Your parents would buy them a pony.”

“No they wouldn't! Well, first a cat. Then a dog.”

“And then…?”

“Okay, probably a pony.”

They both stay silent, contemplating a life with tiny tornadoes running everywhere, bolstered by extravagant gifts given by two very different, but equally frightening, sets of grandparents, and she can actually fell herself shudder.  

“... Yeah, we can never have kids together.”

“Right? I’m going to make an appointment for a vasectomy right away.”

He laughs when she rolls her eyes, and goes to refill his drink, still chuckling. 

She’s always thought of children as an abstract matter, something she definitely wants (two boys, one girl, with a boy first, then the girl, and a little brother to round them up), but has never actually truly pictured, because it felt so far away in her future, a “someday” thing she has never been close to reaching. But for a few seconds, she lets herself smile at the idea of a mischievous, curious toddler with curly hair and green eyes, full of life and quick-witted, a sight so real she could almost see it. A few more seconds, and she shakes her head, chasing the vision away, and follows Jackson on a quest to find something to drink. 

[kaiijo]

SUGARY SWEET — GOJO SATORU

pairing: gojo satoru x gn! reader content: pining, confessions, mentions of eating notes: highly unedited, this has been in my drafts for ages so

you really couldn’t understand why gojo was staring at you (well, is it staring when he wears his blindfold?), slack-jawed and obviously scandalized. “what?” you ask him. “all i said was that i never really had sweets growing up.”

it’s true; you grew up in one of the lesser clans, one that bowed to the whims of the great zen’in, kamo, and — of course — gojo clans. your parents had been pretty strict about what you did, including what you ate, with your mother always going on and on about how the artificial sugars were unhealthy and would rot your teeth so most of your desserts consisted of fruits in season. you didn’t really mind, but gojo’s making you think that you’re mildly insane for that. 

“so you’ve never tried raindrop cake?”

“no.”

“taiyaki?”

“no.”

gojo pauses and takes a deep breath. “what about mochi?”

“nope,” you say with a shrug. “i’ve already told you, gojo, i wasn’t allowed to eat sweets. my mother always said it would have messed with my cursed technique or something like that.”

gojo frowns. “well, that’s just bullshit. clear your schedule, we’ve got a field trip!”

you reply, “we have classes to teach.”

in an instant, gojo whips out his phone and taps out a message with lightning-fast fingers. when he ceremoniously thumbs at the screen one last time, he flips his phone around to show you a text blast he sent to all your students. 

YOUR FAVORITE SENSEI [8:23 AM]: classes canceled today! don’t do anything i wouldn’t do!

you give him an unimpressed look and say, “yaga’s never going to let that fly.”

gojo leans closer with a conspiratorial smirk. at this distance, you can smell the mint gum he had been chewing earlier on his breath. he lifts his blindfold off with one finger, showcasing those bright blue eyes and says, “who said anything about telling him?” gojo grins when you feel your cheeks start to heat and continues, “change into something cute and meet me at the front gates!” 

with a pat on the head, he turned on his heel and went whistling out of the school building. you obey gojo’s instructions, changing out of your sorcerer’s uniform and into something more casual. gojo’s already at the gates when you arrive, leaning against the structure. he swapped his blindfold for his signature black sunglasses, the frames sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks you up and down. 

you feel suddenly self-conscious as you surreptitiously glance down at your clothes. “something wrong with my outfit?”

he shakes his head. “no, no. i just don’t think i’ve ever seen you out of your uniform.”

“ah.”

he straightens up and bows in a grand gesture. “onwards to the city!”

you walk past him and towards the train station that would take you to tokyo’s metro area. as you trudge ahead, you completely miss the redness to gojo’s ears and the extra bounce in his step. 

you buy your tickets at the station and when you board, gojo sits across from you, long legs bumping into yours as he stretches. you swat them away and ask, “couldn’t you have just teleported us to tokyo? why’re we on the train?”

gojo replies, “what’s the fun in that? it’s the journey, not the destination. besides, train travel’s romantic, don’t you think?” he looks over his frames at you and you try to calm your quickening heart.

the train pulls into tokyo metro station and gojo practically drags you out, weaving through the tourists and tired salarymen (“hey,” he says, pointing at one that looks particularly fed up, “doesn’t that guy look like nanamin?”) until you reach a storefront that’s a pale, bubblegum pink. the chalkboard outside has a cutely drawn manga cat girl and boasts “japan’s best treats!” in bubble letters. 

gojo throws the door open and stands in front of the hostess. you definitely don’t miss the way her eyes light up, practically vibrating with excitement as she eyes him unabashedly. something sour courses through your body as she chirps, “haven’t seen you here in a while, sir.”

you make a face. sir? gojo offers her a charming smile, tilting his head and letting his sunglasses slip down his nose again. “i’ve been busy,” he says, throwing an arm around your shoulder. she startles a little when her eyes land on you, like it’s the first time she’s realizing there’s another person here. 

her smile tightens when gojo asks, “would you mind finding us a table?”

you can feel the animosity radiating off of her as she gives a much less cheery, “sure. right this way,” and brings you two to a table at the wide window that looks out onto the cherry-blossom lined streets. she practically slams your menu down while passing gojo one politely, bowing woodenly and scurrying back to the hostess podium. 

gojo doesn’t even bother looking at the menus when the waiter comes over to the table. before he can even say anything, gojo declares, “we’ll take one of everything, please!”

you gawk at him. there had to be at least twenty items… there’s no way— “coming right up!” chimes the waiter as he goes off to place your orders before you could stop him. 

“why would you do that?” 

gojo answers, “we have to make up for years of a sugarless childhood!”

“but this is twenty-seven—”

“just trust me on this, okay?”

“fine.”

the desserts all come out together — plates and plates of pastel-colored sweets and clear jellies injected with vibrant colors — and you’re a little embarrassed as the rest of the establishment watches your waiter pull over another table to fit everything. 

gojo claps his hands together, grinning like a kid in the candy story (technically, he is). “which one do you want to try first?”

your eyes take in all the items and you want to be excited to try them, but it just looks like a pastel color wheel threw up on your frilly tablecloth. instead, you tell gojo, “you choose. you know better than me.”

stroking his chin thoughtfully, gojo points at a pink mochi shaped like a cat. “these are limited-edition! try these!”

you gingerly pinch the little rice cake between your fingertips, examining it from paw to whisker before you (savagely) bite off half the cat-mochi’s face. the taste of strawberries bursts across your tongue and spreads through your mouth, paired with the undeniable sweetness of way too much sugar. 

you can’t stop the pleased hum that leaves your lips and you pointedly ignore gojo’s proud simper as you chomp away at the second half of the cat. he practically pushes a raindrop cake at you next, a refreshing coolness from the cloyingly sweet mochi and the following bitterness of the melting matcha ice cream. 

you don’t know how much time has passed until you and gojo have eaten through the twenty-something sweet treats he ordered. (it’s twenty-nine, but who’s counting). you feel like your teeth might just fall off from the sheer amount of sucrose you consumed — maybe your mother hadn’t simply been trying to scare you off when she mentioned your teeth rotting from sugar… 

still, you as you two make your way back to the train station, you concede: “okay, i’ll admit the sweets were pretty good, but i think my mouth needs a month to recover.”

you mentally applaud gojo’s restraint in not making a ‘that’s what she said’ joke, a habit he passed to yuuji recently that you’ve made a mental note to break. instead, he replies, “guess you’ll have to start that recovery a little later because…” gojo pauses for dramatic effect before he reaches behind him and produces a small white cake box wrapped in blue string. “i’ve still got one more thing for you to try!”

“gojo, i think we tried all their cakes there.”

“no, no, no! this one’s special! open it!” he shoves it into your chest. 

cautiously, you let the strings fall away and you crack the lid open to see a neatly frosted blue cake with white lettering that asks: “go on a date with me please?” and beside it is a chibi-headed version of gojo, rendered in blue frosting, with a pleading look on its face. 

you glance up at him from the cake in suspicion. “are you joking?”

he raises an eyebrow. “no. these are my feelings. i really mean it. i want to take you out on a date.”

you blink at him and then the cake and back at him and the train in pulling into the station. you both wordlessly step on and it’s a surprisingly silent ride back, boring without gojo’s constant commentary about the going-ons around him. you don’t particularly mind the quiet, save for the whooshing of the train, as you mull over gojo’s proposal.

it’s… flattering. really, really flattering.

you bite back a smile, still staring down at the cake box. 

it’s only when you return to the schoolgrounds that you say, “i’d love to go on a date with you, gojo.”

he snorts, “it took you that long to consider?”

“on second thought…”

“no, wait! there are no take-backs!”

[homelanderbutbig]

His Very Own All-Star Chef (G/T Homelander x Reader)

810 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You made soup and he likes soup.

It's been a quiet evening for you, cooking dinner alone in Homelander's penthouse. You have the day off today, so you thought you'd try making a new recipe, something special. You are thankful Homelander put the large pot on the stovetop for you before he left for work this morning, as it's far too heavy for you to lift by yourself.

You've had a peaceful day by yourself preparing a hearty beef and vegetable soup, making triple the recipe called for as you are aware of how much Homelander can eat.

Regardless of having a state-of-the-art custom kitchen, you know for a fact he's never cooked a day in his life, preferring to have his food catered by the Vought chefs and brought up to him. But he is deeply touched by you taking the time to cook homemade meals for him, even though during the first instance you didn't make nearly enough to satiate his hunger. You've since learned to adjust the recipe sizes to make sure he always has enough to eat, and in turn he always makes sure to shower his very own all-star chef with his most fervent praises.

Standing up on a set of steps, as Homelander's kitchen is too tall for you to reach on just your feet, you add in the final seasonings to the soup as it nears completion. You're enjoying the relaxing ambience, listening to the soup bubble as you stir on autopilot, hoping that your dinner tastes as good as it smells.

Suddenly, you jump as you are startled by what feels like a brick wall behind you. There is a laugh coming from above you as the 'brick wall' expands and contracts from the jest. You sigh as you look straight up, seeing Homelander grinning as he gazes down at you, although his face is slightly obscured by his pecs.

"How many times have I asked you not to sneak up on me like that?" you attempt to scold him, even though you can't hide the smile forming on your face. As annoying as he can be sometimes, you are always happy to see him when he comes home from work.

"I couldn't help myself," he chuckles, as he rests his big ungloved hand on your shoulder. "You're so cute when I scare you."

You place your hand on top of his, wrapping it around his fingers. Away from his penthouse, he very rarely takes his gloves off as he prefers not to touch the undeserving outside world. But when he is alone with you, he adores feeling your gentle touches on his hands, and returning his affections by caressing every inch of your face.

"And what do we have here?" Homelander asks, leaning down a bit closer to you. He is all smiles as he smells the air, closing his eyes while he takes in your hard day's work. Your efforts that were all for him.

"It's a beef and veggie soup," you tell him, still stirring the pot with your other hand. "It's a new recipe, I've been busy chopping all day. I'm not sure how good it turned out though."

"Well, it smells great," he says as he moves his hand from your shoulder to your thighs, lifting you up to his chest. You weigh absolutely nothing to him, but he loves to feel your body cradled in his arm with your head up close to his own.

"Hey!" you squeal as you are abruptly brought up into the air, giving him a playful swat on his pecs. "I can't finish cooking from up here!"

He can't help but laugh. He is so fond of how you do such simple things to remind him of his humanity, how easily you bring him back down to earth after a grueling day of being Vought's supe poster boy.

"I think it's done babe," he smirks. "Here, let me see."

He reaches down and grabs the pot with his free hand, completely unfazed from the strong heat on his bare skin. After one last smell, he brings the pot up to his mouth to take an ample sip. He tilts his head back as he swallows, his eyes closed while he licks his lips, savouring the soup you made special just for him.

"Is it good?" you question, even though you're pretty sure you already know the answer.

Opening his eyes, you spot the sly expression on his face as he brings you in for a kiss. Homelander kisses you so warmly and softly, letting you taste the soup on his lips. When he finally parts, your noses are still touching allowing you to feel his deep breaths dance across your face. You can see how dilated his pupils are, his fluttering eyes solely focused on you, on how much he loves you.

You take that as a yes.

[cyberneticfallout]

Chapter Four: Knight Titus

Ch 1 - Ch 2 - Ch 3 - Ch 4 - Ch 5 - Ch 6 - Ch 7 - Ch 8 - Ch 9 - Ch 10 - More Coming Soon

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader Summary: A chance encounter with the Brotherhood of Steel allows you to escape the gulper and continue your journey. Tags: Slow burn (and I mean SLOWWW), angst, eventual smut, language, canon-typical violence, more tags will be added Posted on AO3: Smoothie and The Ghoul Word Count: 1.4k

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“My lord! I’ve got you! Knight Titus!”

“I’m going in! I got you!”

Muffled shouts and piercing screams echo through the air as the gulper you've been trapped inside starts to emit a deep rumble. Suddenly, the creature violently regurgitates you, along with its stomach and its contents spilling out. Gasping and retching, you find yourself drenched in gulper bile.

"How the hell am I still alive?!" you shout, bewildered. "And why does it have so many damn fingers?!"

"Who are you?" a nervy man asks, clutching the head of the doctor.

"That's my head, give it back!" you demand, reaching for it, only to have your hand swatted away by another man. Looking up, you see a towering Knight of the Brotherhood standing over you.

"Oh, it's the flying garbage can," you remark nonchalantly, recognizing the distinctive power armor of the Brotherhood from the claw marks you had observed when the knight had soared above you a few days earlier.

"Do not show disrespect to my lord! This is Knight Titus of the Brotherhood of Steel! And I am his squire, Thaddeus!" the squire interjects, his voice filled with righteous indignation.

"Shut up, you little weasel," you retort.

"What's a weasel?" Thaddeus mutters to the knight, his confusion evident as he seeks clarification on the insult hurled his way. In response, the knight simply gives a shrug.

"Who are you, and how did you end up inside that gulper?" Knight Titus demands, his voice resonating with authority.

"I don't have time for you tin cans!" you dismissively huff, frustration evident in your voice as you lunge at Thaddeus, causing him to shriek in terror. The dog, miraculously still present, begins barking loudly at the commotion. Amidst the chaos, Knight Titus remains motionless, silently observing the scene.

“My lord! She’s feral!” Thaddeus cries out in fear, clinging to the head.

"Just give me the damn head! And stop squealing like that," you demand, your voice laced with irritation as you mindlessly slap Thaddeus in your disoriented state. As a seasoned bounty hunter, you are typically much more composed and intimidating, but the ordeal of being trapped inside a gulper's stomach has left your mind foggy and your actions uncharacteristically erratic.

You hear heavy footsteps approaching, unmistakably the sound of power armor. Knight Titus lifts you up by the collar of your shirt, leaving you suspended in the air while Thaddeus manages to stand up.

“Why are you so mean?” Thaddeus exclaims earnestly.

“She’s a bounty hunter,” Knight Titus confirms, his tone steady and authoritative as he presumably looks you over. It’s always so hard to tell what those damn Brotherhood Knights are thinking. Without warning, he offers a brief apology before delivering a powerful punch to your face, sending you spiraling into unconsciousness.

Head pounding, you gradually sit up and survey your surroundings, realizing that the two men and the head are nowhere to be seen. Even the dog has skipped out on you, leaving you alone. Luckily, your bag is still with you, and you begin to rummage through it in search of any meds. Upon finding the vials you used to bribe the ghoul, now broken and rendered useless, you let out a frustrated breath. "Yeah, he definitely wasn’t coming back for me," you mutter.

With a sense of relief, you salvage a single stimpak and a supply of rad-away from your bag and use both items. Covered in a grimy mixture of gulper bile, dirt, and dried blood, you realize that it's definitely time for wash. Seeing no signs of any creatures around, you determine you’re in the clear to safely wash.

Without bothering to shed your soiled clothes and armor, reasoning that they could use a good wash as well, you wade into the cool waters of the flooded ruins. The water envelops you, washing away the layers of grime and filth that cling to your skin and clothes. The coolness soothes your aching muscles and clears your mind.

After what feels like an eternity, you emerge from the water, feeling slightly refreshed. As you step out onto the dry soil, the sun begins to set, casting a warm glow over the wasteland. You begin to wonder where the ghoul could’ve gone. He obviously dragged the vault dweller with him and needs more of those vials. Unfortunately the few vials you had you scavenged off of feral ghouls you took down so you truly have no clue where one goes to purchase them.

Your boots squish with every step, a sensation you despise, but there's little you can do about it. Glancing down, you notice that your clothes are worse for wear, prompting you to make a mental note to buy something new, by wasteland standards, at the next settlement you come across. You sort through your bag, discarding any broken or unnecessary items. All that remains is some ammo, a canister of somewhat purified water, a small stash of caps, and the Pip-Boy you seldom use. I wonder if there's a Super Duper Mart nearby, you think to yourself.

Throwing the bag over your shoulder and ensuring your weapons are secure, you set out in search of a store to scavenge. Concerned that your weapons may be too soaked to function properly, you make sure you still have the large hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The darkness begins to descend, but you remain determined to press forward, keeping a watchful eye for anything dangerous.

As you navigate through the fading light, your eyes scan the horizon for any signs of civilization. The wasteland stretches out before you, a desolate expanse of ruins and decay. The only sound is the distant howling of the wind, carrying with it the haunting whispers of the forgotten world.

The landscape begins to change, the remnants of buildings becoming more frequent. You spot the crumbling remains of what was once a small town. You check each building cautiously but nothing of value is found. In one building, you come across a dead ghoul with a gunshot wound to the head and… whose ass cheeks have been stripped for meat. This world is unforgiving but the idea of resorting to cannibalism is something you simply cannot fathom and hope to never encounter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a decrepit stairwell and carefully head upstairs. At the top, a cozy setup greets you - a dirty mattress, an oil lamp, and a few old yum-yum deviled eggs. This must have been the makeshift home of the ghoul from below. Despite his grim fate, you're thankful for the somewhat snug spot to rest for the night. You aren’t too concerned about whatever cannibal stripped him of meat since they are most likely long gone by now. Settling down on the mattress, your eyes grow heavy and you swiftly fall asleep.

As you slowly awake to the morning light filtering through the boarded-up window, you feel a tugging sensation on your left leg. Startled, you look down to see a tiny radroach attempting to nibble on you. Reacting quickly with a loud shriek, you kick its face and draw your knife, stabbing it repeatedly until it stops moving. Taking a deep breath, you lean back against the wall and open the yum-yum deviled eggs. Chewing through them, you defiantly welcome the day with a loud “Good fucking morning to you, too, wasteland!”

After finishing the deviled eggs and taking a swig of water, you prepare for the day ahead. Double-checking the contents of your bag and inspecting your weapons that had gotten wet the day before, everything appears to be in working order. Satisfied, you descend the stairs and step out through the front door. The scorching heat of the day is already intense, with the sun's rays beating down on the sandy ground. Your attention is drawn to a trail of footprints, two distinct pairs, which prompts you to follow out of curiosity.

With each step, the trail of footprints becomes more defined, leading you closer to the ruins of a city. The skeletal remains of skyscrapers loom ahead of you, their shattered windows like hollow eyes, observing your progress. The trail winds its way through the eerie maze of desolation, navigating past rusted cars and collapsed structures. Before you know it, you hear a man and woman talking up ahead in front of a Super Duper Mart. You quickly hide behind a nearby building and peer around the corner

It’s that fucking ghoul and vault dweller.

Tag List: @fallout-girl219 @ellabellabunny123 @sunnexaltation

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 3: Reality TV

Words: 1761

Read on AO3

-

“What the hell is ‘Celebrity Bake Off’?” Beca asked, her eyes briefly flicking up from the dough she was kneading. 

“The clue is kind of in the name, Beca,” Theo replied, taking a seat up at the kitchen island and accepting the coffee Chloe handed to him with a nod. “It’s the celebrity version of ‘The Great British Baking Show’.”

“‘Great British Bake Off’,” Chloe corrected. “That’s what they call it over there.”

“Yeah, c’mon Theo, aren’t you meant to be British?” Beca asked. She dropped the dough into a glass bowl and covered it with a dish towel, before washing her hands and drying them on the front of her apron.

“I was just testing you,” Theo said. “So in a few minutes when you try and tell me you’ve never watched the show, I can call you a liar.”

“Why would I say I’d never seen the show? We watch it every year,” Beca asked. 

“Because they want you to appear on the next season of Celebrity Bake Off.”

“Me?” Beca asked, eyebrows shooting into her hairline. 

“No, Chloe,” Theo said, rolling his eyes. “Of course you. You’re the only celebrity in the room.”

Beca pulled a face. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”

Theo sighed and turned his head to where Beca’s platinum record hung on the wall before turning back to look at her. “Are you interested or not?”

“Of course not,” Beca said. “Why would I want to go on reality TV?”

“It’s hardly reality TV,” Theo replied. “It’s not like I’m asking you to go on that show where they make you eat bugs and shit, this is Bake Off we’re talking about. It’s cosy and inoffensive and everyone loves it. It’s not like it’ll be a big time commitment, you’d only be in one episode.”

“Yeah, not a big time commitment other than that I’d have to travel to England.”

“Well it just so happens that the filming coincides with your UK tour dates, so you’ll be there anyway,” Theo said, grinning smugly. 

“I’m not going on TV, Theo,” Beca said. “I’ll make an idiot of myself, I can barely handle doing interviews let alone something like this.”

“You’ll do great,” Theo said, waving a hand at her as if he was swatting away her arguments. “And you won’t make an idiot of yourself because you happen to be a pretty good baker.”

“I bake as a way to unwind,” Beca counters. “I find it relaxing and what goes on in that tent is anything but relaxing.”

“Yeah, to normal contestants,” Theo said. “It means something to them, they’re baking for their lives. There are no stakes for you. You turn up, bake three things and then leave. If it goes bad, who cares?”

“Why are you pushing for this? Why do they even want me in the first place?”

“Because you suck at self-promotion and this is a great opportunity for people to see your face,” Theo said. “They want you because you’re a big deal. They want people to tune in and donate and all that shit. Plus you had that whole Twitter exchange with Paul Hollywood, the seed has already been planted.”

Beca sighed. She knew she’d come to regret that drunken tweet sent to Paul Hollywood where she’d asked if she could hang out in the tent for a day “just to help take care of any leftover cakes”.

“What did you mean by donate?” Chloe asked, trying not to smirk at the look on Beca’s face as she contemplated actually having to do this.

“Oh,” Theo said, his voice brightening. “That’s the best part! It’s all for charity!”

“What charity?” Chloe asked.

“Um, let me check,” Theo said, pulling up his phone as if he didn’t already know off the top of his head. As if he didn’t know this would be the final thing to convince Beca to do this. “Stand up to Cancer,” he said.

Beca looked at him and then turned to look at Chloe. Chloe shrugged and smiled.

“God dammit, Theo.”

-

“On your marks, get set, bake!” 

Beca looked down at her carefully typed-out recipe and told herself to breathe. 

They wanted 8 of her signature brownies. Easy. She could whip up a batch of brownies in her sleep.

So why did she feel so nervous?

She shook herself out of it and focused on mixing the batter, hoping that her hands would have stopped shaking by the time Paul and Prue made their way to her. 

The morning passed in a blur. Her brownies got rave reviews though were not quite handshake-worthy. 

Beca had recognised two out of the other three contestants - a teenage member of a boy band that she met at the Grammys last year, and a talk show host who interviewed her during her first UK tour a few years before that. The final contestant was a Scottish comedian whom Beca wasn’t familiar with, but whom the others in the group seemed to know well.

After a break to film some interviews outside the tent, they were ushered back for the technical challenge and were told they’d have to make 12 identical pieces of shortbread. 

The Scottish comedian cheered and clapped his hands. 

“Do we have to even bake now?” The talk show host asked. “Can’t he just have first place and save us the time?”

Beca looked down at the provided recipe and tried not to smile

“Beca, how are we feeling about shortbread?” Host Noel Fielding asked as he approached with co-host Alison Hammond. 

“I’m feeling okay,” she said. “Shortbread is like my wife’s favourite thing, I make it pretty often for her.”

“Ah, so we’re quietly confident?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. James over there is loudly confident, I can be quietly confident.”

“So, Beca, tell us why Stand up to Cancer is so important to you?”

Beca knew they were going to ask that question. Before filming started they were told that they’d all be asked it at some point during the day and that the producers would hand-pick a couple to air on the show, but it still seemed to catch her off-guard. 

She felt a lump in her throat and found it hard to raise her eyes from her shortbread dough. 

“Well my, um, my wife Chloe was diagnosed with breast cancer about five years ago,” Beca said. “Thankfully she managed to beat it, but if it wasn’t for charities like Stand up to Cancer, then she might not be here and that’s… well, it’s unthinkable really.”

They thanked her for sharing and wished her good luck with the bake, and Beca had to shake herself out of the memories before she got lost in them. 

She turned her attention back to the shortbread and hoped that she’d have enough left over at the end of the day to take back to the hotel room where Chloe was waiting for her. 

“And that means first place are these,” Prue said, gesturing to Beca’s stack of perfect shortbread.

The other contestants clapped and someone patted Beca on the back.

“This is cultural appropriation!” The comedian called out, head in his hands after his shortbread landed him in last place.

“First place,” Beca said to the camera during her last interview of the day. “Not bad.” There’s a hint of surprise in her voice and a small smile on her face. 

When she makes it back to the hotel that evening, Chloe is lying on the bed reading. 

“How did it go?” She asked, smiling and putting her book down. 

“Yeah, pretty good,” Beca replied. “I brought you something back.” She hands Chloe a box filled with her leftover shortbread. 

“Are these yours or did you swipe them from another contestant?” Chloe asked before taking a bite. She let out a small moan as her eyes closed in pleasure. “Forget I asked, I know these are yours.”

Beca laughed and joined her wife on the bed. When they kissed, Beca could taste the sugar on her lips. 

-

The next day passed quicker than the first with only one final bake left to do, and Beca got back at the hotel by dinner with a box of profiteroles, macarons, and a slice of thick rich chocolate cake.

“Well?” Chloe asked, biting into a macaron. “How did you do?”

Beca shrugged. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Come on, you’re really not going to tell me?”

Beca mimed zipping her lips. “The show airs in three months, I think you can wait until then.”

-

“And the winner of the Star Baker apron is… Beca!” 

On the couch beside her, Chloe squealed and wrapped Beca in a hug. “I knew it!”

On the TV Beca is being interviewed in her Star Baker apron, but neither Beca nor Chloe could hear over the sound of their other friends cheering in the background. 

Chloe insisted on having a watch-along party for Beca’s episode, Beca had insisted that she’d rather die than have to watch herself on TV, but as usual, Chloe won.

“I was honestly pretty pleased when I won it, but after watching the episode back it looks like I was the only one who even knew how to turn an oven on,” Beca said, rolling her eyes but grinning as Chloe pressed another kiss against her cheek. 

“I knew you’d win,” Chloe said. 

“Told you you wouldn’t embarrass yourself,” Theo said. 

Beca waved him off. “You were bound to be right about something eventually.”

“What made you decide to do it?” A co-worker asked, grabbing one of the cookies Beca had made for the occasion.

“I mean, you heard me on the show,” Beca said, referring to the segment when Beca had talked about Chloe’s diagnosis. She hadn’t expected they’d use her soundbite, or even that they’d throw up some photos Beca had taken at around that time. The room had gone completely silent, and her hand had found Chloe’s quickly. “My wife’s here because of a cancer treatment that might not exist without charities that fund research. Once I heard it was raising money for that, it was a no-brainer.” A few people nodded and murmured their understanding, but the room was still quiet. “Plus I knew Chloe wanted me to, charity or not, and Chloe always gets her way.”

“It’s true,” Chloe agreed. “Though you didn’t tell me that you’d won, even though I was pestering you for weeks.”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“Babe, I found that apron in your suitcase the second we got home. I’ve known for months.”

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 12

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 2,468

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

Read on Ao3

You wake the next morning with the intention of working, as you told Gwaine you would, but as your mind wanders over breakfast, you devise an entirely different plan. It will still require time and some effort, but not a bit of sewing.

You grab your basket and head to the market, purchasing an array of foodstuffs: bread, cheese, fresh fruits, apple juice made at the local orchard, and from a small shopfront you hadn’t noticed before today, pies. Once your basket is filled with your purchases, you bring them back to your chambers, where you put the pies into a lidded pot and build a small fire in the grate to warm them up again. You gather plates, cups and cutlery from the cupboard and add them to the basket, as well as a chopping board and the now warmed-up pies, then cover everything over with a tea towel and head out.

You knock on Gwaine’s door once you arrive and are greeted by a smiling Merlin.

“She’s here!” He says cheerfully.

He ushers you inside and you place the basket down on the nearby table.

“(Y/N), I’ve been eagerly awaiting your visit,” Gwaine says from across the room, where he is sitting in bed, pillows behind his back propping him up.

You shoot him a smile before turning back to Merlin. “Could you help me with something, Merlin?”

“Of course,” He replies.

“Can you help me move this table over there,” You gesture toward Gwaine’s bed.

He nods and you each take an end of the table and lift it, carefully shifting it across the room and setting it down beside the bed. You head back to bring the chairs and Gwaine leans over the side of the bed, reaching for the basket.

“What’s all this about?”

You tuck the chair you were carrying under the table and swat Gwaine’s hand away playfully.

“Have patience,” You pull the basket towards you. “Would you care to join us, Merlin?” 

You lift the edge of the tea towel, so only you and Merlin can see within. He leans forward to inspect the contents and grins.

“That is very tempting, but I think I’ll leave you two to enjoy that,” He heads for the door. “Bye Gwaine, (Y/N),”

He gives one last smile to you both before leaving the room.

“The suspense is killing me,” Gwaine says.

“Well,” You throw off the tea towel and begin laying out the plates, cups and cutlery. “I thought that since you’re not well enough for us to go out for another picnic,” You set down the chopping board, placing the bread and fruit on it. “That I would bring the picnic to you,”

You set out the cheese and uncork the bottle of apple juice, pouring some into each cup before finally placing a pie on each plate. Gwaine looks at the feast before him with wide eyes, then rests his gaze on you.

“You are truly angelic, you know that?”

You laugh. “Well, they do say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,”

“Not the only way,” He shakes his head and grins. “But it’s definitely one,”

You pick up your pie, lifting it up to your mouth. “The owner of the pie shop these are from said that his pies are the best in Camelot. Shall we try?”

He nods eagerly and picks up his own pie. You both take a bite at the same time, followed by a few seconds of silence, before Gwaine closes his eyes and sighs.

“The verdict?” You ask once you’ve swallowed your mouthful.

“I don’t have words,”

You both grin and continue eating the delicious pies until they’re finished, before picking at the other foods, trying different things, talking about the flavours and good places to go in the market. Gwaine speaks of funny times him and the other knights have had on patrol and at the tavern, and of some of his own misadventures before he came to Camelot.

He takes a swig of apple juice, frowning as he lowers the cup from his lips. “Hang on… you bought all of this from the market?”

“I did,” You reply.

“You paid for all this?”

“Yes, I’m not in the habit of not paying,” You smirk.

His face falls. “For our picnic, I got all the food from the palace kitchens. I didn’t need to pay for anything,”

“That’s alright, Gwaine, I wanted to do this,”

“But it’s hardly fair,”

“Well, even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could get free food from the palace kitchens. You’re a knight of the round table and I’m just a dressmaker,”

“You’re not just any dressmaker,” Gwaine replies. “You clothe the king and queen,”

“True, but still, it just isn’t the same as being a knight. I don’t risk my life in service of the crown. The most injury I’ll ever have to deal with in my job is a prick in the finger,” You smile. “Anyway, please don’t fret. I chose to invest in this array of delights before us, and I am happy with my decision,”

“I just hope you didn’t spend money you might need for yourself,”

“I didn’t,” You assure him. “Since being employed here, I’ve never had to go hungry again. In fact, I have a bit more than I know what to do with,” You chuckle. “I have a roof over my head and do not pay rent. If I am unwell, I can see the physician at no cost. The only thing I need to worry about is food, and I’ve been able to buy things I couldn’t afford before, like fresh fruit and custard buns,” You grin.

“You’re happy here, then?” Gwaine asks.

“I am,” You smile, finishing off your apple juice. “Unfortunately, I really should get going,” You sigh, standing up. “I need to work on these harvest outfits if they’re to be ready in time for the feast,”

“I’ll help you pack up,” Gwaine stands as well.

“No! You don’t need to do that,” You gesture for him to sit.

“It’s quite alright, (Y/N). I can handle putting things into a basket,”

You do not protest further, allowing him to help you pack things away.

“You don’t want to keep some of the leftovers for your dinner?” You ask.

Gwaine grimaces. “My dinner’s brought up from the kitchens,”

“Ah, another of your knightly privileges. More for me then,” You smirk.

Once everything is packed back into the basket, Gwaine walks you to the door.

“Thank you, (Y/N). Today was… really nice,”

“You’re very welcome,” You smile.

“I don’t just mean the food either,” He grins. “I loved spending time with you today. Also,” He takes your free hand in his. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you,”

“Ask away,”

“Would you… like to go to the harvest feast with me?”

“Go with you? As in…”

“As in I pick you up from you your quarters, we walk there arm in arm and arrive together, where everyone will remark what a handsome pair we are,” He grins. “Then we feast… there’ll be music and maybe dancing. It’ll be a merry time. So, what do you say?”

“That sounds wonderful, I’d love to go with you,” You beam.

“Excellent,” Gwaine clasps his hands excitedly. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your work,”

“I should say, I may not be able to visit tomorrow, since I need to catch up on my sewing, so don’t expect me,”

“Alright,” He sighs exaggeratedly. “You will be missed,”

~

With the harvest feast less than two weeks away, you focus your attention on completing the king and queen’s outfits. You spend the entire next day sewing, working from morning until last light, with the next two days being almost the same, apart from short visits with Gwaine.

After visiting him on the second day, you stop by the royal chambers to ask the queen if she’ll be available some time tomorrow to try on her finished gown. Excited to hear of its completion, she says she should have the mid-afternoon free, and that she’ll send word when she knows an exact time. Realising that you need to arrange to see the king as well, without spoiling the surprise for Gwen, you head to Merlin and Gaius’ chambers.

You knock on the door once you arrive and are greeted by Gaius, who informs you that Merlin is busy with his duties. You ask if you may leave a message and he gives you a piece of paper, a quill and ink, and you write a short note and leave it with him.

The next morning, you look over the garments, trimming away any loose threads that you missed. You put your scissors down when you hear a knock on your door and cross the room to answer it.

“Hello,” Merlin smiles. “The king and queen will see you at three o’clock,”

“Both of them?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it worked out. The secret will not be spoiled until the right time,” He assures you. “May I see what you’ve been working on?”

You show him inside, leading him to the worktable where the gown and doublet are laid out.

“Wow,” He leans over the garments, inspecting the details. “These are amazing. You know,” He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “This will surely be the nicest thing Arthur’s ever worn,”

~

You arrive at the royal chambers, basket in hand, where Merlin answers your knock at the door. You step inside to find the king and queen sitting at the table. You exchange greetings, first sharing a sly glance with the king and Merlin, then looking to Gwen.

“Would you like to try on your gown now, my lady?”

“I would love to,” She stands, smiling brightly. “I have been so excited to see it,”

You glance at Merlin, who discreetly flicks his eyes to something behind you. You turn around, following his gaze and spot the dressing screen. You look back at Merlin and nod, before shifting your gaze back to the queen.

“If you could just wait for me behind the screen, my lady, I will bring the gown to you,”

Gwen nods and crosses the room, stepping behind the screen. Once she is out of view, you place your basket on the table and remove Gwen’s gown, revealing the doublet underneath. You wordlessly pass the doublet to Merlin and Arthur carefully stands, lifting his chair as he does so, to prevent it from scraping on the floor. Leaving them to it, you take the gown to Gwen.

“I just need some help with the last few fastenings,” Gwen says once you arrive, the back of her current gown partially open.

You drape the new gown over the screen to free your hands and assist Gwen. Once she is in just her undergarments, you help her into the new gown, discreetly peeking around the screen to check the king’s progress. Merlin gives you a thumbs up and you finish closing the back of Gwen’s new gown.

“All done,” You say as you close the final fastening just below the nape of her neck.

She turns around and steps out from behind the screen, glancing into the antechamber. She spots the king, wearing his new doublet, and gasps, covering her mouth with her hands.

“Arthur!” She beams, striding to her husband to embrace him.

“I wanted to surprise you,” He smiles over her shoulder.

Gwen steps back and grasps the king’s arm, leading him across the room to the mirror to view their outfits side-by-side.

“We look wonderful,” She kisses the king’s cheek and turns to face you. “Thank you, (Y/N), they are perfect,”

“Everything is comfortable? There is still time to make adjustments, if need be,” You reply.

“Mine fits like a glove,” Gwen says, before looking at her husband. “Arthur?”

“It’s extremely comfortable,” He replies, earning him a nudge from Gwen. “And it looks very nice. Thank you,”

“I’m glad that you are pleased,” You smile.

“Will you be coming to the harvest feast?” Gwen asks as she leads the king back into the antechamber.

“I will. Sir Gwaine asked me to go with him,”

You spot Merlin smile from across the room.

“Oh good. I’d hoped he would,” Gwen says, looking pleased.

~

The king and queen’s outfits get you thinking. You know that some couples or sweethearts discuss their outfits prior to an event, so that they might match. With this in mind, you decide to stop by Gwaine’s chambers before heading back to your own.

Gwaine answers the door when you knock and steps aside so you may enter. You notice the other knights in the room, Sirs Elyan and Leon seated at the table, and Sir Percival perched on the edge of Gwaine’s bed, likely due to there not being enough chairs.

Leon stands. “We’ll leave you to it,”

“No, please, I’m not going to stay long,” You gesture for them all to stay seated, then turn your attention to Gwaine. “I just wanted to ask what you’ll be wearing to the harvest feast?”

“What I’ll be wearing?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose my knight’s kit, like we always do to these kind of events,”

He looks around at his comrades who all nod to confirm. You hum thoughtfully, a bit disappointed it isn’t something more exciting. You glance behind Gwaine at his friends at the table, who are kitted out in their mail and cloaks.

“Would I look any good in scarlet?” You mumble to yourself.

“I think you would,” Gwaine says in a low voice.

“Anyway,” You snap back to attention. “That was all. You boys enjoy the rest of your day.

You smile and give the knights a small wave before returning to your chambers.

Your first musings are of a red gown, but that feels too obvious and uninspired. You ponder the knights’ uniform: silver chainmail, scarlet cape, gold embroidery… surely you can think something up. But do you have time to make anything? You’ve finished the king and queen’s attire and you don’t have any other jobs, so you should be able to handle making something for yourself, but are you being foolish? Perhaps you should just pick out something you already own and add some accessories to make it a bit more special? No, you long for something fresh and new.

You sketch out designs in your journal, spending hours doing so, until the sun has set and you must work by candlelight. You have a simple meal for dinner that requires no cooking, so that you might continue sketching while you eat, popping food in your mouth with one hand while the other scratches away at the parchment.

[satashiiwrites]

From Scorched Earth, A Phoenix Rises, Chapter 8

A bit ahead of schedule.

Title: From Scorched Earth, a Phoenix Rises, Chapter 8

Fandom: 911, Hawaii 5-0

Pairing: Buddie, McDanno, BuckTommy (breakup), minor Deacon/Hondo (SWAT, platonic) and Reyes Vidal/Scott Ryder (Mass Effect Andromeda)

Tags/warnings: (eventual) explicit sex, canon divergence from end of season 7, character bashing (Tommy Kinard, Helena Diaz), child abuse, canon typical violence, sentinel/guide AU, spirit animals, anchors, BuckTommy breakup (this fic is very not friendly to Tommy Kinard), first time, Bad Diaz Parents

Summary: An anchor, however fragile, can keep even an offline sentinel from manifesting as long as it is maintained. When his anchor is removed, Eddie Diaz enters a deep zone.  Can Buck, a long unattached guide, save his best friend from slipping away?

They land in LA just as the sun sets and are met on the tarmac by their ride—an old military buddy of Steve’s named Hondo. Hondo was a marine that somehow, in some country they’re not supposed to talk about, worked with Steve and maybe, from the familiarity with which Buck’s name rolls off Hondo’s tongue, with Buck too. 

Danny is going to shake his sentinel later to get the details. There were sentinel shenanigans involved, and Steve needs to be discouraged from repeating them. 

Hondo is shadowed by his SWAT second in command, Deacon Kay, whose guide presence is smooth as butter the way it creeps up on you, but his shielding is rock solid when Danny encounters them. He’s more than mildly impressed with Deacon, who simply nods, acknowledging that Danny is the more powerful guide, and metaphorically bares his throat, beta to alpha, in submission.

Danny thinks if it came down to it, he could take down Deacon’s shields, but he’d be exhausted from doing it. Man has humility, which is appreciated, and doesn’t make it a pissing match. Danny also clocks that Hondo isn’t online, but his vaguely sentinel-flavored aura matches Deacon’s, which is interesting but not the point of their trip. 

“There was a major empathic event in LA this morning,” Hondo informs them. “Seems like Kid and his work partner Diaz were the cause. They’re at UCLA, and the Center has been busy putting out fires ever since.”

Read Chapter 8 here on AO3