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violetflowerswrites · 2 months

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Taking it Slow

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

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

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

Word Count: 4.5k

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

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Masterlist Here

…

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

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

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

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

tick

tock

It’s

only

freakin

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.

….

#swat #swat cbs #cbs swat #jim street #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street smut #jim street x reader #street x reader #swat imagine #swat fic #swat smut

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autistic-brushstrokes · 3 months

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

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

Tan: *Finds tortilla chips.*

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

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thekennyjohnson · 5 months

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

#luca #dominique luca #kenny johnson #SWAT #cbs swat #swat cbs #kj

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bullet-prooflove · 7 months

Text

Reputation - Donovan Rocker x Reader (NSFW)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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#donovan rocker x reader #donovan rocker x you #donovan rocker #rocker x reader #cbs swat #swat 2017 #swat cbs #swat

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chosenimagines · 1 year

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i have a swat obsession and there is not much about swat out there *sobbs uncontrolably*

and the stuff there is is not much my stuff

AND THERE IS EVEN LESS ABOUT MY BOY TAN AND IT BREAKS MY HEART

#swat #swat 2017 #swat cbs #cbs swat #s.w.a.t. cbs #S.W.A.T #s.w.a.t.#victor tan #swat victor tan #daniel hondo harrelson #david deacon kay #jim street #chris alonso #dominic luca #why why why #i just want to cry #i just want some content about my fav peepz #where is content about my boy?! sob

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striswashappyalexandlinaandswat · 1 year

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S.W.A.T premiered 5 years ago today on CBS and thanks to swatcbs and Jay for this😊🤩😍❤️So young they look when it all started😮🫣

#swat cbs #swat #chris alonso #lina esco #jim street #alex russell #s.w.a.t.#cbs swat #jay harrington #david bradley lim #hondo harrelson #shemar moore #kenneth johnson #dominic luca #victor tan #deacon kay

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24-david · 2 months

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Nothing to Lose

S.W.A.T. (2017) | Stris

Street struggles to cope with Chris getting caught in the crossfire.

AN: here’s my first Street x Chris fic, loosely inspired by 3x21! (I can’t get enough of these two)

It all happened so fast.

It had only been a matter of minutes since they contacted HQ to let them know they were tailing a suspect who ran into the apartment complex. The next thing Street knew, they were taking fire from all directions, bullets piercing the concrete behind them. Normally, the two of them could hold their own until the rest of the team got here but given the dwindling amount of ammunition they had left and the number of gunmen they were up against, the odds were not in their favour.

As they enter narrow hallway, Street hears Chris say that she was running low and was switching to her secondary firearm. Looking for cover, he tries to open a door to no avail when one of the gunmen approach from the end of the hall, firing his weapon.

He yells for Chris to get down, but its too late.

The ringing in her ears was deafening, seizing a hold of all her senses as she clutches her shoulder. Chris can’t think straight—her training useless against the pain that was radiating across her chest. She gasps and heaves, the air not quite reaching her lungs.

All Street can think of is her.

He fires a bullet that neutralizes the shooter before turning to Chris. Instinct taking over training for a split second, Street kneels besides her to check on her. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees that her vest caught the bullet before reassuring her that she was okay.

Chris could barely make out his words with the deafening ringing in her ears, but she could feel him helping her towards her knees and off the ground. She barely registers Street handing her weapon, wrapping her fingers around the cold metal.

She is still gasping for air as Street urges her to follow, desperation lacing his voice as he tells her that its not safe to stay here. Tugging on her vest, Street does his best to push out the sound of her gasps out of his mind. If he allowed himself to think about the pain she was in, then there would be no way the both of them make it out of here alive.

She stumbles on a couple of childrens toys, unable to catch her footing. Her mind is racing, the pace rivalling the pounding from her chest. Finally, they reach the corridor and take cover.

Another gunman comes down the hall, opening fire on the both of them. One of Street’s bullets fire right into his chest, sending him into the ground. Taking advantage of the calm before the storm, he checks on Chris.

He feels lightheaded when he sees her slumped against the wall, barely conscious.

Before he could run over, more bullets are sent their way. Street curses, unable to fire his weapon back. His hands were trembling and numb, rendering him useless in returning fire since he couldn’t steady his hands enough to pull the trigger. Street calls out her name, hoping that she’d be able to say something, say anything, to let him know that she was okay.

When he hears them reloading their weapons, he takes that as his opportunity to run over to her. Street cradles the side of her head, his hands gentle as he touches her cheek. He calls her name again, hoping that her eyes would open at the sound of her name.

He finds out that his hopes are futile when nothing changes.

With shaky hands, he brings his fingers to check her pulse. Street calls out to her again, but it comes out sounding more like a plea. He feels a faint pulse, making him blink back the tears that were forming.

This couldn’t be happening, he thought.

Not to Chris—anyone but her, he begged.

He could feel the wetness pooling around his knee. Glancing down, he sees blood. Street curses, taking off her vest with shaky hands until he sees where the blood was coming from.

He puts pressure on her abdomen. The vest that was supposed to protect her was laying a couple of feet beside them. Hondo says that he’s 2 minutes out over comms, but seconds feel like minutes, and minutes feel like hours with Chris in this state.

He unbuckles the helmet strap under her chin, hoping that would make it easier for her to breathe.

“Chris you gotta stay with me,” Street pleads, his voice breaking. He could feel his hands slicked with a mixture of his sweat and her blood.

He could hear footsteps coming from down the hall. During his early days of training, Hondo had reminded him to never lose his cool. Street was never an angry kid, despite his childhood. However, it seemed as if all the anger he had suppressed during all those years had returned, and with a vengeance.

He wanted to make them pay for what they did to Chris.

He was in position, ready to fire whatever bullets remained into those men when he hears a soft whimper beside him. Glancing over, Street sees her eyebrows scrunched together, pain written on her soft features.

He must have put too much pressure on her wound, he thought.

Abandoning his weapon, his hand reaches up to hold her cheek. His other hand never left the wound on her abdomen ever since he found it. He tells Chris that he’s right here and help is on the way.

When more bullets fly their way, Street uses his body to cover hers without hesitation.

I love you and I’m sorry, he whispers into her hair, pulling her tight against him.

The footsteps grow louder as Street prepares to die for her. More gunfire rings through his ears and all he can think of is how much was left unsaid between them. As someone who grew up with nothing to lose, one glance at her and he realised that he had everything to lose. This couldn’t possibly be the way it ends.

“Street! Chris!” Hondo yells.

Street calls them over, a wave of relief washing over him when he hears them.

The team stare silently, mouths agape in shock at the sight before them. Chris, who they were always fiercely protective of, was unrecognizaable. Street was covered in blood, one arm holding Chris while the other was draped over her torso. She laid unmoving in his lap, her helmet and vest laying in a pool of red.

Luca closes his eyes, unable to stomach the sight. Years of training seemed useless at this very moment, since seeing Chris like this was enough to cut through his thick skin he built up for the job. Tan knew to never take any moment for granted, but his mind kept thinking back to how they were just laughing in the ring earlier this morning. It didn’t feel right, and it didn't feel real. Deacon stands back, saying a silent prayer that she’ll pull through. He puts everything he has left into the prayer, not knowing how to cope if he loses a teammate.

Street can’t bring himself to leave Chris’s side, but moves to give the paramedics some space to work on her. He doesn’t know how, but someone his hand finds hers in the midst of the team and medics getting here. Street watches helplessly as they tend to her injuries, unable to move from his spot or acknowledge the team just yet.

They were supposed to have each others six—and yet one of them was being wheeled away on a stretcher, her blood staining his clothes.

“I thought she had only caught one in the vest.” Street says, his voice breaking when he looks at her.

No one on the team protests when Street volunteers to ride with the medics in the ambulance. He climbs into the rig, squeezing her hand to let Chris know that he was still there. Before the ambulance door closes shut, Luca watches silently as Street presses his lips against the back of her hand.

The lights and sirens aren’t enough to drown out the noise in his head. The medics stabilized her, even reassuring him that she’d have the best surgeons working on her. That wasn't enough to pull him out of whatever trance he was in—he needed to see that she was okay with his own eyes.

Finally, the medics hand her off onto the team of emergency doctors and nurses. He holds Chris until a nurse stops him, guiding him into a waiting room for family members.

Feeling impossibly heavy, all he can do is wait.

#chris x street #chris x street #stris #chris alonso #cbs swat #street x chris #chrisalonso #swat #street x chris fanfic #stris fanfic #swat fic

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streakyglasses · 1 month

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darling, you're the one i want

He’s on one knee, hands stretched out to her with a box, and he’s looking at her like hers is the only face he ever wants to see.

A mini-series of different proposal possibilities, inspired by 7x05.

Read on ao3 or ffn, or under the cut

The California sun beats down on Street and Chris as they reach the peak of Solstice Canyon, not yet as hot as it will be, but hot enough. Water from the different falls that once provided a cool reprieve on their neck and wrists has long dried and been replaced with sweat and the grit of dirt.

Chris looks as beautiful as ever to Street. Despite her being in front, her hand reached back for his at the start of the trail and she hasn’t let go except when she’s had to, to get over the rocky terrain. Her tan skin glows, and the tattoos over her arms and back, the newest addition of a small ‘26’ just above her wrist bone, are like a map to the future. Every time she glances back to make sure he’s still with her, the gold flecks in her eyes grow. He wants to live in them.

“You good?” She asks with a laugh as they finally reach the overlook. Wiping his brow with his freehand and chugging down water, he nods.

“Perfect.” Street confirms, hands on his knees. “You do this every Saturday morning?”

“Pretty much. First with Champ, then it was a nice change from the intensity of SWAT. I’m glad you finally got out here with me.”

“Me too,” he smiles, his heart rate coming down from the hike so he can appreciate the never-ending view of lush greens and blue sky. There’s a boulder to the side that Chris props herself on to take it all in. He slides off his backpack, eyeing the front pocket as his pulse picks up again, then takes a deep breath and joins her. She leans into him when he wraps his arm around her shoulder.

“This is beautiful,” Street murmurs, eyes locked on Chris. She rolls hers but is betrayed by the soft pink blush that paints over her cheeks. Sitting in the silence with nothing but the gentle breeze and sound of the other’s breathing, she finds his free hand and squeezes it.

They sit in the moment until a speck of sand gets caught in her throat and she takes her hand back to cover her cough. Rubbing easy circles on her back, Street leans over and grabs his water bottle to hand to her, his backpack coming with it.

“Ugh, thank you,” Chris says, turning to the side to finish clearing her throat.

Certain this might be his only opportunity, Street feels the world stop around him. The air stills, the rustling of the leaves stops, and the only thing he’s aware of is his own heartbeat, Chris next to him, and the box in his backpack. Fingers moving of their own volition, he gets the front pocket unzipped and closes his hand around the small blue box.

His blood rushes in his ears as his knee hits the hard, dusty ground, and he dries his palms on his shorts before getting a good hold on the box and opening it. The semicircle of diamonds sparkles in the high sunlight and the gold half shines with a bright reflection of whatever catches it. He sees his hands shaking ever so slightly but makes no effort to still them. His pupils dilate the longer he waits for her to turn around.

After coughing for what feels like an eternity, Chris opens the water bottle and finishes it. Her eyes close as she relishes how it slows her back down and cuts through the heat. Shaking off the last of the attack, she wipes her eyes and the water on her chin, and turns to give Street the bottle back.

“Than—”

“Will you marry me?”

Chris freezes. Street’s voice hits her, but the words don’t process as she takes in the scene in front of her. He’s on one knee, hands stretched out to her with a box, and he’s looking at her like hers is the only face he ever wants to see. She knows her mouth is hanging open and her eyes are wide, stunned to silence in a way she’s never been before. Slowly, the steadiness of her heart beat resonates through the rest of her as it all clicks into place how right this feels.

Her eyes trace back up his face, his bottom lip now between his teeth as the nerves that were a spark before grow into a wild blaze. He wants to tell her to say something, or to repeat himself in case she didn’t hear him, but he doesn’t have to as she stands and takes a step towards him, pushed on by some innate knowing, reaching out until their hands brush. It sends the same kind of want through him that it did on the first day they met.

“Yes,” Chris says, bringing the world back to its axis for both of them. A bird squawks, and she brings a hand up to block her eyes from the sun as he takes the ring from the box and slides it onto her left ring finger. Her hand takes his before he can drop it as he tucks the box back into his shorts pocket. Standing, Street lets every sensation from the smell of the breeze to the itchiness of tiny gravel stuck in his knee sink in, not wanting to forget a thing.

With her hand, he pulls her in easily and wraps his arms around her back, meeting their lips as her feet leave the ground. She laughs against his lips until he sets her down. Pulling back, arms loose around his neck, she matches his wide smile and gazes at the ring over his shoulder.

“I love you,” she repeats as their eyes meet again. Street manages to smile even bigger as his heart slows back down and all the tension drains from his body.

“I love you so much.”

He kisses her again and then a third time, Chris just as eager. She brings her newly-adorned hand to cradle his face as he deepens the kiss and moans.

They’re breathless when they part, and tears rush to Street’s eyes when he sees the ones lining her lash line. She hugs him as close as she physically can and nuzzles into his neck. His heart is beating like a drum in his chest, strong and steady.

“That’s why you agreed to hike with me?” Chris teases, needing a lightness to cut through the moment and recenter them. His dimples get deeper and he brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, any air of his usual cockiness traded for pure emotion.

“It is.” He chuckles softly. “It’s special to you, now it’s special to us.”

Street looking out over the horizon once more, she keeps her gaze locked on his profile.

“Got a hell of a view.” She murmurs, her breath hot on his skin. A shiver runs through him, and he turns back to her, stepping behind her so he can wrap his arms around her waist and kiss her cheek. His chin finds her shoulder, and he grins.

“Got a hell of a girl, too.”

#jim street #chris alonso #stris #swat cbs #swat #cbs swat #s.w.a.t cbs #my writing #s.w.a.t #chris x street #street x chris #stris fanfic #stris fanfiction #swat fanfic #swat s7 spoilers #swat s7

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