Welcome to the first annual 911WhatIsYourPride event! This is a month-long event dedicated to the canon queer characters and relationships in 911. Each week will have a different theme, with a few different prompts to help with inspiration, but you are encouraged to interpret the theme in your own way.
This event is open to all type of fanwork: gifs, edits, fanart, fic. Please tag all creations with #911whatisyourpride and feel free to shoot us a message if you we've missed yours.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Henrietta “Hen” Wilson/Karen Wilson, Karen Wilson/Eva Mathis, Eva Mathis/Henrietta “Hen” wilson (mentioned)
Characters: Karen Wilson, Henrietta “Hen” Wilson, Eva Mathis (9-1-1 TV)
Additional Tags: Strap-Ons, Oral Sex, Restraints, Implied/Referenced Cheating, this takes place after hen cheats, and is a what-if for how karen might respond, Cuckolding, In a sense, hen is in a chair
Summary:
Hen cheats. Karen shows her what she’s missing.
Please have a little something I quite literally wrote out of spite inspired by the @911whatisyourpride event. I do not think I actually went back through to check this before posting so do me a favor and ignore any spelling errors okay? Thanks!
written for @911whatisyourpride for the prompt: casual touch
In the few months spent apart, Buck missed everything about Tommy. The thing he missed the most, though, was Tommy's genuine affection, the way he was so open in his need and love for casual touch. A hand on his back, a kiss on his cheek, a squeeze on his knee, their tangled fingers, an arm around his shoulders; Tommy was constantly touching him just because he wanted to, just because he craved the physical touch as much as Buck.
Now that they're back together, Buck loves all of that even more. A part of him needs to be sure that it's all true, all real; that they're back together because they chose to fight for themselves, for a kind of love that not everyone is lucky to find.
rated: E
word count: 2k
pairing: buck/tommy
written for @911whatisyourpride week four - sex & romance
[read on ao3]
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This time around, they were supposed to take it slow, get to know each other all over again, don't rush or make any impulsive decisions. And they have been doing that, for the most part. They talked — just talked — for weeks before Buck finally asked Tommy out on a proper date.
And Buck decided he was going to romance the living hell out of Tommy, and make the date the most romantic thing ever, and he was going to be the perfect gentleman the whole night. At the end he'd get Tommy home, walk him to his front door, get their first kiss since getting back together, and then leave, make plans for the next one. Take it slow.
And the date was very romantic. Flowers, candlelit dinner, walk on the beach under the stars, holding hands and laughing together. All the cliches. Tommy was loving it, and Buck was loving Tommy.
They did get their 'first' kiss at the front door, too — it was sweet, chaste, smiley, a perfect ending to a perfect date. But then Tommy asked him if he'd like to come inside for a drink, with that playful smile and a sparkle in his eyes, and, well, Buck is a weak man when it comes to the love of his life asking him for just about anything.
Written for the week four prompt of @911whatisyourpride: sex and romance.
Summary:
Evan’s lips were on him again. A soft kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then on his lips, kissing him soft and slow. The way Evan was treating him was becoming too much and he felt the tears spill over.
Evan and Tommy had exchanged a lot of kisses over the course of their relationship, but six kisses would always stand out in their minds.
First Kiss
Tommy hadn’t intended to kiss Evan when he went over to the loft to talk to him. But when Evan said he was trying to get Tommy’s attention, he decided to shoot his shot.
And he didn’t regret it. Evan’s lips were slightly chapped, but still soft and plump against Tommy’s. Tommy didn’t try to take it past a chaste kiss, but somehow it was the best kiss he’d ever had. As he drew back, he kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment.
When he finally opened his eyes, Evan was staring wide-eyed at him. And Tommy could only hope that this was his last first kiss.
@911whatisyourpride
thank you for running this project 💖🌈
bucktommy, 1k
a short future coda to drag bingo night at shelley's (tumblr)
leaning heavy on the romance here!
this coda is now on the ao3!
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It's been two months since Evan invited him out to drag bingo night, and a month since they decided to give their relationship another try. That's why Tommy's parked outside the 133 at 7:45 AM, his truck packed for their first weekend away. Ever.
This time last year they were together and every time they talked about a romantic getaway, they would end up in bed before either of them could suggest a place to go. Just the idea of getting away was a thrill; a year later, they were starting to understand the value of actually getting away.
His watch alarm lets him know it's 7:50 and Evan will be done with his shift any minute. Tommy's losing time and losing his nerve for this—this stupid little—
"You're an idiot," Tommy says to himself as he climbs out of the truck. "You've flown helicopters through combat zones and wildfires and a goddamned hurricane, but picking up your boyfriend from work, somehow that's scarier. Somehow. Somehow."
Yeah, but if you crash and burn in those scenarios, you only die once, his brain helpfully reminds him. Embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend and his coworkers—that's forever.
"Forever? If I'm lucky," Tommy mumbles under his breath as he jogs across the street.
The 133's bay doors are open and both the A-shift and B-shift crews are milling around, saying hi and catching up before they go their separate ways. Tommy looks around for familiar faces, but only sees Cristy as she laughs with a couple of people, and Captain Mehta, clapping the B-shift captain on the shoulder as he leaves his office.
And then there's Evan, half-hidden behind one of the engines with a handful of people. Something makes him laugh uproariously, full-body doubled-over laughter that has him wiping his eyes when he straightens up again. That's when he spots Tommy and waves wildly at him from all of 15 feet away.
"Tommy! Oh my god, Tommy." Evan drops his duffel bag unceremoniously and crosses the floor to him. "Hey, can I introduce you?" Evan asks quietly.
"What? Oh. Yeah, yeah of course."
"Okay, great," Evan whispers, pulling him into a giant hug with a kiss on the cheek. Then he turns around and yells, inches from Tommy's ear: "Hey, everyone, this is my boyfriend, Tommy!"
Cristy laughs loudly. "Tommy Kinard from Harbor Station, were you lurking behind that ambulance? Get in here."
He gives her a quick hug and waves at everyone, trying not to feel like a pageant contestant who's been called on stage to perform his special talent. Evan distracts him, though, as he points to something in Tommy's hand. "Tommy, what's that?" Evan asks, his smile lighting him from the inside. "Is that for me?"
And that's when Tommy remembers what had him ready to crumble from embarrassment in the truck, why it took him so long to actually leave the truck and come get Evan. It's the fully bloomed, dark and rich red rose that Tommy had seen growing off a rosebush as he was leaving his own shift at Harbor. It was from a random wild rosebush that didn't belong to anyone, so no one would mind if Tommy took out his pocket knife and cut one to bring to Evan.
"It's for you," Tommy says, holding it out to him. "Sorry, I—I feel really silly coming in here with like—like I'm on The Bachelor or something, or picking you up for prom, but I saw this on my way over and thought—I thought you might like it."
Evan accepts it with a smile. He looks at it and brushes the petals against his fingers before he holds it out to Tommy again. "Touch the petals, they're so soft. I think that's the best part of flowers. My favorite part, anyway." Tommy touches the petals, too, and their eyes meet as their fingers brush together, touching the rose.
"I love it," Evan says, and throws his arms around Tommy's neck, right there in front of the captains and firefighters and paramedics and anyone walking on the sidewalk past the bay doors. Anyone and everyone can see; it feels so good to hold Evan like this in his arms.
"Thank you," Evan says, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.
Tommy almost says, for what, it's just a flower, but he knows them both better than that. He pulls away and brushes a few stray curls from Evan's forehead, then kisses him. It's quick and chaste (only one whooooo from the crew), but Evan looks at him with those dark eyes and the dazed expression he seems to save for him, for Tommy. They could stay in this spot for years if Tommy's watch didn't beep for the top of the hour.
"Shift's over," Tommy says. "Ready for our road trip?"
"Yeah," Evan says, "wait, yeah, just a second." He slings his duffel bag across his chest and then grabs Tommy's hand to lead him out the bay doors. He waves goodbye to everyone and then holds the rose up to Tommy's face. "I think I've got everything. How about you?"
Some past Tommy would howl and kick his ass at what present Tommy's about to say, but that past Tommy didn't have Evan in his life. Past Tommy could stay quiet and learn a thing or two, like how to be happy. It was a skill, a real thing he and Evan were learning to do, and sometimes it meant small gestures that felt like the whole world.
"Well, I've got you," Tommy says. "I think that's all I need."
Evan looks taken aback, then blushes and lightly shoulder checks him. "Yeah, okay," he mumbles, but he can't hide his grin. As they climb in the truck and buckle up, Evan leans over and kisses him again—they can't hide a damn thing.
for @911whatisyourpride week 3: family. took this prompt a little sideways but the idea hit me like a truck like two hours ago and then i typed this entire ficlet directly into the tumblr post dialog like a madwoman, so.
buck doesn't exactly try to adopt a dog, and fails anyway. tommy picks up a dog and an (ex?)-boyfriend. | bucktommy (duh) | post season-8 | 2.4k
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Buck keeps thinking about Blaze. Not Bingo, who went back to his family and is probably spoiled and happy and exactly where he belongs. But Blaze, whom for that single day had belonged to Buck. Who had been a friend when he and Eddie were on the outs, and everything was falling apart, and he had nobody to talk to because everyone thought he was overreacting. Someone who was happy to see him, who looked at him adoringly, who took joy from Buck's mere existence and gave joy in return.
Now, his life is a hundred times the mess that it was back then, but the parallels aren't escaping him.
And yeah, yeah, he's always got Maddie. But she's not his, not really; she's got more important people in her life. Her own family. Chimney, and Jee, and newborn baby Robert-who-he-still-cannot-call-Bobby. Chim's got her and Jee and Robert, in return. Eddie's got Chris, and Tia Pepa. Hen's got Karen and Denny and Mara too, now. Athena's got May and Harry, and anyway he's not going to impose on her, not now, not after everything.
Point is, everyone's got someone who's theirs. Everyone except him, that is. For a minute there he thought he might have Tommy, but well. Shows you how much he knows about love, about building a family.
So instead he's sitting all alone--in a shitty little Airbnb he's got for the week, because apartment hunting in LA is anything but fast--thinking about Blaze. And looking up dog rescues, just to dream about holding them all, and bringing one home, and having someone to greet him and be excited to see him when he gets home.
He knows it's pathetic--knew it even then, when he was clinging to Blaze and ignoring Eddie--but the one thing more pathetic than having a dog for your only friend and source of love, is having no one for a friend and source of love. Although, dreaming about having a dog for his only friend and source of love, when he can't even get a dog because he doesn't have a home address and anywhere with a pet deposit is going to be way out of his price range, is probably more pathetic than both.
The thought doesn't stop him from scrolling, and scrolling, and scrolling past the little squares of photos and blurbs. There's a five-year-old beagle named Dot that reminds him a little too painfully of Blaze. A six-month-old mutt of a puppy--they think it's maybe a boxer mix--with bright blue eyes called Frankie. A massive ninety-pound Doberman named Sergeant with a noble air to him--and behaviour problems, apparently. A tiny yorkie, by far the teey-tiniest dog he's ever seen, called Mini.
And then, at the bottom, a raggedy three-legged lab mix called Tres. He's the longest-running resident of the shelter, according to his bio. Lost his leg in an accident, while wandering in the streets. Seven years old, old enough to have trouble being adopted even without the missing leg. He's also got the biggest, most soulful brown eyes Buck's ever seen on a dog. Ever seen period, maybe.
Before he quite realizes what he's doing, Buck has the address memorized and the keys to his Jeep in his hand. No, that's not entirely true. He sort of halfway realizes what he's doing, but refuses to let himself recognize it all the way. Because if he did, then he'd have to acknowledge that it's insane, and then he'd have nothing to do but sit there and think about how pathetic he is, and how sad Tres looked in the photos.
The shelter is almost halfway across the city, because he wasn't exactly paying attention to the location when he started down this impromptu spiral. But that's alright; he's on day one of a four off, so he's got the time to kill. It's early enough, too, so traffic won't even be that bad. (He Does Not think about why he was up so early on his day off. That way lies grief and pain and danger, and he does not want to end up accidentally wrapping his car around a power pole.)
Still, this is LA, and "not that bad" ends up being nearly an hour instead. Plenty of time to think about what the hell he's doing, and all the million reasons it's a stupid, impulsive idea. But he's started this already, going Full Buck as they'd say, and he's determined not to turn back. Maybe he can't take Tres home, doesn't even have a home to take Tres to, but that doesn't mean he can't go see the dog, right? Maybe he can't be enough for anyone in his life, can't make them happy or hold them together, but surely he can be a bright spot in one sad dog's day. He can be good for this one thing.
The shelter's open, but just barely, when he gets there. No cars in the tiny parking lot, thank God, because most sane people don't show up to animal shelters at--he checks his phone--8:17 in the morning. The tiny bells above the door chime a happy little chorus as he walks in. A woman behind the front desk looks up, seeming startled to see him there. Fair enough.
"Hi, u-um, I saw this dog on your website?" Buck says, uncertainty tilting his sentence up into a question.
"Are you looking to adopt?" the woman--Miranda, according to the name tag Buck's now close enough to read--asks, already rummaging for some forms.
"U-um, not-not yet. I don't, um, I don't currently have a pet-friendly place," Buck says. He doesn't have any place, of course, but that's a lot to unload on this poor woman at barely eight in the morning. "B-but, um, but I'd like to someday. When I'm in a- a better place." Winces at the phrasing; apparently he's so chock full of death euphemisms these days, it's leaking out everywhere. "I just, um, I just wanted to see the dog for now? Maybe play wit him for a bit, if-if that's something I can do?"
Miranda looks at him for a long moment. It feels, oddly, like the way Bobby used to look at him. Piercing and uncompromising, but not unkind. Like she was looking at him, really looking, past his shell and right down to the core of him--not to judge, or find him wanting, but just to see. To understand. To maybe even help. The moment stretches like gum, and Buck's not even sure he's breathing. Not until she nods once, sharply, and says, "What was his name? The dog you were looking at?"
"U-um, Tres," Buck says, somehow surprised by this turn of events despite literally showing up here for it. "I was looking at Tres."
Miranda's face turns apologetic. "Oh hon, someone already put in yestereday to adopt him."
Something inside Buck stretches past breaking point, snaps into overstretched pieces. Of course he can't even do this right. Too late and not enough. Forces his lips into a smile that feels far too brittle for how practiced it's become, these past few weeks. "R-right. Okay. That's, that's good for him, right? G-going home to someone who can love him." Love him better than Buck ever could. Who probably has a yard for Tres to play around in, and a cozy fireplace for Tres to curl up in front off, with a fluffy dog bed all set up and waiting.
Miranda nods, but she seems distracted, chewing at her lip. Looks down at her desk. Shuffles through some papers, looking for something. Squints down at one sheet, running her fingers along the lines. "Pick up time, pick up time... ah! Yeah, that's what I thought." She looks up at him, still holding the paper in her hand. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy--the people who come here for the saddest dogs usually are. You can see other dogs, of course, whichever ones you want. But if you've got your heart set on Tres, The owner's out back right now, picking up Tres and his stuff. I can go and ask if he'd be okay with you at least say hi to Tres."
Buck nods, mumbles out a thanks that may or may not come out intelligible past the growing knot in his throat. He can't explain it, why meeting Tres feels so important. Maybe it's because he felt like they were kindred souls, in some terribly pathetic way, forgotten and left behind and waiting, waiting, waiting for someone to finally want him. Maybe it's because he thought that he could save someone, even just one sad dog, from the terrible loneliness eating him up from the inside--and be saved in return. Maybe he just wanted to be good for something, anything, and this was the one tiny thing that felt maybe, possibly, within his reach.
Or maybe he was just a sucker for a sob story and big sad eyes and abandoned dogs. It doesn't have to be that deep.
Miranda pops her head in from the back door where she'd disappeared to. "He said yes, of course. Come on and meet Tres. It'd be good for his socialization anyway, to meet some more people."
Well. At least this whole insane trip wasn't a total loss, then. He can go meet Tres and his new owner, play with a dog for a few minutes, and then drive back to his sad Airbnb so he can keep searching apartment listings. Buck makes his way across the lobby, towards the door that Miranda's holding open. Ducks out through the gap. Steps into a little back yard, lined with straggly grass and patches of sand. Looks around for Tres.
Finds himself looking at familiar blue eyes, instead.
"Evan?" Tommy says, staring right back at him like he's seeing a ghost. His eyes are wide, and so blue, and rimmed faintly red with exhaustion. Buck's pretty sure there's new lines in their corners, stupidly wants to reach out a run a gentle finger over them, to learn their new shapes. Clenches his hands into fists in his pockets to stop himself.
"T-tommy," he says, more breath than word. Has to swallow twice and clear his throat awkwardly before he tries again. "Hey. I, uh, I didn't know you were in the market for a dog."
Tommy shrugs, a little awkward. Something about the motion somehow makes those strong, wide shoulders seem small. "House was feeling too quiet. Thought a dog might help liven things up. Plus, I've always been weak for the puppy eyes." The last sentence comes out with the weight of a confession, too heavy for the back yard of an animal shelter with a soon-to-be-spoiled three-legged dog sniffing around by their feet.
Buck makes his lips curl up at the corner, pretends he doesn't notice it feels more like a grimace than a smile. "You've got good taste," he says, jerking his chin towards Tres. "I had my eyes on him this morning, too."
"Sorry," Tommy says, and it feels like he's talking about more than the dog. "Didn't mean to steal him from you."
It's Buck's turn to shrug, this time. He tries not to think about other things Tommy's stolen, not from him but for him. Tries to hold on to the fading memory of how he felt that sun-drenched morning in Eddie's kitchen, in that helicopter still full of hope over the LA skyline. Tommy's going to be good to Tres. Buck knows, because he was good to him, too. Besides, Tommy's got a solid house, big back yard and a fireplace just like he'd been picturing.
Buck's got no house, and no dog, and no one to go home to. He leans down to pet Tres instead of thinking about that. Lets Tres lick his face and slobber all over him. Pretends that's why dampness weighs down his lashes.
"I was just gonna take him home, get him settled in," Tommy says above him, after a few prolonged minutes of silence.
Buck get up, because he does know how to take a hint, sometimes. Time to get out of Tommy's hair, let him take home the dog he wants without the ex-boyfriend he didn't want. Doesn't meet Tommy's eyes as he turns to leave, because even he's got a limit for how pathetic he's willing to be in one day.
"Do you want to come with me?" Tommy says, the words uncharacteristically rushed.
Buck looks up with surprise. Tommy's got a hand rubbing against the back of his neck in a gesture Buck hasn't seen in ages.
"D-do you want me to?" Buck says. Tries not to feel like he's asking about more than just Tres. Fails. It's like they're having a whole second conversation--except they're not, because they haven't said more than maybe fifty words to each other and neither of them are actually saying it. So maybe it's all in Buck's head; maybe he's gotten so desperate that he's reading signs into innocent
Tommy's wide-eyed again, breathing a little fast and shallow. For a second, he looks almost panicked. Doesn't quite look at Buck as he reaches down to clip a leash onto Tres's collar, and lingers to pet down the line of Tres's spine with a huge hand.
When he stands back up, something in him has straightened. He's steady, looking Buck straight in the eyes as he nods firmly. "Yeah. Yeah, I do. I want you to come home with me." Glances down at his feet, where Tres is sitting patiently with his tongue rolling out. "You and me and Tres."
They're still not talking, not really. Not about the them of it all But it's the closest they've come since the helicopter--no, since before that. Since that morning, maybe.
It feels like an invitation. Like a closed door, reopened. Like a second, third, fifth chance at something.
Buck leans down to give Tres one last pat--for luck, for hope, for gratitude, for courage. He takes the hand Tommy opens to him. Him and Tommy and Tres. It feels like a good place to start.
i need there to be more (smutty) henren head canons. hen in a loose tank top and shorts, no bra on. guns (arms) out. and the kids are pawned off to buck and tommy. so hen is just in shorts and that slutty top and she's handling the screen door to their backyard bc it came loose. got a screwdriver in one hand, dad cap sat backwards on her head, unhinging the door so she can set it back in.
And Karen's wearing a new dress she got, little flowery thing, cutting off just above her knees and she never wears shit like that anymore, and she comes into the kitchen bc Hen let her sleep in and there's fresh coffee and bagels and fruit on the counter and Hen is fixing shit, looking like THAT. "hey," Hen grins over her shoulder and Karen's mouth goes dry. That backwards cap really shouldn't work on her anymore but it really really does. and it's been weeks. weeks! karen clears her throat and burns her tongue on the coffee, leans against the counter.
"hey babe?" she aims for casual. "I think maybe the door is fine." Hen frowns at her as she lifts the door, arms bulging. "What? I'm not even half done!" And Karen thinks she shouldn't even have bothered with knickers bc they're gonna be soaked in a minute. They've both got one track minds and sometimes they get so caught up in work and life and parenting that everything else comes second but once her mind is actually clear, god Karen is a mess for Hen. "I'm saying." Karen sets the coffee down. "I think the door is fine." Something in her tone must alert Hen bc she looks up, actually looks at her. Her flushed cheeks. Her lips. "Oh." Hen sets the stupid door down again. Slow smile on her face. "Yeah you might be right." She tossed the screwdriver. Takes two steps towards Karen. "Pretty dress," she tells her. Karen hums. "Hot cap." Hen dips her head down, just slightly. Crowds Karen against the counter, one hand gripping the edge of it next to Karen. Karen's nipples are hard. Pulse races. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of Hen's shorts, pulls her in closer. "You gonna kiss me, Wilson?"
And Hen does. Agonisingly slow. Licks into Karen's mouth, tongue hot against hers. Karen gives a moan. "Fuck," she whispers and loops her arms around Hen's neck. Hen kisses her deeper, presses one leg between Karen's thighs and fuck. Fuck. Karen's hips snap forward, chasing the friction. "Eager," Hen breathes and Karen shoves her hand under her stupid tank top and under her sports bra, hands finally on her tits. Fuck she loves those tits. Hen gasps into her mouth. Karen whimpers back, flicks over Hen's nipple. "Shit.
Karen is grinding against Hen's thigh now, hot shivers running down her spine, needing more. She's still pressed against the counter, doesn't have much room to move but god she loves it. Hen's lips attach to her neck and Karen's eyes flutter close and then, finally. Hen's fingers rucking up the skirt of her dress. Skimming along the seam of her satin panties. "You're so wet," Hen whispers, hot breath ghosting over Karen's skin. Karen's fingernails dig into the back of Hen's neck and she gasps and then. God. Hen's fingers on her. Finally. Inside her panties, hand curled just right.
Karen's legs are gonna give out at some point.
Pad of Hen's middle finger slicked up by how fucking wet she is, pressing slowly against her clit. Lightly. Karen stifles a groan against Hen's shoulder. God. Slow circles, brushing gently until Karen is only want and need. Her groin is heat, liquid, white heat. "Faster," she whines and then finally. Hen pins her firmer against the counter and starts working her like she needs it. Fast, firm strokes, almost too hard but hard enough that Karen's brain shuts off entirely. She can hear the slick sounds, feels Hen's fingers, Hen's lips and teeth against her neck. Heat builds up everywhere. Karen gasps and moans, pushes against Hen's hand, needs it faster, harder, needs it to be the only thing she feels.
Her orgasm crashes into her a few seconds later, and she shivers in Hen's arms, comes riding her fingers, clutching her shoulders. Chases it until she's sure she's not coming again. "Fuck," she laughs, and kisses Hen deeply, chest heaving, eyes bright. "God. Thank you. Thank you."
Hen laughs with her, cheeks hot, lips slick with spit. She brings up her fingers for Karen to suck on and watches, eyes darkening. "You wanna finish that door now, or what?" Karen grins, fingers popping out of her mouth. "I can show you my handiwork skills, if you're interested."
Week three has finished (though late creations are still accepted!) and week four has begun. The theme for the week is SEX AND ROMANCE! Feel free to interpret the theme however you wish, and if you need some inspiration, we listed a few prompts on the main post to help give you some ideas.
Remember to tag all your creations with #911whatisyourpride and also @ us to make sure we see it!
