Reaf

At night is where my mind goes wild. The night is when I can be open; it's where everything makes sense. 

[nightowl9914]

🗂️ MASTERLIST

Tag: #nightowlsmasterlist Last Updated: October 3rd, 2025

Requests are opened! Don't be afraid to send me a request or just a message!

📚 WRITING

✔ = Complete | ✍ = In Progress | 💡 = Coming Soon (Fandoms: SWAT | The Rookie | Criminal Minds | Blue Bloods | More)

➤ S.W.A.T.

↠ Luca Masterlist ↠ Deacon Masterlist ↠ Hondo Masterlist ↠ Street Masterlist ↠ Tan Masterlist

↠ Rocker Masterlist

➤ The Rookie

↠ Tim Bradford Masterlist

➤ Blue Bloods

↠ Danny Masterlist ↠ Jamie Masterlist

[nightowl9914]

Running Partners

Word Count: 1175

Summary: Y/N and Deacon have spent years orbiting each other, their bond obvious to everyone but themselves. When a case introduces an unexpected source of jealousy, unspoken feelings are pushed to the surface, forcing them to confront what they’ve both been too afraid to admit. 💔💘

Thank you to the Anon who requested it! Loved writing it! Hope you enjoy it!

If 20 Squad were being honest, you and Deacon didn’t look like a couple. You looked like something worse. Something soft. Familiar. Permanent.

You showed up together without meaning to. Left together without planning it. Finished each other’s sentences in the quiet, domestic way that came from knowing someone’s rhythms, not just their highlights. You ran side by side before shift, matching pace without ever discussing it. You volunteered together on your days off, somehow always assigned to the same task, laughing quietly like the world wasn’t heavy on your shoulders every other day of the week.

You got him into matcha—real matcha, whisked properly, none of that sugary nonsense—and he pretended to complain until he didn’t. He got you into the Rams, taught you the roster, explained plays patiently, bought you your first jersey like it wasn’t a big deal even though you still remembered how carefully he’d handed it to you.

Chris knew.

Hondo definitely knew.

The rest of the team just waited for the two of you to catch up.

🍵🍵🍵🍵

You came into HQ one morning balancing multiple coffee carriers, the doors swinging open with your hip.

“I bring the goods!”

A chorus of relief rose up immediately.

You started distributing drinks like you’d done it a hundred times before. “Street. Luca. Tan.”

You stopped in front of Deacon, handing him two cups.

“So,” you said casually, “they had a new matcha with cherry honey cold foam. Thought you might like it. But I also got your usual matcha, just in case.”

His expression softened instantly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

Tan lifted his cup, inspecting it. “Hey, where’s my cold foam and second drink?”

You raised a brow slowly. “Where are my birria tacos you promised me last week? Coffee from me may be free, but cold foam comes at a cost.”

Street grinned. “So how does Deacon pay for all his extras? What extracurricular activities are you guys doing?”

Deacon shook his head. “I’m going to completely ignore what you’re implying.”

Luca took a sip of his drink. “Lower-level seats at the fifty-yard line sounds like payment enough. Saw your Instagram story this weekend. You two looked real cozy.”

“And the matching Jordans,” Street added.

Chris stepped in smoothly. “Or—hear me out—maybe being best friends is enough?”

You pointed at her. “Thank you. Smartest person in the room.”

Tan scoffed. “I’m offended you don’t consider us best friends.”

Deacon tried the new drink, eyes lighting up despite himself. “Okay. Yeah. This is good.” He tipped it toward you. “Here.”

You took a sip, nodding in approval, and handed it back just as Hondo swooped in from behind and stole it.

“All right, let’s see what these lovebirds aren’t sharing.”

One swallow later, his face twisted. “Ugh. This is terrible. What are you guys, rabbits eating grass?”

Deacon reclaimed his cup while you passed Hondo his coffee. “That’ll teach you not to steal.”

Hondo shook his head. “Y’all are nasty. Next thing you’ll tell me you do those juice wellness shots.”

You leaned closer to Deacon, whispering, “Should we tell him we already do those?”

He covered his mouth to hide his smile. “I gotta ease him into it. Don’t want him having a breakdown.”

You grinned. “We’ll leave out the part where we get ice cream after. Let him think we’re super healthy.”

The wink he gave you made your stomach flip.

🍵🍵🍵🍵

The case changed the air.

Her name was Madeline Shaw—sharp suit, confident smile, the kind of woman who knew how to command attention without raising her voice. She inserted herself into the investigation with unnerving ease and made it clear, very quickly, that Deacon was her focal point.

She laughed too loudly at his dry comments. Touched his arm when she spoke. Found reasons to stand just a little too close.

Deacon never encouraged it. He stayed polite, professional, immovable.

Still, it hurt.

You hated that it did. Hated that jealousy crept in even though you hadn’t claimed him—and he hadn’t claimed you.

Madeline asked questions.

“So is he married?” she asked Street with a grin.

“Does he always look this serious?” she asked Luca.

She cornered Tan one afternoon. “What’s his deal? No one’s that devoted to the job without something else going on.”

And then she noticed you.

The way Deacon’s shoulders relaxed around you. The way his eyes tracked you unconsciously. The way the space between you felt occupied even when you weren’t standing together.

She caught you once when Deacon was pulled into a briefing and you were talking with another squad member.

Her smile sharpened. “So,” she said lightly, “does the department allow inter-team relationships?”

Your jaw tightened. “Why wouldn’t they?”

She shrugged. “Just curious.”

Mission accomplished. Your feathers were thoroughly ruffled.

🍵🍵🍵🍵

The undercover op dropped you into a club—lights low, music pounding, bodies moving.

You and Deacon were supposed to blend in.

Instead, when his hand found your waist and he spun you under his arm, laughter spilling out of you both, it felt dangerously real. Too familiar. Too close to the truth neither of you had spoken.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, moving together like you always did—effortless, in sync, intimate in ways that made your chest ache.

When it ended, the tension didn’t.

Deacon drove you home, the city quiet around you. Conversation drifted easily until the car stopped outside your place and everything slowed.

You turned toward him.

He turned toward you.

The air felt electric.

Then his phone rang. You glanced at the dash.

Madeline Shaw. Something cracked inside you.

You grabbed your bag and opened the door. “You should get that,” you said, forcing lightness into your voice. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Y/N—”

You were already out of the car.

🍵🍵🍵🍵

After the case wrapped, you were leaving HQ when you saw them.

Madeline stood close to Deacon in the hallway, her hand resting on his bicep as she spoke. He looked uncomfortable—but all you saw was her touch.

You turned away quickly, heart pounding.

Chris caught it immediately.

“That’s not what it looked like,” she said gently.

You swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t get to be upset.”

Chris stopped you. “You’re allowed to feel things. Even if you’re scared of them.”

🍵🍵🍵🍵

Deacon found you later that night.

“I need to say this,” he said quietly, voice steady but eyes uncertain. “Before I lose the chance.”

You looked at him, heart in your throat.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he continued. “Somewhere between the runs and the hikes and you turning my fridge into a matcha shrine… I fell in love with you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t say anything because I was afraid,” he admitted. “Afraid of changing what we had. Afraid of losing you.”

Tears burned. “I’ve been in love with you for years.”

Relief washed over his face before he pulled you into his arms.

When he kissed you this time, there were no interruptions.

No phones. No jealousy.Just finally—you.

[nightowl9914]

Hey! I have a Deacon X F Reader request. Apologies because it is a long one. (Also don’t feel like you have to reply directly to the ask when you post the story. I know writing a long ask makes it cumbersome for the writer when it comes to posting. Of course you can do whatever you would like, but zero pressure on my end to include this long message. Hope this makes sense ❤️)

Deacon and F 20 Squad Reader are very close and have feelings for one another. Chris would know about Reader’s feelings and Hondo Deacon’s. The team makes fun of them because they are always together. They go on runs and hikes on their days off. They do volunteer work together. She got him into matcha and he got her to become a Rams fan.

They get a case where a woman is super flirty with Deacon. The reader gets jealous even though Deacon isn’t playing into the advances. The woman ends up being very involved in the case and starts asking other 20 squad members about him. She notices his dynamic with you and catches you when you are without Deacon and with another 20 squad member. She asks you if the department allows inter team relationships to ruffle readers feathers.

Maybe there could be an undercover op in a club and the reader/Deac could be dancing. (Cause the Thailand episodes w/Deac in the club. Ooo dang 😍) After the op, Deac drives reader home. They are talking in his car and are about to kiss when his phone rings. The reader looks at his phone on the dash and sees it’s the woman on the case. The reader would grab her stuff and leave the car, “You better get that. Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

After the case wraps up, the Reader would be leaving HQ. She would notice Deacon and the woman talking in the hallway. The woman would be grabbing his bicep and the reader would turn away to rush out. Chris would see what happened and try to reassure her it’s not what she thinks.

They would end up telling each other how they feel and would live happily ever after. It just takes a lot of yearning and angst to get there 😂

——————

I don’t have any super specific ideas besides this one scene. Zero pressure to use it:

The reader will come into HQ carrying coffee for everyone, “I bring the goods!” Reader will start handing their drinks out to 20 squad. She will hand Deacon two drinks, “So they had a new matcha with cherry honey cold foam. I thought you might like it, but got the usual matcha just in case.” Tan would exclaim holding up his coffee, “Hey, where is my cold foam and second drink?” Reader would turn to him with a brow raised, “Where are my birria tacos that you said you would bring me the other day? Coffee from me may be free, but cold foam comes at a cost.” Street would point out, “Well how does Deacon ‘pay’ for all of his extras? What extracurricular activities are you guys doing?” Deacon would shake his head, “I’m going to complete ignore what you are implying.” Luca took a sip of his coffee, “Lower level seats at the 50 yard line sounds like payment enough. I saw your Instagram story this weekend. You two seemed to be having fun. Some of the post game photos seemed pretty cozy.” Street nodded, “Also don’t think we didn’t notice the matching Jordans.” Chris would chime in, “Or how about them being best friends is enough?” Reader motioned to her, “Thank you. The smartest person in the room once again.” Tan huffed teasingly, “I’m offended that you don’t consider all of us best friends.”

Deacon would try the new drink and offer some to the reader. After she took a sip, she would be handing it back to Deacon when Hondo would swoop in from behind grabbing it, “All right, let’s see what these lovebirds aren’t sharing with the rest of us.” Hondo would take a sip and his face would crinkle, “Ugh. This is god awful! What are you guys a bunch of rabbits eating grass?” Deacon would grab his drink, while Reader handed Hondo his own. Deacon smirked, “That will teach you not to steal.” Hondo shook his head, “Y’all are some nasty people. Next you are going to be telling me you do those juice wellness shots.” The reader would lean over to Deacon and whisper, “Should we tell him that we already get those?” Deacon covered his mouth to hide his smile and whispered back, “I think I am going to have to ease him into it. Don’t want him to have a breakdown.” He winked at her as she tried to hide her amusement. She added, “We can leave out the part where we usually get ice cream after. Let him think we are super healthy.”

I read it all, and I love it! I love reading and writing, so long questions like these bring me joy! So thank you for the request! I will work on this request! It may take some time, 'cause I got so many ideas, and I think I am gonna write a lot for this one!

Thank you for the request!!!!

[nightowl9914]

Uncle Jim, Dad, and the High School Disaster Plan

Word Count: 749

Summary: Fourteen-year-old Y/N Luca is navigating the chaos of high school, from moody mornings to first crushes, all while trying not to tell her overprotective SWAT dad. But when her uncle Jim notices her mood swings, she reluctantly opens up about her feelings—just in time for Luca to realize he’s a little jealous of the bond they share. 💘💔

Thank you, Anon, for the request! It is the continuation of "Uncle Jim, Daddy, and a Tiny Wedding Plan."

Fourteen-year-old Y/N Luca no longer owned a sparkly tutu.

She did, however, own seventeen hoodies, exactly zero patience, and a deeply rooted belief that high school was a personal attack.

Luca knew something was wrong the moment she came home, dropped her backpack like it had personally betrayed her, and muttered, “I hate everyone.”

He paused mid-coffee sip. “…Rough day?”

“School,” she said flatly, already heading for her room.

“Okay,” Luca called after her, careful. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

The door shut—not slammed, but closed with intention. The most dangerous kind.

Luca sighed and glanced over at Jim Street, who was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching the whole thing unfold with a knowing look.

“She used to marry me when she was mad,” Street said. “Now she just ignores you.”

Luca scowled. “This is your fault. You encouraged her.”

“I gave her juice during a medical emergency,” Street shot back. “If anything, I’m a hero.”

Y/N emerged ten minutes later in different clothes—bigger hoodie, hair pulled back, face locked in the universal expression of don’t talk to me. She grabbed a snack from the fridge, checked her Dexcom out of habit, and headed for the couch.

Luca tried again. “You good, kid?”

She shrugged. “I’m fine.”

Street winced. “Oof. That’s a ‘she’s not fine’ fine.”

Y/N glared. “Can you not narrate my emotions, Uncle Jim?”

Luca blinked. “Wait—you’ll talk to him?”

Street grinned. “I have a face people trust.”

“You have a face people punch,” Luca muttered.

✖️✖️✖️✖️

Later that night, Luca retreated to the garage to tinker with something that absolutely did not need fixing. Street found Y/N on the back steps, knees pulled up, phone abandoned beside her.

“Hey,” he said gently, sitting down. “You haven’t glared at me yet. That’s progress.”

She huffed. “Give it time.”

They sat in silence for a moment before she spoke again. “High school is stupid.”

Street nodded immediately. “Correct.”

“And people are stupid.”

“Also correct.”

“And boys—” she stopped herself, groaning and dropping her head back against the step. “Ugh. Never mind.”

Street perked up. “Ah. There it is.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You’re not gonna tell my dad.”

He made a zipping motion over his mouth. “Street code.”

“You just made that up.”

“Still binding.”

She sighed, staring at the yard. “There’s this guy. And he’s not even that great, which makes it worse. He smiled at me and now my brain doesn’t work.”

Street fought a smile. “Classic.”

“And my dad would absolutely lose his mind.”

Street laughed softly. “Yeah… he would.”

She frowned. “Why are you easier to talk to?”

That one caught him off guard.

“…Because I don’t feel like I have to protect you from the world,” he said carefully. “I just wanna help you figure it out.”

She nodded slowly. “That makes sense.”

From the garage, Luca chose that exact moment to walk out.

“…Figure what out?”

Street froze.

Y/N groaned. “Why is your timing criminally bad?”

Luca crossed his arms, eyes flicking between them. “You won’t talk to me, but you’ll talk to him?”

Street lifted his hands. “In my defense, she came with evidence and feelings.”

Luca scoffed. “I’m her father.”

“And I’m her uncle,” Street shot back. “Who once almost married her, apparently.”

Y/N snorted despite herself.

Luca’s shoulders relaxed just a little. “Kid. You can tell me stuff.”

She looked up at him, hesitant. “You promise not to freak out?”

“I am physically incapable of promising that,” he admitted. “But I’ll try.”

She took a breath. “I just… like someone. And it’s dumb. And school is a lot. And I didn’t wanna worry you.”

Luca softened instantly. He stepped closer, crouching in front of her like he had when she was five.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You worrying doesn’t protect me. It just makes you carry it alone.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded, leaning into his shoulder.

Street smiled to himself, standing. “I’m gonna go—before this turns into a feelings circle.”

Luca shot him a look. “We’re not done talking.”

Street grinned. “You’re just mad she still likes me.”

Y/N smirked into Luca’s shoulder. “I mean… Uncle Jim did save my life once.”

Luca sighed. “I will never win.”

But he wrapped an arm around her anyway.

Some things changed.

Some things didn’t.

And even now—years later—when things got scary or overwhelming or a little too much…

She still knew exactly who would catch her before she got floaty.

[nightowl9914]

The Softest Reagan

Word Count: 781

Summary: At a chaotic Reagan Sunday dinner, Y/N L/N and Danny Reagan quickly realize their baby son, Joseph, has decided he wants absolutely no space from his parents. As the family reacts with teasing and warmth, Danny and y/n are reminded that love, safety, and belonging are sometimes found in the smallest, clingiest moments. 💘

Thank you to the Anon for the request!!

Sunday dinner at the Reagan house was always loud.

Not argument loud—well, sometimes—but tonight it was a different kind of chaos. The kind that came with a six-month-old baby boy who had decided that today was absolutely not a day for being put down.

You stood in the kitchen doorway, gently bouncing Joseph Reagan against your shoulder, his tiny fist clutching the collar of your sweater like his life depended on it.

“Hey, buddy,” you whispered softly, pressing a kiss to his dark fuzz of hair. “Mama just needs one free hand, okay?”

Joseph responded by tightening his grip and letting out a small, indignant whine.

Danny, who had been leaning against the counter pretending not to hover, was at your side in half a second.

“He’s hungry,” Danny said confidently. You raised an eyebrow. “He ate ten minutes ago.”

“…He’s tired?” “He just woke up.”

Danny frowned at his son, who immediately buried his face into your neck. “…Okay, maybe he just loves you more.”

Frank Reagan cleared his throat from the dining room. “Daniel.”

Danny straightened instinctively. “Yeah, Dad?”

“Why is my grandson making that noise?” Joseph chose that moment to let out a dramatic little huff, as if deeply offended by the question.

Erin appeared beside Frank, arms crossed, amused. “Looks like separation anxiety.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Danny muttered. “He’s fine.”

Joseph responded by grabbing your necklace and tugging on it, clearly announcing that no, he was not fine unless he was glued to you.

Jamie leaned over the back of his chair. “Wow. He’s got a grip. You should put him on the force early.”

You laughed softly. “He’s already got his father’s stubbornness,” Danny smirked. “That’s a good thing.”

“Debatable,” Erin said.

You finally sat down at the table with Joseph still pressed against your chest, his cheek warm against your collarbone. The moment you shifted him even an inch away, he whined again.

“Oh, no,” you murmured, adjusting him back. “Okay, okay, I got you.”

Frank watched the whole thing with an unreadable expression before finally saying, “He’s very… attached.”

Danny beamed. “Smart kid.”

“He gets that from Y/N,” Eddie's absence lingered quietly in the room, but Frank smiled gently anyway. “Babies know where they’re safe.”

Your chest tightened just a little at that.

Danny slid into the chair next to you, one hand immediately resting on Joseph’s back, thumb rubbing soothing circles. Joseph relaxed almost instantly, his tiny body melting against you.

“There,” Danny murmured. “Team effort.”

Jamie grinned. “Look at that. He’s got both of you wrapped around his finger already.”

Joseph yawned, then very deliberately latched onto your sleeve again.

“Oh my God,” Erin laughed. “He’s not even subtle.”

You smiled down at him, heart practically overflowing. “I guess he’s just having one of those days.”

Danny leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… he’s never this clingy.”

Danny pressed a kiss to your temple. “Hey. He’s got good taste.”

Joseph peeked up at Danny, studied him for a moment, then reached out—and grabbed Danny’s finger with surprising strength.

Danny froze. “…Did you see that?” he whispered.

Jamie gasped theatrically. “Oh, that’s it. He’s chosen.”

Frank chuckled softly. “Looks like Joseph wants both his parents.”

Danny’s expression softened in a way that made your chest ache—in the best way. He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to Joseph’s.

“Hey, little man,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”

Joseph cooed. You swore your heart grew three sizes.

Dinner continued in typical Reagan fashion—Jamie and Erin bickering, Frank offering sage advice no one asked for—but through it all, Joseph refused to leave your arms. When you tried to pass him to Eddie—Absolutely not.

To Jamie? Immediate protest.

Even Frank didn’t escape; Joseph eyed him suspiciously and clutched you tighter.

Danny laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes. “That’s my son.”

Eventually, Joseph grew sleepy, his grip loosening, lashes fluttering. You rocked him gently. “Someone finally wore himself out.”

Danny carefully stood, arms out. “Let me.” You hesitated just a second before handing Joseph over.

Joseph blinked—then relaxed against Danny’s chest, one tiny hand still gripping your finger.

“…Okay,” Erin said softly. “That’s illegal levels of cute.”

Danny swayed slightly, instinctive, protective, completely undone. He looked at you, eyes warm.

“Joe would’ve loved him,” he said quietly.

You smiled, stepping closer, resting your hand over Joseph’s back. “I think he’d be proud.”

Danny leaned in, kissing you softly, carefully, like he didn’t want to wake the baby.

Frank watched the two of you, pride clear in his eyes.

Sunday dinner continued—loud, chaotic, imperfect—but wrapped in warmth, love, and one very clingy baby boy who knew exactly where he belonged.

[nightowl9914]

Heyyy I just came across your Luka dad story with uncle Jim etc. would u maybe do another one plss 🥺this was so good

You can write like the previous one with a 5 year old or go to an older kid idk 14/16 teenager years yk, could be funny 🫣

I'll leave it up to u 🥰❤️‍🩹

Hi hi! Thank you for sending a request and letting me know that you loved it! I will get to that ASAP!

[nightowl9914]

Perfectly Planned

Word Count: 1035

Summary: Y/N plans Hondo and Nichelle’s wedding, catching Deacon’s attention immediately. With a little matchmaking from the couple and a brief misunderstanding, Deacon finally admits his feelings—turning the wedding into the start of something special for Y/N too.💔💘

You had planned dozens of weddings, but none of them had ever made your hands shake the way this one did.

Maybe it was the venue—an elegant hillside estate overlooking the city, glowing softly in the early morning light. Or maybe it was the couple.

Daniel “Hondo” Harrelson and Nichelle Carmichael.

They weren’t just clients. They were people. People who had fought for each other through distance, danger, and sacrifice. Planning their wedding felt less like a job and more like a responsibility you couldn’t afford to fail.

You exhaled slowly and checked your clipboard for the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Y/N.”

You turned to see Hondo approaching, suit jacket slung over his shoulder, calm as ever.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes—no—well, yes,” you said quickly, then sighed. “Everything’s on schedule. Flowers are placed, music’s ready, catering’s confirmed. I just… want it to be perfect.”

Hondo’s expression softened. “You’ve already done that. Nichelle and I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

From behind him, Nichelle appeared, radiant even without her dress, her smile bright enough to steady you.

“And,” she added casually, looping her arm through Hondo’s, “I have a feeling today’s going to be perfect for more reasons than one.”

You frowned. “What does that mean?”

They shared a look.

“Oh, nothing,” Hondo said, far too innocently.

You should’ve known then.

💍💍💍💍

The ceremony hadn’t even started yet when everything shifted.

You were directing staff near the aisle, adjusting a floral arrangement when you felt it—that subtle pull, the instinctive awareness of someone’s gaze.

You glanced up.

And your breath caught.

Deacon Kay stood a few yards away, dressed sharply in a charcoal suit that fit him dangerously well. He wasn’t talking to anyone. Wasn’t on his phone.

He was just… looking at you.

Not openly, not boldly—but softly. Like he was already memorizing the way you moved, the way you spoke, the way you cared about every detail.

When your eyes met, he startled slightly, then smiled.

A slow, warm smile that settled straight into your chest. You swallowed and forced yourself to look back at your clipboard.

Focus. You are working.

But every time you glanced up after that, you felt it again.

And every time—He was still looking.

💍💍💍💍

“Deacon.”

Deacon tore his gaze away from you like he’d been caught doing something illegal. “What?”

Hondo smirked. “You good?”

“Yeah. Fine. Great,” Deacon said quickly, adjusting his cuffs. “Why?”

Hondo followed his line of sight. “Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

Deacon groaned. “Don’t.” Hondo laughed. “You didn’t even try to hide it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do,” Hondo replied. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re already gone.” From nearby, Nichelle leaned in, eyes sparkling. “He’s been staring since she arrived.”

Deacon sighed. “She’s just… impressive. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Nichelle said. “Sure.”

💍💍💍💍

You officially met Deacon after the ceremony, when adrenaline finally started to wear off.

“Excuse me,” he said politely as you passed by with a stack of programs. “You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, smiling. “And you’re Deacon.”

His eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

You laughed softly. “Hondo talks about his team a lot.”

“That explains it,” he said, relieved. “I just wanted to say—the wedding looks incredible.”

“Thank you,” you said. “It means a lot.”

There was a brief pause. Not awkward—just… heavy. Charged.

“I, uh—if you need help with anything,” he offered, “I’m around.”

You hesitated. “Actually… I could use an extra set of hands for the reception setup.”

His smile returned immediately. “Lead the way.”

Working together felt easy. Too easy.

He anticipated what you needed before you asked. Held doors open. Carried more than his share without complaint. And every once in a while, when you caught him watching you again, he didn’t look away.

It made your chest ache. Because men like Deacon Kay didn’t look at women like you for long.

💍💍💍💍

At the reception, you stayed near the edges, monitoring everything like always. Watching love unfold from a distance.

That’s when you saw him again.

Deacon, laughing with a woman near the bar. She touched his arm as she spoke, her expression intimate, familiar.

Something inside you folded in on itself. Of course.

You looked down at your clipboard, suddenly aware of how tired you were. How alone. How easy it was to forget that people like him already had full lives—someone waiting for them.

You slipped outside quietly, needing air.

💍💍💍💍

“Why does she look sad?” Nichelle followed your retreating figure with concern.

Hondo glanced between you and Deacon. “Because he didn’t say something soon enough.”

Nichelle sighed. “Men.”

“I can hear you,” Deacon muttered. “Then fix it,” she said firmly. “She’s been holding this whole day together. Don’t let her think she doesn’t matter.”

Deacon didn’t hesitate.

💍💍💍💍

You were standing beneath the string lights, hands wrapped around your arms, when footsteps approached.

“Y/N?” You turned. Deacon looked… nervous. Vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I wanted to explain something,” he said gently. “Before you make assumptions.”

You swallowed. “You don’t owe me—”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I do.”

He stepped closer. “That woman inside? She’s my sister. She came as a surprise.”

Your breath hitched. “Oh.”

“And I’ve been trying to work up the courage to talk to you all day,” he continued. “But I didn’t want to distract you from your job.”

You met his eyes. “You wouldn’t have.”

He smiled faintly. “Good. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words settled between you, warm and steady.

“I spend my life watching other people fall in love,” you admitted softly. “Sometimes it’s hard to believe it could happen to me.”

Deacon reached out, tentative. “It could.”

You let yourself lean into the moment. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?” he asked. “Just us.”

You smiled, heart full. “I’d like that.”

💍💍💍💍Epilogue

As you danced together later, Nichelle caught your eye and grinned.

Hondo raised his glass in approval.

For the first time, you weren’t just the planner.

You were part of the story.

[nightowl9914]

Can I request a danny reagan fluff where he's dating reader where they have a baby son named Joseph (after his brother joe) where one day at sunday dinner the baby's to clingy to which the reagans chaotically react to. Thank 💖

Hello!!! Why of course I can! Thank you for sending in a request and so sorry on the delay for answering this! I am working on that now hehe!

[nightowl9914]

The Quiet Ways Love Finds You

Word Count: 917

Summary: When primary school teacher Y/N L/N notices her student Victoria Kay is sad, she speaks with Victoria's father, Deacon. Their caring conversation leads to a gentle connection between them, and as Victoria grows happier, she eagerly pushes them together—helping love bloom into a sweet, unexpected family. 💘

Thank you to the Anon who requested it! I was slowly working on it, so sorry for the delay! Working on getting those requests done for you all!

Y/N L/N loved the quiet moments before the school day truly began.

The classroom still smelled faintly of crayons and dry-erase markers, sunlight spilling through the windows and landing in soft squares on the carpet. She stood by her desk, arranging picture books into neat stacks, humming quietly to herself. Teaching primary school wasn’t just her job—it was her heart. Every child came with a story, and Y/N had made it her mission to listen to each one.

That morning, however, one story weighed heavier than the others.

Victoria Kay.

Victoria had been unusually quiet for days. Normally bright-eyed and eager, she now sat with her shoulders slightly hunched, her smile slower to arrive. Y/N noticed everything—who tied their shoes too tightly, who avoided group work, who stared out the window a little too long.

So when the bell rang and the children rushed in, Y/N knelt beside Victoria's desk.

“Good morning, Victoria,” she said softly. “I’m really glad you’re here today.”

Victoria nodded, fingers twisting together. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Y/N made a mental note.

🔵🔵🔵🔵

By the end of the day, her concern had only grown.

Victoria participated, followed instructions, and was kind as always—but there was a sadness clinging to her like a shadow. When the final bell rang, Y/N gently touched Victoria's shoulder.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Do you think you could wait here for a moment? I’d love to talk to your dad when he comes.”

Victoria hesitated, then nodded.

A few minutes later, Deacon stepped into the classroom.

Y/N had seen him plenty of times during pickup—always polite, always attentive, always very clearly a devoted father. But today was the first time he really looked at her, and vice versa.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing plain clothes that still somehow carried the weight of responsibility. His eyes, though, were warm—concerned, already searching for Annie.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked, voice calm but alert.

“Yes,” Y/N said, offering a gentle smile. “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Kay.”

“Please—Deacon,” he said quickly. “Or David.”

She nodded. “Okay. David.”

She gestured for them to sit at the small reading table. Victoria sat quietly, staring at her hands.

“I wanted to talk because I’ve noticed Victoria seems… a little sad lately,” Y/N said carefully. “She hasn’t done anything wrong at all. I just wanted to check in.”

Deacon’s brow furrowed instantly. He leaned forward, concern flooding his expression.

“Sad how?”

Y/N kept her voice warm and non-alarming. “Quieter. More withdrawn. Sometimes kids don’t have the words yet—but they feel things deeply.”

Deacon looked at Victoria. “Hey, kiddo… you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Victoria shrugged, then whispered, “I don’t like when you look tired all the time.”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

Y/N watched the moment gently, giving space.

Deacon swallowed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t know you noticed that much.”

“I do,” Victoria said softly. Then, almost shyly, she glanced at Y/N. “Miss L/N listens.”

Something in Deacon’s chest tightened.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Y/N said kindly. “Victoria cares deeply about you. Sometimes kids worry they’re not allowed to worry.”

Deacon exhaled slowly. “Thank you… for telling me.”

They talked a little longer—about routines, reassurance, small ways to help Victoria feel secure. When it was time to leave, Victoria hugged Y/N tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

After they left, Y/N sat at her desk for a long moment, hoping she’d done the right thing.

🔵🔵🔵🔵

She didn’t expect to see Deacon again so soon.

A few days later, he showed up at pickup with two coffees in his hands.

“I hope this isn’t weird,” he said, holding one out. “Victoria insisted.”

Victoria nodded seriously. “You help people. That means you need coffee.”

Y/N laughed, surprised and touched. “Thank you. Both of you.”

From then on, small moments became a pattern.

Short conversations turned into longer ones. Deacon lingered after school. Annie brightened day by day—and started making very obvious comments.

“Miss L/N, my dad cooks bad spaghetti.”

“Victoria,” Deacon warned.

“She could teach you,” Victoria added innocently.

Y/N tried not to laugh.

One afternoon, Victoria stayed behind to “draw” while very clearly listening.

“Y/N,” Deacon said, a little hesitant. “Would you maybe want to get dinner sometime? No pressure. Just… talking.”

Y/N felt her heart flutter—but she kept her smile calm.

“I’d like that.”

Victoria beamed so brightly it was impossible to ignore.

🔵🔵🔵🔵

Dinner turned into walks. Walks turned into laughter. Laughter turned into something soft and steady.

Deacon admired how gentle Y/N was—not just with Victoria, but with the world. She admired how deeply he loved his family, how he listened when it mattered, how he tried.

One evening, after a quiet movie night at the Deacon house, Victoria fell asleep on the couch between them.

“She likes you,” Deacon whispered.

Y/N smiled softly. “I like her too.”

Victoria stirred, eyes half-opening. “I like you together.”

Deacon froze. Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“I think,” Victoria continued sleepily, “you should stay.”

Y/N looked at Deacon, warmth blooming in her chest.

“If you want me to,” she said quietly.

Deacon nodded. “I do.”

Victoria smiled in her sleep.

And in that quiet living room, with a child who finally felt safe and two adults who found love in unexpected ways, everything felt exactly right.

[nightowl9914]

Steady Ground

Word Count: 975

Summary: Y/N L/N, the youngest SWAT rookie, trains under Deacon Kay and slowly earns her place on the team. As he protects and guides her, their professional bond turns into something deeper. After a dangerous case forces them to confront their fears, Deacon confesses his feelings, and they choose a careful but happy future together.

Thank you to the Anon for the request!

You learned quickly that SWAT didn’t slow down for nerves.

The first morning you stepped into headquarters, coffee barely touched, vest heavier than you expected, you felt like you were constantly half a step behind. Everyone moved with purpose—years of muscle memory guiding them through routines you were still memorizing.

You were the youngest. The newest. And painfully aware of it.

“L/N,” Hondo called, voice firm but not unkind. “You’re with Deacon.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Deacon Kay turned from the briefing table, calm eyes settling on you. There was no judgment in his expression—just quiet assessment, like he was already thinking ten steps ahead.

“C’mon,” he said, motioning you over. “I’ll walk you through it.”

That became a pattern.

Deacon always walked you through things. Never rushed, never impatient. When you forgot protocol or hesitated before speaking, he waited. When your hands shook the first time you cleared a room under live fire, he noticed—but didn’t call it out in front of anyone.

“Your instincts are solid,” he told you afterward. “Confidence will come.”

Training days were long. Grueling. Sweat-soaked and exhausting.

Deacon corrected your grip at the range, standing close enough that you could smell gun oil and coffee on him. His hands were warm when they adjusted your stance, steady when everything else inside you felt unstable.

“Relax your shoulders,” he murmured. “You’re fighting the recoil.”

You nodded, breathing out slowly, forcing your body to listen.

When you fired again, the shot landed true.

His smile—small, proud—did something dangerous to your heart.

The team warmed up to you slowly. Luca cracked jokes. Street teased you mercilessly once you proved you could handle it. Tan became your quiet support, always checking in after rough calls.

But Deacon was constant. He always took the point just ahead of you. Always checked your vest straps before deployment. Always asked, “You good?”—and waited for a real answer.

Somewhere along the way, kid stopped feeling condescending and started feeling… intimate.

You tried not to notice how his voice softened when he said your name. Tried not to wonder if he noticed how your eyes followed him. Tried not to feel the spark every time your shoulders brushed in tight hallways.

You told yourself it was just a matter of trust. Respect. Gratitude.

Until the night you froze.

It was a foot chase—nothing unusual. The suspect cut left, and for half a second, your mind blanked. The moment stretched too long. Deacon compensated immediately, cutting off the escape route, but the mistake burned in your chest all the same.

Afterward, you stood behind the vans, helmet off, breathing hard.

“I messed up,” you said before he could speak.

Deacon studied you for a moment. “You hesitated,” he agreed.

Your stomach dropped.

“But you recovered,” he continued. “You adapted. That matters.”

You looked up at him, eyes bright with unshed frustration. “I don’t want to be a liability.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You’re not. You’re learning. And I wouldn’t put you in my stack if I didn’t trust you.”

That trust became everything to you. Then came the hostage call.

It started wrong and went downhill fast.

The building was unstable. Suspects were agitated. Commands were shouted over overlapping radio chatter. Somewhere in the chaos, a door slammed shut behind you, cutting you off from the team.

Your radio crackled uselessly.

You took cover, heart slamming against your ribs as bullets tore into furniture nearby. Every second felt like an eternity. You forced yourself to breathe. To remember your training.

Deacon’s training.

When the gunfire stopped, it was almost worse—the silence ringing in your ears.

Then—“Police! Drop it!”

Deacon.

The suspect went down quickly, efficiently. Deacon was at your side in an instant, scanning you like he was searching for wounds he couldn’t see.

“Talk to me,” he said urgently. “You hit?”

“No,” you breathed. “I—I’m okay.”

His hands stayed on you anyway, grounding, real. For one unguarded moment, his composure shattered. He pulled you into him, forehead resting briefly against yours.

“I thought—” He stopped himself, jaw tight. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Your heart ached. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

The crash came later.

In the locker room, your hands shook so badly you dropped your gloves. You felt small. Fragile. Too young for this job, for the weight it carried.

Deacon found you there.

He didn’t speak right away. Just sat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched. You leaned into it without thinking.

“I can’t keep pretending,” he said finally, voice low. “I care about you. And that scares me.”

You turned to him. “Because I’m your rookie?”

“Because I’m supposed to protect you,” he replied. “And because losing you would destroy me.”

The honesty in his eyes made your chest ache.

“I care too,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to. I tried not to. But I do.”

He nodded slowly, like he was accepting something inevitable.

The aftermath was complicated.

Paperwork. Meetings. Hondo’s measured stare. A reassignment that gave you space—but not distance. Deacon respected every boundary, every rule, even when it clearly cost him.

He never stopped being there.

Checking in. Listening. Waiting.

The night everything finally settled, you stood outside HQ together, city lights glowing softly around you.

“You still sure about this?” he asked quietly.

You took his hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His smile was slow, relieved, almost disbelieving. He brushed his thumb over your knuckles like he was memorizing the feeling.

“You’re not just my rookie anymore,” he said. “You’re my partner. In every way that matters.”

This time, when he kissed you, it was unhurried. Gentle. Full of warmth and promise.

And as you leaned into him, heart steady at last, you knew—

You had found solid ground. In the chaos. In danger. In him.

[nightowl9914]

Ahh, thank you for writing my request, I looveed it :)

I have other ideas but no stress here ✨️ since I love a younger reader it goes for all of them 🤭 and I like happy endings 🥹

- the reader is a new rookie and Deacon has to train her. They fall in love and after a complicated case he confesses his feelings.

- the reader is a primary school teacher and he meets her because his daughter is sad and she wants a conversation about her. After that his daughter wants them together.

- the reader is the wedding planer for Hondo and Michelle and at the wedding Deacon just got heart eyes for her. Hondo and Michelle decide to play matchmaker.

Sending you love ✨️

Omg hi! Thank you for the request!!! I'm gonna do allll for these cause like they are awesome ideas like you!!!

[nightowl9914]

Beyond the Pour

Word Count: 3000

Summary: The story centers on the developing romantic relationship between the 29-year-old owner of a bar and Deacon Kay, a SWAT team member who frequents the establishment. Despite Deacon's initial reservations about their age difference and his past, their connection intensifies, resulting in a confrontation and ultimately, an acceptance of their mutual feelings. 💘💔❤️‍🔥

Thank you to the anon for the request! Sorry for the long one, just couldn't stop! Hope you like it, don't know if I should keep the Deacon POV....But let me know if you want more or something different! Requests are always open!

The bar had history soaked into its walls.

Your grandfather built it when the neighborhood was rougher, louder, and needed a place to breathe. Now it was yours. At twenty-nine, you owned every scuffed barstool, every dim bulb, every memory that lived behind the counter. You worked harder than anyone else there—not because you had to, but because it mattered.

That’s why the SWAT team kept coming back.

It started as a convenience. Close to HQ. Quiet enough after hours. Strong drinks. Then it became routine.

Hondo always took control of the table like he did everything else. Luca talked too much. Tan listened more than he spoke. Street lingered near the bar like he was waiting for something. Chris clocked everything—especially you.

And Deacon Kay?

Deacon noticed you the first night.

Not just that you were beautiful (though you were), in a way that felt real. It was the way you moved behind the bar like you belonged to it. The way you handled drunk patrons with calm authority. The way your smile didn’t ask for attention but earned it anyway.

He told himself it was harmless. Appreciation. Nothing more.

Because men like him didn’t go after women like you.

You were younger. Sharp. Full of possibility. He had a past, responsibilities, mistakes. You deserved someone who could keep pace with the future you hadn’t even stepped into yet.

So he kept things light.

Friendly jokes. Polite smiles. Never lingering too long. Never touching when it wasn’t necessary. Never letting his eyes stay on you more than a second too long.

The rest of the team noticed anyway. “She pours your drink first every time,” Luca muttered once.

Deacon shrugged. “She’s just good at her job.” Chris snorted. “Sure.”

One night, after closing time crept closer and the bar thinned out, the truth slipped out.

“You own this place?” Tan asked. You nodded. “Inherited it from my grandfather.”

"And you’re…?” Street hesitated.

“Twenty-nine.” The way Deacon stiffened didn’t go unnoticed.

You didn’t see it at first. Just felt the shift afterward. The way he pulled back even more. The way his smile faded faster. The way his warmth cooled into something distant and careful.

It hurt more than you expected.

You hadn’t planned on liking him. But there was something about Deacon—steady, kind, quietly intense. He looked at you like you mattered, even when he tried not to.

So when he started putting space between you, it felt personal.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

Weeks passed. The tension grew.

The team teased. You deflected. Deacon stayed silent. Until one night, everything snapped.

A younger guy flirted too aggressively at the bar. You handled it—firm, professional—but when he finally left, Deacon’s jaw was tight.

“You don’t have to entertain guys like that,” he said, sharper than intended.

You blinked. “I was doing my job.”

“I know,” he said. “I just—” He stopped himself. “You just what?” you asked quietly.

He exhaled. “You could do better than men who don’t know when to walk away.”

The words were meant to protect. They landed like judgment.

“And you?” you asked. “Where do you fall in that?” His voice hardened. “I’m too old for you.” That did it.

You nodded once. “Then don’t worry about me.”

After that, you didn’t serve them anymore.

You still welcomed the team. Still smiled. Still kept the bar open to them. But someone else poured their drinks. Someone else joked with them. Someone else stood between you and Deacon.

Deacon felt the loss immediately.

It wasn’t the alcohol he missed—it was you. Your presence. Your laugh. The way you used to look at him like he was something worth noticing.

Regret gnawed at him.

Chris cornered him one night. “You broke her heart.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he muttered.

“Intent doesn’t matter,” she said. “Fix it.”

🍻🍻🍻🍻

He stayed after closing the next night.

The bar was quiet. Lights low. You wiped the counter slowly, like you didn’t want to look at him.

“I was wrong,” he said. You didn’t answer.

“I don’t get to decide what you deserve,” he continued. “I was scared. And instead of owning that, I pushed you away.”

You finally looked at him. “I didn’t need you to protect me,” you said softly. “I needed honesty.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that the air shifted. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first night you smiled at me like you already knew me.”

Your breath caught. “I didn’t think I was allowed to,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep pretending.”

The space between you disappeared.

His hand found your waist—warm, steady, reverent. Your fingers curled into his shirt. The kiss was slow at first, then deeper, charged with everything unsaid. When you broke apart, your forehead rested against his.

“You hurt me,” you whispered. “I know,” he said. “And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it right.”

Later, the bar was locked, the world outside forgotten. His jacket hung over your shoulders. His hands were gentle but sure. Every touch felt earned. Wanted. Real.

And for the first time, Deacon didn’t hold back.

Neither did you.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

The bar was locked. The lights dimmed low enough to feel like a secret.

The quiet pressed in around you, thick with everything neither of you had said for weeks.

Deacon didn’t rush you. That was the first thing that undid you.

He stood close, so close you could feel the warmth of him, but he didn’t touch right away. Just looked at you like he was memorizing the moment. Like he’d already decided he wasn’t wasting another second pretending this didn’t matter.

“I’m not leaving tonight,” he said quietly. “Not unless you tell me to.”

Your heart hammered. “And if I don’t?”

A corner of his mouth curved. “Then I’m staying.” You stepped closer. That was all the permission he needed.

His hands came to your waist, firm but careful, thumbs brushing just under the edge of your shirt. When he kissed you this time, it wasn’t hesitant. It was deep, slow, and deliberate—like he was making up for lost time. Like he wanted you to feel every ounce of restraint he’d been carrying.

You gasped softly against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt again. He groaned low in his throat at the sound, like it went straight through him.

“God,” he murmured, forehead resting against yours. “I’ve been thinking about this. About you. For longer than I should admit.”

You swallowed. “Then stop thinking.”

That earned you a breathless laugh before his mouth found your neck, unhurried, warm, devastating. His hands slid higher, lower—never crossing a line, but tracing it so closely your knees threatened to give out.

You leaned back against the bar without realizing it. He followed.

The wood was cool against your palms. Deacon stood between your knees, close enough that there was no mistaking how much he wanted you. He paused there, eyes searching your face.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, voice rough.

You shook your head. “Tell me if this hurts you.” “It doesn’t,” you whispered. “It feels like you finally chose me.” That did something to him.

His hands tightened at your hips, his mouth capturing yours again—hungrier now, less restrained. He kissed you like he’d made a decision and wasn’t backing out of it. Like you were something he was done denying himself.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

His jacket ended up around your shoulders again. Your fingers traced the lines of his arms, the strength there, the steadiness. Every touch felt intentional. Reverent. Like he wasn’t just touching you—he was listening.

When he finally pulled back, breath uneven, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’m not walking away again,” he said. “Not tomorrow. Not when it gets complicated. Not when the team starts running their mouths.”

You smiled softly. “Good. Because I don’t share my bar with cowards.”

He laughed, low and warm—and then kissed you again, slower this time, sweeter. The kind of kiss that promised mornings after. Lingering touches. Staying.

Later, the bar lights were off completely.

And Deacon stayed.

🍻🍻🍻🍻 Deacon's P.O.V.

Deacon had faced down armed suspects without his hands shaking.

Standing in your bar after hours—lights low, door locked, your eyes on him—was somehow harder.

He’d already screwed this up once. He knew that. The distance, the stupid assumptions, the way he’d decided what was best for you without ever asking. He’d watched you pull away inch by inch, and it had been worse than any reprimand or bad call in the field.

So when he said he wasn’t leaving, he meant it.

He watched you step closer, felt the shift in the air like a held breath finally released. When his hands settled at your waist, it felt… right. Like they’d been waiting there longer than he wanted to admit.

The first kiss nearly undid him.

Not rushed. Not clumsy. Just full. Your mouth warm and sure against his, your fingers gripping his shirt like you were anchoring yourself. He groaned quietly before he could stop himself, the sound pulled straight from his chest.

God, he’d missed this—missed you—even though he’d never really had you before.

When you leaned back against the bar, he followed instinctively, positioning himself between your knees, close enough that there was no pretending anymore. He felt every breath you took. Felt the way you tensed and softened under his touch.

He forced himself to slow down.

Not because he didn’t want more—because he wanted this to be right.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. He needed you to know this was your choice. That he wasn’t taking anything for granted.

When you said it felt like he’d finally chosen you, something inside him cracked open.

He had chosen you. He was choosing you—right now, completely, without excuses.

He kissed you again, deeper this time, hands firmer at your hips, thumbs brushing skin like he was committing every inch of you to memory. The way you sighed into him nearly made him lose what little control he had left.

This wasn’t about age. Or timing. Or fear.

This was about the way you fit against him like you’d always belonged there.

He draped his jacket over your shoulders later without thinking—muscle memory, care instinctive. Watched the way you smiled softly, eyes heavy, lips still swollen from his mouth. He’d seen that look before in mirrors, in quiet moments after long nights—but never directed at him like this.

“I’m not walking away again,” he promised, meaning every word. He’d spent too long standing still, letting fear masquerade as responsibility.

The bar went dark. The world narrowed.

And for the first time in a long while, Deacon Kay stayed exactly where he wanted to be.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

Deacon woke slower than usual. Not because he was tired—but because he didn’t want to move.

Morning light filtered through the front windows of the bar, soft and pale, catching on the edges of bottles and glassware. You were still asleep beside him on the couch in the office upstairs, curled toward him like you belonged there.

God help him—he hoped you did.

He lay there for a long moment, arm around you, listening to the quiet. No radios. No sirens. No decisions to make except whether or not to tighten his grip when you shifted closer.

He chose yes.

When you finally stirred, blinking up at him, there was no regret in your eyes. No awkwardness. Just warmth. Familiarity that hadn’t existed before but felt like it should have.

“Morning,” you murmured. His chest tightened. “Morning.”

You smiled sleepily. “You stayed.” “I said I would.”

And for once, it hadn’t felt like a promise he’d have to fight himself to keep.

🍻🍻🍻🍻

Downstairs, the bar opened late that afternoon. You moved behind the counter like always—confident, composed—but Deacon noticed the difference immediately. The way your smile lingered. The way your eyes met his without hesitation.

The team arrived shortly after. Hondo clocked it first.

You leaned a little closer to Deacon when you greeted them. Deacon’s hand brushed your lower back—casual, unconscious, possessive. The touch lasted half a second too long.

Chris’s mouth twitched. Luca grinned like he’d just won something.

Street raised his eyebrows. Tan pretended very hard not to notice.

Deacon didn’t realize he’d slipped until it was too late.

A guy a few stools down leaned toward you, voice just a little too familiar. You handled it like always—polite but firm.

Deacon was on his feet before he thought about it.

“Hey,” he said, tone calm but edged with steel. “That’s enough.”

The guy scoffed. “I was just talking.”

Deacon stepped closer. Close enough to make the point clear without raising his voice. “Then you’re done.”

The man backed off. The bar went quiet.

You stared at Deacon, eyes wide—not scared, just surprised. Something warm flickered across your face.

Hondo cleared his throat. “Deacon.”

Deacon realized what he’d done. Realized everyone had realized.

He exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

You leaned in slightly, voice soft. “Don’t be.”

That was when Luca lost it. “Oh, come on,” he laughed. “You’re not even trying to be subtle.”

Deacon shot him a look. “Drop it.” Chris smirked. “Too late.” Deacon turned back to you, lowering his voice. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I had it handled.” “I know,” he said. “I just—” He stopped, then finished honestly. “Didn’t like it.”

Your smile softened. “I noticed.”

You poured his drink yourself this time, sliding it across the bar like nothing had ever been wrong. Like he’d never been on the outside looking in.

When he took it, your fingers brushed his. Intentional.

Later, as the team filed out, Hondo clapped Deacon on the shoulder. “About time.” Deacon didn’t argue.

Instead, when the door locked behind them, he stayed—leaning against the bar, watching you move through the space like you owned it.

Because you did. And somehow, finally, he wasn’t standing in the doorway anymore.

🍻🍻🍻🍻 Epilogue:

The bar had changed over the years.

You’d repainted the walls once, polished the floorboards, added string lights that gave the place a soft golden glow at night. The jukebox still ate quarters if you weren’t careful. And now, Deacon’s boots were more likely to echo behind the counter than the quiet of late-night patrons.

It had been three years since he’d first crossed that threshold after hours. Three years of slow mornings, late nights, stolen kisses between clearing glasses and taking out the trash, and relentless teasing from the team whenever they came in.

But the best part? He was yours. And you were his.

This morning, you were perched on the bar stool, arms crossed, half awake, while Deacon leaned against the counter behind you, jacket draped over one shoulder, fingers brushing the small of your back every so often.

“Hey,” you said, voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” he replied, smirking. His hand slid a little lower, just enough to make you shift subtly against him, hips brushing.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, not even trying to hide the grin.

“You love it,” he countered. You rolled your eyes but didn’t deny it. You never had.

The door jingled, and the team filed in. Hondo raised an eyebrow when he saw Deacon lingering near you. Luca grinned like he’d won a jackpot. Tan just shook his head, smiling faintly. Street didn’t even pretend not to notice.

“Looks like someone’s still very protective,” Chris said, voice full of amusement.

Deacon didn’t answer with words. He just draped a possessive arm over your shoulders as you poured drinks, thumb brushing lightly along your collarbone. You didn’t protest; instead, you leaned into him.

“You’re impossible,” you whispered, smirking.

“And you like it,” he murmured back, lips brushing your ear.

The team snickered from the corner. You ignored them. Some things were just yours—and him.

Later, when the bar was quiet again, you found yourselves leaning against the jukebox, the one your grandfather had fought to keep running. Deacon’s hands found yours, fingers interlacing, and he pulled you closer.

“You know,” he said, voice low, “I could never get tired of this. You. This.”

You laughed softly, brushing a hand against his chest. “Promise you’ll never leave?”

“Never,” he said, eyes locking onto yours. “Not for a second.”

He leaned down then, catching your lips in a kiss that was slow, intimate, and scorching. Not the hurried kind that left you breathless in frustration, but the kind that promised years of mornings, nights, laughter, and touch.

When he pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, he whispered, “You’re mine. And I’m never letting go.”

You smiled, tugging him closer. “Good. Because I’ve already claimed you too.”

Outside, the city buzzed. Inside, the bar was quiet, safe, yours. And for the first time in a long time, both of you felt exactly where you belonged.

Years later, you would tell your kids about the bar, about the man who had waited, the man who had loved fiercely and without compromise. You’d tell them about the late nights, the soft kisses behind the counter, and the way he made you feel like the most important person in the world.

And you’d smile, because even after all that time, he’d still make you flush. Still make your heart pound. Still make you want him like the very first night he kissed you.

He was yours. You were his. And nothing—not time, not fear, not life—could ever change that.

[nightowl9914]

Hallo :)

I would love one for Deacon Kay :)

The reader is younger than him - end twenties.

She works at a bar where the whole squad is coming frequently, Deacon thinks she is beautiful but thinks she could do better with a younger man.

The whole squad is shipping them, but Deacon tries to play it cool until he gets mean to her because he can't get feelings in the way.

Please with a happy ending and 🔥 :)

Have a sunny day :)

Omg hiii! Of course!!! Let me get right to it! And you have a sunny and wonderful day!

[nightowl9914]

The Night Christmas Almost Broke

Summary: On Christmas Eve at HQ, a careless conversation nearly shatters a five-year-old’s belief in Santa. Tan panics, the team closes ranks, and SWAT proves that sometimes magic survives because people choose to protect it. 💔💘

Word Count: 766

Christmas Eve at HQ always felt strange—too quiet in some ways, too loud in others.

The halls were glowing softly with string lights taped up by hands more used to gripping weapons than decorating. A small tree stood near the bullpen, slightly crooked, ornaments mismatched but clearly chosen with care. Someone had even put a Santa hat on the bust by the elevator.

You sat cross-legged on the floor near Tan’s desk, coloring intently. His jacket was draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long, the scent of his cologne comforting and familiar. You hummed softly, completely absorbed in your drawing of Santa’s sleigh.

Tan watched you whenever he thought no one noticed. Christmas Eve shifts were already hard—but having you here made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t quite name. He worried constantly. About the world. About how sharp it could be. About how long he could keep it soft for you.

That’s when the voices drifted down the hall.

“Yeah,” a male officer said casually, laughing. “Just had to let my kids know Santa isn’t real. Had to have that talk.”

Another officer groaned. “Rough.”

“Tell me about it. Tears everywhere. But hey, better sooner than later.”

Tan’s blood ran cold.

Your humming stopped.

The crayon slipped from your fingers, rolling across the floor.

You stood slowly, your small hands clutching the paper. “Santa… isn’t real?”

The words barely made it out.

Tan turned just in time to see your face crumble.

“No—” He was moving before he even realized it, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch you too suddenly. “Hey. Hey, baby.”

Your eyes were shiny, wide, searching his face for the truth. “That man said he’s not real,” you whispered. “Is he lying?”

The officers down the hall went silent as realization hit them.

Tan swallowed hard. His throat burned. “Sweetheart,” he said carefully, brushing your hair back. “Sometimes grown-ups talk about things without realizing who’s listening.”

Your voice wobbled. “But you said Santa comes if I’m good.”

A tear slipped down your cheek.

Tan’s heart broke clean in two.

“You are good,” he said immediately, voice thick with emotion. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. Nothing—nothing you did made this happen.”

You shook your head. “I don’t wanna stop believing.”

Behind you, the team was already stepping in.

Chris crouched beside you, her voice gentle and warm. “Believing is special. Not everyone knows how to protect it.”

“Yeah,” Luca added softly. “Some people forget what it feels like to hope.”

Hondo’s jaw was tight as he looked down the hallway. Then he nodded once. “Alright. We fix this.”

Tan pulled you into his chest, rocking you slightly. “I promise you,” he whispered into your hair. “I won’t let the magic end.”

You sniffled. “Promise?”

He kissed the top of your head. “Promise.”

Not long after, HQ lights dimmed. Christmas music faded out. You sat wrapped in a blanket on the couch, curled against Tan’s side, one of his arms wrapped firmly around you like a shield. Your fingers twisted into his shirt every time a sound echoed.

Then—

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Your head snapped up.

Footsteps echoed—slow, heavy, deliberate.

Santa Claus stepped into the room.

A bright red suit. Snow-dusted boots. A big white beard. Deacon.

Tan blinked, stunned. His eyes burned, but he smiled anyway.

Santa knelt in front of you, voice deep and kind. “Y/N,” he said warmly. “I heard someone here needed a reminder.”

You stared at him, breathless. “You’re… Santa.”

Santa chuckled. “I don’t always show up where everyone can see me. But when someone believes as hard as you do?” He tapped his chest. “That’s powerful.”

He held out a small present. “This is for you. For believing. And for having a dad who loves you more than anything.”

You looked up at Tan, eyes shining. “He knows you.”

Tan laughed softly through a tear. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think he does.”

You hugged Santa tight before running back into Tan’s arms. “I knew it,” you said happily. “I knew Santa was real.”

Tan held you like you were his whole world—because you were. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Always.”

Later, when you were asleep against his chest, clutching your gift, Tan sat quietly, overwhelmed.

Deacon removed the beard, smiling gently. “She’s okay.”

Tan nodded, voice barely there. “Thank you.”

Hondo rested a hand on Tan’s shoulder. “That’s family.”

Tan looked down at you—safe, believing, loved.

And Christmas stayed magical.

Because everyone in that room made sure it did. 🎄✨

[nightowl9914]

Warriors of the Heart

Chapter 11: Ghost Routes

Summary: A well-known team called Night Owls, made up of 5 siblings, returns to S.W.A.T. after being asked for years. They meet some old coworkers, new coworkers and maybe more.

The streets are slick with recent rain, neon reflections fractured on the asphalt. A black unmarked van pulls up silently to a shadowed alley near Echo Park.

Inside, Jasper (Agent 11) drives with steady hands. Beside him, Johnny (Agent 05) checks comms and gear. In the back, Casper (Agent 00), Coral (Agent 14), and Marcus (Agent 04)—all in tactical gear but moving with calm, ghostlike precision—sit silently, eyes sharp.

No radios chatter. No unnecessary noise.

Coral adjusts the collar of her jacket, glancing at the others. There’s a brief flicker of shared understanding between them—this isn’t just another mission. This is personal.

Marcus breaks the silence with a low voice. "Remember: no SWAT. No backup. This is our fight."

Casper nods, loading his rifle. "No mistakes. No distractions."

Johnny taps at his wrist tablet, bringing up the latest heat maps and drone feeds. "Surveillance shows the drive moving through a courier ring—right on schedule. We intercept at the handoff point. Fast and clean."

Coral’s voice is steady but tense. "Shade’s playing the long game. We’re shadows now, but he’s the ghost we can’t lose."

Jasper checks the rear mirrors to look at his siblings. "Almost there." He pulls the van into position, blocking the alley exit.

The Night Owls exchange final glances—brothers and sister united in silence.

No team. No orders. Just family.

They exit the van and disappear into the night.

---

The large monitor on the wall flickers with maps, satellite feeds, and silent camera rotations. The air is tense. Hondo, Deacon, Tan, Street, Chris, and Luca sit or stand, restless, waiting.

Jessica Cortez stands near the monitor, arms crossed, glancing at her watch for the third time. "We were supposed to get movement fifteen minutes ago."

"Night Owls are never late—unless they’re already moving." Hondo brought up. "Did anyone see them leave?" Deacon asked.

The room is silent.

"I passed Agent 05 earlier in the corridor… figured he was checking comms," Chris stated.

"Agent 04 was in the locker bay. I thought he was waiting on Hicks’ greenlight." Tan pointed out.

"They’ve ghosted. Didn’t tell any of us." Street realized. This made Luca tense up. "No… she said 'Yeah' When I told her we’d roll together."

That realization hits. "Damn it." Hondo said while he turns to the wall of comms equipment.

"Try to ping Agent 05. Get me anything—satellite pings, encrypted chatter, burner signals. Anything moving near Echo Park." Jessica ordered.

Chris walks quickly to the operations terminal, typing fast. "Pulling recent vehicular movements—blackout zones. There. Unmarked van—plates are dummy. Thermal’s faint, but they’re running cold."

Hicks steps in from the corridor, already frowning. "They’re gone, aren’t they?"

Hondo doesn’t even look up. "They didn’t wait."

Hicks sighed, "Of course they didn’t. They're Night Owls."

Jessica turns, eyes sharp. "You knew they’d go solo?"

Hicks exhales slowly, not quite apologetic. "I knew it was a possibility. And I knew we’d only slow them down if we tried to stop them."

"They’re family. If anything goes sideways—" Luca said.

"Then we’re their shadow. We follow, we stay back, and we be ready. If they fall—we catch them." Hondo responded.

Everyone moves.

Street grabs his gear. Deacon and Tan check weapons. Luca stares for a moment at the screen, where the faint shape of a van moves into Echo Park’s grid.

His voice is low but certain. "Please, don't disappear again."

---

The Night Owls move like liquid shadow through the city’s underbelly—silent, coordinated, surgical.

Marcus leads point, eyes constantly scanning the horizon through NVG lenses.

Jasper and Coral mirror one another on opposite flanks, sweeping alley corners, rooftop edges.

Casper lingers slightly behind, planting sensors, feeding data to the comms rig strapped to Johnny’s back as he works on the move—tablet in hand, fingers gliding over maps, signals, heat trails.

"Courier just made contact at Grid 6B. Civilian shell front. Four bogeys, maybe more inside." Johnny said in comms causing Coral to ask quietly. "Visual confirmation?"

"Not yet. But the drive’s in play."

They pause on a rooftop overlooking a dimly lit courier front—a shuttered pawn shop, lights barely on. Two muscle-bound men stand guard outside. A black SUV idles nearby, engine low.

"Positions. No hesitation." Marucs ordered.

"We’re going loud?" Jasper asked his older brother.

"Clean. Fast. If Shade’s here, we don’t give him time to vanish." The eldest sibling answered.

"We take the drive, we burn the trail." Casper commented.

The team fans out.

---

Inside, a jittery middleman courier holds a metallic briefcase, opening it under the flicker of broken fluorescents. Inside—a sleek, matte-black encrypted drive nestled in foam.

Opposite him, a figure stands mostly in shadow. Clean suit, no ID. Calm. "You’re late." An unknown commented.

"Traffic’s a bitch." The driver replied.

The man reaches for the case—then stops. A light above them bursts with a pop.

Suddenly—

GLASS SHATTERS — SMOKE GRENADE DROPS

Chaos erupts.

The Night Owls breach from every angle. Jasper and Marcus from the rear, Coral diving low from the side window. Casper drops a flash charge, sending white light across the room.

Gunfire. Brief. Precise.

The courier goes down with a tranquilizer round. One guard tries to run—Coral sweeps his legs and pins him in a chokehold, not missing a beat.

"Two pings on the building’s heat map—third is gone. Back exit." Johnny's voice was heard.

Marcus ordered Coral to go; she was the fastest. He didn't want to, but she was the best option. "Catch him, Agent 14."

She bolts without hesitation.

---

Rain begins to fall again—light, steady. Coral turns a corner, gun raised—nothing. Just a flutter of movement disappearing into darkness. She stops at a metal gate swinging slowly on its hinges.

A burned Night Owl insignia is scorched into the alley wall—subtle, small, but deliberate.

Her breath catches. "Agent 14...?" Her twin called over the comms

She stares at the symbol. "He wanted me to see this."

She turns, backing away slowly, knowing it’s a message. A warning. Or a challenge.

---

Marcus collects the driver from the unconscious courier. "Driver secure. Agent 11?"

"I’ve got it booted. It’s legit. And untracked." He replied.

Casper kicks aside a chair, exhaling. "Too clean. They let us have it."

"So why drop the smoke? Why fake a handoff?" Jasper asked.

The youngest sibling walked back into. "Because this was never about the drive."

She looks down at it, then back up at her brothers. "It was about sending a message."

---

Hello! Sorry on the delay, was dealing with college but also wasnt sure if i liked this chapter.... till now haha... hope you guys like it!

[nightowl9914]

Oh I’m in love with Warriors in the Hearts. I’m such a sucker for Coral and Luca.

Is there still a chance for us to read the chapter 11?

Love, Fern

Hi hi! Thank you for liking! I am working on the next chapters, got busy with college but i finished so I can get those up!

[nightowl9914]

Family Business

Word Count: 636

Summary: On a quiet Saturday morning, Danny Reagan finally gets a moment of peace — until his partner, (Y/N), drops a life-changing surprise. As the detective processes the news that he’s going to be a father again, emotions run high, humor slips in, and the moment turns into something the Reagans would call nothing short of a blessing. 💘

Thank you, Anon, for the request! So sorry for the delay on this!

The smell of coffee and bacon filled the kitchen — the kind of Saturday morning quiet that almost didn’t feel real in a Reagan household. The boys were still upstairs, the city outside hummed low, and Danny… well, Danny was exactly where you wanted him.

Leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, badge still clipped to his jeans because he never really took it off. His hair was a mess, his eyes tired, but his grin — that crooked Reagan grin — made your heart ache in the best way.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee, watching you with that cop’s instinct that always made you feel like he could see through you. “You’re quiet this morning. That’s never a good sign.”

You laughed softly, but your hands trembled a little as you set down your mug. “You say that like I’m about to interrogate you.”

“Yeah, well, usually when you’re that quiet, someone’s about to get cuffed — and it’s usually me.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Not today.”

Danny raised a brow, the teasing edge fading just enough for concern to settle in. “What’s goin’ on, babe?”

You took a breath. The words had been sitting in your chest for a week, bouncing around between fear and excitement. You’d replayed this moment a hundred times — and now that it was here, you couldn’t remember a single thing you’d rehearsed.

“I, uh… went to the doctor the other day,” you started, watching him freeze, coffee halfway to his lips.

He blinked. “You okay?”

You nodded quickly. “I’m fine. We’re fine.”

He caught that we, and his whole body stilled. “Wait—what do you mean we’re fine?”

You looked at him, heart racing, eyes burning. “Danny… I’m pregnant.”

For a second, there was nothing. Just the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the sound of his mug setting down — too gently for a man who usually did everything with force.

He stared, mouth parting like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right. Then the realization hit, spreading across his face like sunrise.

“You’re… pregnant?”

You nodded, a small laugh escaping despite the tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah. Looks like we’re gonna have a little Reagan running around.”

Danny blinked, then laughed — that deep, disbelieving laugh that made you fall in love with him in the first place. He crossed the room in two strides and pulled you into his arms, holding you so tight you could barely breathe.

“Are you serious?” he whispered into your hair. “You’re really—?”

“Yeah,” you murmured against his chest. “Really.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing your cheek. “God, you’re gonna be such a good mom,” he said, voice thick, breaking just a little. “And I— I swear, I’m gonna be better this time. I’ll be here, no missed dinners, no—”

You pressed a hand to his chest. “Hey. Don’t go making promises you can’t keep. Just be you. That’s enough.”

Danny smiled, eyes wet but shining. “Yeah? Even if ‘me’ is a loud, overprotective, pain-in-the-ass detective?”

You grinned. “Especially that version.”

He kissed you then — slow, steady, like time had stopped. And when he finally pulled away, he rested a hand on your stomach, that same grin coming back.

“Guess we better tell Pop,” he said, shaking his head. “You know he’s gonna make a speech about family and blessings and probably start cryin’ before I do.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “I can’t wait.”

Danny looked down at you, hand still warm over where your future rested, and for the first time in a long while, the storm that always followed him — the chaos, the danger, the noise — quieted.

Because here, in your kitchen, with your heart against his and a new life between you…

He finally had everything worth fighting for.