Nov 21, 2024
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K9 X Deacon Kay
MasterList
Request: The reader is a K9 officer and helps with her dog in a case. The dog decides Deacon is his new dad and gets them together.
I’ve always trusted dogs more than people.
People lie. They posture. They say one thing and mean another.
Dogs are loyal and don't want anything from you but love.
That’s how I found myself standing in the middle of a freezing warehouse at half three in the morning, my gloved hand resting on the broad, steady neck of my German Shepherd, Atlas, while the rest of the team argued about entry points and perimeter coverage.
Atlas leaned lightly into my leg, alert but calm, his ears pricked towards the far end of the building.
“I’ve got something,” I murmured.
Across the loading bay, Detective Deacon Kay glanced up.
He had that permanently serious look about him. The sort that made junior officers straighten their backs and criminals rethink their life choices. Salt and pepper hair, trimmed beard, eyes that seemed to catalogue everything. He wasn’t loud. Didn’t need to be.
“What’s he telling you?” Deacon asked, stepping closer.
“Fresh scent. Male. Nervous. He’s been moving about.”
Deacon gave a short nod. “All right. We’ll do it your way.”
My way.
It shouldn’t have made my stomach flip, but it did.
I unclipped Atlas’s lead. “Seek.”
He moved like a shadow silent, fluid, purposeful. I followed, my torch beam steady, every muscle in my body tuned to him.
We found the suspect crouched behind a stack of crates, trying and failing to make himself invisible. Atlas cornered him with a deep warning bark that echoed through the cavernous space.
“Don’t even think about it,” I warned the man, hand resting lightly on Atlas’s harness.
Deacon arrived seconds later, weapon drawn but steady. The suspect surrendered quickly. Smart choice.
As the cuffs clicked into place, Deacon glanced between me and Atlas.
“Good work,” he said quietly.
Atlas wagged his tail once and then to my complete and utter betrayal trotted straight past me and planted himself at Deacon’s boots.
“Oh, don’t you dare,” I muttered.
Atlas sat. Then leaned. Hard.
Deacon looked down, faint amusement touching his features. “I think he likes me.”
“He doesn’t like anyone,” I grumbled. “He tolerates most people.”
Atlas rolled onto his back.
Traitor.
Deacon crouched, cautiously scratching behind Atlas’s ear. “You’re a big softie, aren’t you?”
Atlas made the most ridiculous contented sound I’d ever heard.
I folded my arms. “Brilliant. Three years of training and he falls in love in under thirty seconds.”
Deacon’s lips twitched. “Can’t blame him.”
That should’ve been the end of it.
Over the next few weeks, we worked the case together a string of warehouse burglaries tied to something much bigger than petty theft. Deacon led the investigation. I handled K9 support.
Atlas handled matchmaking, apparently.
Every briefing, he’d position himself as close to Deacon as physically possible. If Deacon shifted his chair, Atlas shifted with him. If Deacon stood, Atlas stood.
“He does realise I’m his handler?” I whispered one afternoon as Atlas abandoned me yet again to sit at Deacon’s side during a planning session.
Deacon didn’t look up from the file he was reading. “He’s just got good taste.”
“Arrogant, are we?”
He glanced at me then, eyes warm despite his straight face. “Confident.”
Atlas nudged Deacon’s hand with his nose.
I sighed dramatically. “I’m being replaced.”
Deacon’s voice softened. “I’m not trying to steal your partner.”
“It’s fine,” I replied lightly. “He’s clearly made his choice.”
Atlas huffed at me as if offended.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one cuddling him during debriefs.”
Deacon chuckled under his breath, and the sound did something strange to my ribs.
The next time Atlas picked up a trail from a discarded glove near one of the warehouses. The scent led us through back alleys and across a car park before stopping at an abandoned terrace house.
“It’s active,” I murmured, watching Atlas’s posture change rigid, focused.
Deacon signalled for backup but didn’t wait for it.
“We’re not going in alone,” I warned.
“We’re not,” he said, meeting my eyes. “We’re going in with him.”
He meant Atlas.
And, apparently, me.
Inside, it was dark and damp. Floorboards creaked under our boots.
Atlas’s low growl warned us seconds before a figure bolted from the kitchen.
“Stop!” Deacon shouted.
The suspect ran for the back door.
“Apprehend!”
Atlas launched forward controlled, precise. He took the man down cleanly, holding until Deacon reached them.
It should’ve ended there.
But the second suspect appeared from the hallway, swinging a metal bar.
I didn’t think. I moved.
“Deacon!”
He turned just in time to deflect the blow, but not enough. The bar clipped his shoulder. He staggered.
Atlas reacted instantly, releasing the first suspect and placing himself squarely between Deacon and the attacker, barking ferociously.
I stepped in, adrenaline surging, tackling the man hard enough to send us both crashing to the floor.
Backup arrived in a flurry of noise and flashing lights.
When it was over, my hands were shaking.
Deacon was sitting on the front steps, paramedics checking his shoulder. Atlas was glued to his side, whining softly.
I approached slowly. “You all right?”
“Bruised pride,” he said. “Nothing more.”
Atlas pressed his head into Deacon’s chest.
“You’d think he was the one who got hit,” I muttered.
Deacon’s gaze lifted to mine. “He stayed. Protected me.”
“He’s trained to.”
“Still,” Deacon said quietly, “I’m grateful.”
Something unspoken passed between us.
Atlas leaned across and nudged my hand then Deacon’s as if physically connecting us.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “He’s orchestrating this.”
Deacon laughed softly, then winced at the movement. “You might be right.”
After that night, things shifted.
Deacon started bringing coffee to K9 training sessions.
Atlas started sulking whenever Deacon left.
I started noticing the way Deacon looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
One evening, after a long day of paperwork and follow-ups, I found Deacon outside the station, crouched beside Atlas.
“You do realise,” I said, approaching them, “that he has me wrapped round his paw.”
Deacon glanced up. “Good.”
“Good?”
“Means he’s chosen well.”
My breath caught slightly. “Chosen what?”
Deacon stood slowly. He was close. Close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jaw, the tiny flecks of gold in his brown eyes.
“Family,” he said simply.
Atlas wagged so hard his entire back end wobbled.
I stared at my dog. “You absolute menace.”
Deacon’s expression turned serious. “Look… I don’t rush things. And I don’t blur lines at work. But...”
Atlas barked once, sharply.
We both jumped.
“He’s impatient,” I muttered.
Deacon’s mouth curved. “So am I, actually.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “Deacon…”
He hesitated only a second. “Would you consider dinner? Somewhere that doesn’t involve suspects or warehouses?”
Atlas sat between us, looking impossibly pleased with himself.
I crossed my arms, pretending to deliberate. “I suppose. If only to stop him from sabotaging future operations.”
Deacon’s smile was devastating. “I’ll take it.”
Atlas shoved his head into Deacon’s hand triumphantly.
“Oh, don’t encourage him,” I said, but I was smiling too.
Dinner turned into another dinner.
Then walks with Atlas that were definitely not accidental.
Atlas insisted on sitting between us at first. Then gradually, he shifted closer to Deacon.
“Unbelievable,” I said one afternoon in the park as Atlas leaned fully against Deacon’s leg. “He used to do that with me.”
“He still does,” Deacon replied gently.
He reached for my hand.
Atlas glanced up, satisfied, and rested his head on both our knees.
It felt… right.
Steady.
Safe.
Months later, the case was wrapped, convictions secured. Life settled into something almost peaceful.
One Sunday morning, I woke to the smell of bacon and the sound of Atlas’s nails clicking excitedly on the kitchen tiles.
I padded downstairs to find Deacon at the stove, Atlas sitting proudly beside him like a supervisor.
“You’re in my kitchen,” I observed.
“Technically,” Deacon replied without turning around, “I stayed over. So it’s our kitchen this morning.”
Atlas wagged furiously.
I leaned against the doorway, watching them.
“You realise,” I said softly, “that he chose you.”
Deacon turned then, spatula in hand. “No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“He chose us,” he corrected.
Atlas trotted over and pressed against both our legs at once.
I crouched, wrapping my arms around my ridiculous, brilliant dog.
“You sneaky genius,” I whispered into his fur.
Deacon knelt beside us.
Atlas licked his face, then mine.
We both laughed.
Hurt little bird (J. Abbot & D. Kay) 1/2
Masterlist
It was supposed to be a routine operation, a collaboration between the 50-squad and the 20-squad. Easy in and out... Well as easy as heading into a drug den to steal a few kgs of cocaine right under the nose of a newly implemented cartel could be.
You were undercover in a skimpy skin tight dress, acting drunk on the arm of one of your CI you were to enter the shady underground bar casita with the micro camera hidden in your hair as recon. Everything had gone to plan, Rocker and Streets also infiltrated the place and had grabbed what was needed.
The only thing you didn't account for was the CI to also have swiping hands. He had grabbed the still tagged shipment which went off once he passed through the doors of the bar. And one thing about the cartel is that they weren't going to let it pass.
In the middle of the shoot out you remember running out, finding the gun you had stashed a few meters out of the bar and firing back to ensure that your squad mates would be fine. And thankfully you did as you shot a man who was just about to lodge a bullet behind Rocker's skull.
Maybe it was because of the adrenaline that came with exchanging fire, but you didn't feel the thick liquid pouring from your arm, couldn't sense your ruptured skin until a horrified Sergeant Mumford made you sit in the black Betty while Luca drove. It was only under the dim lights of the streets, listening to Luca trying to find any topic of conversation possible to stop you from falling asleep that you realised that something was wrong, especially when the prospect of a little nap sounded irresistible.
☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓
It’s no secret that Jack Abbot is chill, calm, collected but not afraid to throw in snide remarks and some cursing when needed. From all the years he’d spent at the Pitt, not a single nightcrawler remembers him losing his mind at anything, not even when a patient had attacked him during their hallucinations caused by a drug infused bad trip.
All of that just showed how out of character Dr. Abbot was being.
Since a SWAT emergency call had announced its imminent arrival with a patient, the silver haired man was seen stalking the bay, fingers tugging at his hair as his hazel eyes kept going back to the entry way. Even Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen who usually managed to calm things down seemed to not have any effect on the older attending, he even flinched away from their touch, ear glued central to make sure he wouldn't miss the SWAT arrival.
“Make sure bay 2 is open.” His voice was stern, fast. It could even be considered mean by the nurses if they didn't know him as well as they did.
“It's currently being clea-”
“I do not care. Make sure it's ready now.”
And that’s when you arrived, pale seemingly lifeless as your eyes remained shut. And Abbot knew he was going to crumble, forcing Shen to take over, barking orders to place you in the prepped room. They all saw how Abbot gasped when you were wheeled in, loyal Luca still by your side even though security was trying to push him away. And for everyone in the Pitt, that was enough to give you the best treatment they could offer.
Dr. Ellis had to step away from her patient to gently pull Abbot into the break room, forcing down some water as his eyes turned glassy, arms going numb. He felt all the emotions he had felt when Officer Hiro had gotten shot, but with you, he felt them tenfold. You who had joined the SWAT team a few years ago, all eager and bushy-tailed hiding your heavy past in the navy. You who had held him close on nights where his PTSD threatened to resurface after particularly harsh missions. You who had meant that adrenaline wasn't the only thing he was looking forwards to when he would join the group during the SWAT operations.
Of course he had never done anything about his feelings to you. He was too old, too busy, too... not enough. But now as he grasped at your hands, eyes on your pale face, ears listing to the rhythmic beeping of your heart, he couldn't help but regret it. He should have told you when he had the chance. He remembers a particular night when you had stayed at his place after a long stake out, watching his old western reruns with him, your head dangerously close to his shoulder as you almost fell asleep. He should have inched closer, should have pressed his head on yours, showed you how much you meant to him.
And that's when the reason he didn't do what he wanted, appeared
Deacon, aka David Kay, almost slammed the door off its hinges as he entered the room.
The rest of the squads were in the waiting room, fiddling, relieved to hear that you should be okay soon, yet still all eager to see how you were.
But everyone knew that along with Jack, you also had a soft spot for Deacon. And that meant that no one could keep the man away once he got wind that you were in the ER.
Your closeness with Deacon had started off randomly when you both discovered that you didn't live far from each other so he'd drop you off before heading back to his bachelor pad. It had evolved to you two getting dinner together when you both didn't have plans, sometimes even breakfast when Jack had to go early into his shifts.
Deacon and Jack were similar in a lot of ways, older, calmer, always there for you, but they were different in more than many ways. While with Jack you could discuss movies, series, knowing that he'd make you laugh every ten minutes with his jokes, Deacon was more reserved, more prone to flash you one of his award winning smiles than laugh though the mirth in his eyes told you enough of his real sentiments.
Both different, yet you couldn't ask for better... whatever complicated thing they were to you.
The pair stared at each other painfully, both trying to stay strong as they took in your hurt body. Jack stayed in the chair closest to your bed while Deacon took a seat on the guest sofa, holding his head in his hands, praying to God that you'd make it out alive.
☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓
You woke up to beeping, your left arm held up weirdly by a heavy cast, and someone’s head tucked neatly against your neck, every movement felt painful, every breath like your lungs didn’t want to cooperate. A whimper escaped when you tried to move your legs and that’s when the head moved.
“Sweetheart... Birdie.” Jack, it was your Jack. And it was now your turn to crumble as tears escaped your eyes, sobs wracking you up, painfully awakening your tired body. His hands found your hair, smoothing it out while he held you close, it was as though his proximity allowed you to show your real emotions, how scared and awful you felt.
Then you felt another hand on your shoulder, gently caressing over your hospital gown. Your eyes snapped into warm brown ones and you untangled your right hand towards Deacon.
"You scared us, Birdie" He took your hand, wrapping his body awkwardly around your right side while Jack kept his hold on your left.
"I-I should have come on today's mission. I'm so sorry sweetheart." Jack's voice was rough from tears and you couldn't help but whine at his words.
"It's not your fault." Your voice felt scratchy, dehydrated and Deacon quickly moved to give you tiny little sips of water before regaining his place by your side.
"We're here now brother." Deacon said, voice hard to stop himself from letting tears fall as he patted Jack's back. He had never seen you this way, so helpless, so innocent-like. He was used to your brashness, to your minx-like disposition. They both hated to see you like this.
"Let us take care of you."
Hey, I love your SWAT work I was hoping you could maybe do a Smutty Deacon one. I was thinking you would be his girlfriend and you have been feeling a little neglected and so he shows you a good time. Thank you 💛
Pairing: Deacon Kay x Reader
Warnings: smutty, smut, smut! 🥵
I do apologize for the length of this, tbh this request got me out of my little slump. Hope you enjoy it and thank you for requesting 🩷
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I have had enough.
It’s only 10am, four hours into my twelve hour shift and I have reached the edge. These past couple weeks have slowly been getting to me work wise as well as relationship wise. The door to the patrol car slammed shut behind me as I holstered my weapon.
“I’m actually impressed at how fast you chased after him.” Jim fist bumped my shoulder, his face all flushed and sweaty from the foot chase we both did to capture the latest suspect in a kidnapping case. “I tend to run faster when I’m pissed off, Street.” I dryly replied, sidestepping him to head into the suspect’s house to start collecting evidence.
My heavy boots echoed on the hardwood flooring upon entry which drew the attention of both Nolan and Lucy who were already arching through the main room of the house. “Uh-oh, she’s got that look on her face.” Lucy cheekily pointed out to Nolan who genuinely looked concerned.
”Everything alright? You didn’t damage anything did you?” He wasted no time in checking on my physical wellbeing while Lucy’s smile only grew. “Trust me, she’s fine. She’s just pent up.”
Lucy is the only one aware of mine and Deac’s relationship and she never misses the opportunity to tease me about it. She also knows that since the work days began getting heavier and the cases kept popping up, I haven’t had quality time with the sergeant who apparently is the most popular and in demand as of late.
Meaning, we haven’t had sex for almost three weeks.
At first I understood the demands of the job, obviously because I’m also an officer but then he started staying late at HQ to finish up his reports. By week two I tried dropping hints to him by wearing minimal clothing to bed, wearing sexy lacy numbers under my robe which I knew normally has him drooling over me but either he hadn’t noticed or he chose not to notice. Which brings us here to week number three. We have resorted to the simple hello and goodbye kisses, more like pecks I should say.
“Lucy I will hurt you, please hush.” She was about to respond but closed her mouth shut when Deacon came in through the door. I didn’t have to turn around to know that he was there, my body always knows when he’s near.
“Officer Y/N, a word please.” Deacon’s warm hand found my shoulder, gently guiding me to the kitchen away from the others. He didn’t waste time pulling me in for a hug and a quick kiss at my temple. His lips were warm against my skin, his cologne invaded my senses as his strong arms wrapped around me caging me against his broad tac-gear covered chest.
I quickly pushed him off of me, possibly a little too harsh but I’m very much still pissed off at him and at this point, I don’t give a damn to mask my annoyance. His brows furrowed as he stared down at me, his hands up in the surrender position. “Okay, what’s wrong? All day you’ve been icing me out.”
Scoffing, I attempted to walk off on him but he held on to my wrist. His grip was firm, keeping me firmly rooted in place. His brown eyes locked with mine, searching to find out the reason behind my attitude. “Two things. One, you haven’t called me by rank in years so I know that you’re pissed. Two, what did I do?”
“More like what haven’t you done.” I muttered as he released his hold on me. Deacon gently pulled me back into his arms, holding onto my waist. “Talk to me.” He practically purred the words to me in his deep voice. His tone immediately sent ripples down my spine while he traced light circles on my hips.
“Do you know that this is the most contact we’ve had in almost a month?” He sighed, “For weeks I’ve dealt with you putting the job above us, tried reasoning with myself that you’re simply swamped with work but at the same time Deac, it’s like you barely acknowledged me. Heck you’ve spoken to me more on the job than in our own bed.” My revelation slapped him in the face, his eyes closed briefly and his hands dropped to his sides.
“Shit, Y/N I’m sorry. I know work has been a lot lately with Hondo gone, I didn’t mean to completely ignore you, us, like that.” He raked his hand through his grey hair, the wheels full on spinning in his head. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” A voice cut through comms, slicing through our conversation like a knife. While he responded I took my opportunity to slip through the doorway.
I returned to the now trio, Lucy, Nolan and Tim, to finish processing the scene. Lucy shot me a look and I brushed it off. I rolled my shoulders and got back to work. The rest of the day practically flew by. I avoided Deacon, still upset of course. He tried partnering up with me but thankfully Lucy could read the room and willingly rode with him on the next few calls.
It’s currently well past eight o’clock, Deacon is still at HQ, no surprise there. I just got out of a much needed shower, my wet hair clinging to my damp skin. Pillowtalk by Zayn played in the background while I did my nighttime routine, movement in the mirror caught my eye. Deacon. He was no longer in his tactical gear, he swapped the all black uniform for his blue jeans and simple white shirt.
No words were spoken as he closed the distance between us. His lips caressed my skin as he peppered my exposed shoulder with kisses. “I’m sorry.” Kiss. “I miss you.” Kiss. He pulled me flush against him as he kissed his way up the column of my neck, his beard deliciously rubbing against my sensitive skin.
“Let me make it up to you.” His hands roamed my towel clad body, cupping my breasts in his large hands. Like a live wire, my body immediately responded to his touch, my nipples hardened beneath the cotton as he continued toying with them through the fabric. My eyes fluttered shut as his hand dipped lower, slipping through the opening at my waist.
He was taking his time to tease me and I hated it. I wanted him now. Scratch that, I need him now. Deacon glided his fingers between my lower lips, a pleased hum vibrated my back against his chest. My thighs involuntarily parted some more, giving him access to my already drenched pussy. I didn’t register my towel being undone until the cold air hit my nipples.
In the mirror, the sight of him devouring me only made me hotter. Deacon was latched onto the sensitive junction of my neck and shoulder, sucking at the flesh. One hand was toying with my breasts while the other was cupping my cunt, his fingers circling my clit. Tilting my head back, I gave him access to kiss me and he didn’t hesitate. Deacon’s lips melted with mine in a kiss that burned with hunger, desire, passion and part of regret. I gasped feeling him slip one of his fingers into me, he pumped slowly, opening me up before adding another digit.
With one more kiss, he removed his fingers and spun me around in his arms. Deacon hoisted me up on the countertop before stripping out of his shirt and jeans. His pupils were blown wide and locked on me, like a predator watching his prey. Spreading my legs open I pulled him down towards me and crashed our lips together. It’s a messy clash of lips, teeth and tongue. He pulled my hips to the very edge of the counter, pressing his hard cock against me.
He stopped me before I could reach for him, dropping to his knees, holding my thighs spread wide open. “Ohhhh.” His warm tongue flattened against my folds as he began devouring me like I was his last meal. “Eyes on me sweetheart.” Listening to his command I angled myself to see him sucking and lapping up my juices. My hips bucked against his tongue, hands immediately holding his head in place. Obscene moans filled the bathroom as he slipped his fingers back into me.
“Deac!” He sped up his antics, bringing me closer and closer to the edge of a much needed orgasm. The coil wound tighter with each stroke of his fingers before snapping when he curled them, dragging against that sweet spot. I came with a cry of his name, flooding his tongue with my juices. “So sweet, baby.” He stood to his full height and removed his boxers, freeing his erect cock that leaked precum at the red tip.
I licked my lips wanting to taste him. “As much as I’d love to have you suck my cock sweetheart, I need to be inside of you.” Deacon coated himself in my wetness before burning his cock into me in one swift stroke, jerking me on the counter. “Fuck baby, you’re tight.” My head dropped against the mirror as he began rocking his hips into mine. His strong hands held my legs open as his pace picked up.
The sound of skin hitting skin filled the bathroom mixing in with the song still playing in the background. Deacon leaned in, capturing my lips in a kiss, muffling my moans as he pounded into me relentlessly. The head of his cock was hitting all the right spots, my vision hazed as he fucked me nice and deep. My fingers found my clit, rubbing the sensitive nub to his pace. I could feel my second orgasm building and if he keeps fucking me like this I will cum soon.
A slick coat of sweat glistened on our bodies, thank goodness for the physical demands of our job. Deacon’s physique and stamina were top tier. He pushed my legs further up, tilting my hips backwards. “Yes, please don’t stop. Right there.” At this angle he had me damn near seeing stars. His grunts filled my ears as his thrusts started to become sloppy. He’s close.
The intense pressure built up inside my lower stomach, “Cum for me sweetheart.” That was all it took for me to shatter completely. My legs trembled from the intensity of the orgasm. His hips stilled, buried deep as his warm cum filled me up. Our chests rose and fell as we tried to regain our breath.
“I love you, sweetheart and again I’m sorry for pushing you away. That was not my intention but it still happened and I won’t let it happen again.” I pulled him in for a much tamer kiss and he sighed against my lips. “Apology accepted, forgiveness pending sergeant.”
“You sure you want to use rank right now?” He shifted to remind me that he’s still buried in me and he’s still hard. “Yes, sergeant.” I purred, wanting more of him.
“Turn around.”
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If you’re interested in joining the taglist for SWAT fics from me, kindly let me know in the comments 🫶🏽
Roadtrips - Deacon Kay x fem!reader
Summary : road trips with your older boyfriend are always fun, especially when you both end up in small rundown motel for the night.
Warnings : age-gap relationship (R is younger than Deacon), smut with some plot, Deacon has a breeding kink (is anyone surprised tho?), blow jobs, vaginal fingering, cock warming, Deacon gets insecure bc of the age gap.
A/n : giving the people what they want– aka a new Deacon smut fic 😍 I genuinely regret NOTHING. 😛 also i am NOT from the US so forgive me if i got the geography wrong 😅 this is super long but I love it anyways <3 not proof read
When Deacon finally managed to get some time off, you both decided to take a road trip to the pacific northwest. Since Deacon used to go on such trips frequently as a kid for holidays, you both agreed it would be fun to visit those places again and he promised to show around to all his favourite spots.
Packing into the car you and Deacon brought a ton of snacks and drinks with you for the long drive. The drive was long and exhausting, after sleeping for a bit you were woken up by Deacon since he stopped at a gas station for a quick break and some coffee. Stretching out you got out of the car, following Deacon inside.
"You want anything babe?" Deacon asked as he pulled you into his side, watching you with a gentle smile. "Nope. I'm good, just some coffee would be nice." You smiled at him while kissing his jawline, before grabbing the car keys from him and heading back towards the car since it was freezing outside.
After getting some coffee for the both of you, Deacon headed back to the car where you were already waiting. He handed you, your cup of coffee, you both buckled in and the drive began again.
Soon you were getting bored of the long drive and you put your feet up onto the dashboard, grabbing the map from the console and opening it up to look if there was any interesting spots you could stop at. "Feet off the dashboard sweetheart." Deacon chided gently while squeezing your thigh. You just pouted in response while sitting down properly.
"You're no fun." You huffed pretending to be annoyed. "I may be no fun, but I've seen way too many car accidents after someone put their feet up on the dashboard." Deacon said while squeezing your thigh. You just pulled out your phone and sighed upon seeing there was no signal. "What's got you so huffy puffy sweetheart?" He asked teasingly.
"I have no cell service, how am I supposed to text Chris updates?!" Deac laughed quietly at your words before he paused. "Wait Chris? Since when do you have her phone number?" He stared at you for a second before going back to looking at the road. "We exchanged phone numbers when I went to drop off your lunch at HQ a few weeks ago." Deacon raised an eyebrow at your words. "Is that so?" He asked while trying to pretend he wasn't jealous, he knew Chris was harmless especially since she was his teammate but that didn't seem to ease his jealousy.
Noticing his jealousy you leaned over to whisper "No need to be jealous babe. I only have eyes for one man and one man only." before kissing his jaw. In response he just squeezed your thigh, the tension in his body easing slightly.
Soon Deacon pulled into a diner near the road. "We used to stop here each time we were in the area. They have the best pancakes ever." Deacon smiled at you as he killed the engine and quickly hopped out of the car to open the door for you. Like a gentleman should, Deacon opened the door and held out his hand to help you get out of the truck. "Thank you babe." You grinned at him as you got out of his truck. Deacon immediately wrapped his jacket around you since you were only in jeans and a thin t-shirt.
After sitting down inside the diner you both ordered a milkshake and pancakes. Deacon was lovingly staring at you the whole time as you looked around the place curiously. The diner was small but nicely decorated. When the pancakes finally came you raised an eyebrow mildly surprised at how big and fluffy they were. "Eat up sweetheart." Deacon grinned at you before digging in to his pancakes.
Deacon was right about how delicious those pancakes were. They were fluffy and sweet topped with some sweet syrup. "These are the best pancakes I've ever had!" You laughed as you finished the last one. "Told you so sweetheart." Deacon winked at you with a smile. "Why don't you order us some coffee while I go to the bathroom?" Deacon suggested while getting up, you just nodded while looking over the menu to see what kind of coffee they had.
Soon an older woman approached with a notepad. "What else can I get you sugar?" She asked with a gentle smile. "Um just two coffees to go would be fine. The pancakes were delicious Ma'am." You smiled politely, the woman smiled as she picked up the empty plates. "You're a very lucky gal." She smiled while nodding her head in the direction of the bathrooms, your cheeks flushed pink as she headed towards the counter to ring in the two coffee's.
Pulling out your phone you finally realized that you had cell service, so you quickly texted Chris.
>the trip is going amazing, I swear I'll marry this man someday. Just ate the most delicious pancakes too. :P
Chris almost immediately texted back.
>I'm not even surprised by that statement, you two were made for each other! Have fun and I'm expecting to hear allll the details once you get back to LA ;)
Out of the corner of your eye you noticed someone sit down in front of you. Looking up you expected to see Deacon, only to see a young man around your age sitting there smirking at you. "Can I help you?" You asked with a small frown. "I couldn't but notice you sitting here alone beautiful. Can't let a young lady be alone these days huh? There are a lot of creeps around." He winked at you as you stared at him in shock. The amount of audacity this man had.
"I'm here with my boyfriend." You stated flatly while staring at the guy. "Oh that old man? You could do so much better than him." The young man rolled his eyes, just then you saw Deacon heading towards where you were sitting. "Why don't I give you my number in case you ever get bored of that old man?" You glared at the man furiously upon hearing the dig at Deacon's age.
"Ready to go babe?" Deacon asked with a tight smile while appearing next to you, glaring at the man who was still looking at you with that smirk. The man grabbed a napkin and began writing down his number as you stood up and grabbed the to-go cups of coffee and quickly paid for the pancakes, milkshakes & coffee.
Deacon led you out of the diner, holding an arm possessively on your back. The man called after you that you forgot something, you didn't even bother looking back and instead walked even faster towards the truck.
Silently Deacon opened the door for you, allowing you to get inside before he rounded the car and also got inside. The two of you drove in silence until you gently grabbed his hand and squeezed it gently. "You're the only man I have eyes for Deac. Don't pay attention to what that prick was saying." You said quietly while looking at him with a small frown, Deacon just nodded with a clenched jaw. "I know." He said simply while kissing your knuckles.
It was beginning to go dark and after looking at the maps you noticed a small motel was nearby. Deacon apparently knew that motel since he had stayed there a few times as a kid and he assured you it was quiet and safe there.
Pulling up to the motel you both grabbed your bags and some extra stuff like water and snacks. The older man– who was the owner of the motel recognized Deacon and greeted you both warmly before giving you the keys to your room, when Deacon reached for his wallet to pay for the night the man just shook his head no, saying that you two could pay later and to just get some rest.
Grabbing Deac's hand you pulled him along towards where you'd be staying for the night. Deacon didn't protest as he followed you– after all he'd follow you anywhere.
After quickly unlocking the door, you pulled Deacon inside. Quickly taking off your shoes and jacket, meanwhile Deacon closed and locked the door behind the two of you. You felt Deacon staring at you, turning around with a small smirk you pulled him in closer by his belt loops. "Hey handsome." You whispered while wrapping your arms around his neck, Deacon just smiled in return while grabbing your hips before kissing you on the lips, gently tilting your chin upwards.
Your hands immediately went to his jacket, tugging on it gently silently trying to tell Deacon to take it off. Deacon pulled away and took off his jacket tossing it onto the chair behind him before pulling you in for another kiss. Your hand traveled down his chest and towards his belt buckle, before undoing it with one hand. Deacon let out a soft groan as you did so, feeling your fingers traced the edge of his boxers.
"Fuck princess…" Deacon moaned as you sunk to your knees, he was gazing down at you with half lidded eyes as you kissed the bugle in his boxers. Pulling out his cock, you kicked the tip. Deacon's mouth fell open as you did so. Looking up at him you opened your mouth slightly, allowing him to push his member inside, hollowing out your cheeks you blinked back tears, since Deacon was huge and thick.
Deacon grabbed your hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail before shoving himself down your throat. He knew you liked it and that if you wanted to stop then you'd pull away or give him your safe word or safe action– which was either the word "red" or three smacks when you couldn't speak.
Tears gathered in your eyes as you gagged, Deacon kept praising you, gently petting your hair. Soon Deacon pulled you away from his cock before gently pulling up to your feet. While kissing you he began pushing you backwards in the direction of the bed, quickly pulling off your T-shirt and undoing your bra tossing it to the floor.
Giggling you both landed on the bed, Deacon laying on top of you as he began sucking hickeys in your neck. "Fuck me Deacon–" You whined while pulling on his hair. "Patience, patience princess." Deacon tutted with a teasing smirk. Quickly undressing Deacon reached for a condom packet, reaching out you grabbed his wrist, shaking your head no. "Are you sure?" He asked quietly with a certain hunger in his eyes. "Mhm." You nodded while grinning, Deacon just tossed the condom packet away before kissing you even harder.
"Gonna fuck a baby into you sweetheart." Deacon whispered into your ear while teasing your clit. "Is that what you want hm?" He teased while fingering you slowly. "Don't tease me–" you whined while bucking your hips, Deacon just smirked while leaning down to kiss you again. His crucifix brushing against your chest.
Deacon then slowly pushed inside, groaning into your ear. "So tight and perfect sweetheart." Deacon moaned while kissing your temple. "Need you, please Deac." You whined while wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him closer. "You have me sweetheart. 'M all yours. Always." Deac whispered while his thrusts grew even faster and more desperate.
Soon after Deacon let out a small grunt as he came inside you. "Fuck sweetheart– you're so perfect." He whispered into your ear as you came. "My perfect girl." Deacon said as he brushed the hair out of your face. "All yours." You whispered while gazing up at him with a small grin. "Mhm that's right. All mine." Deacon whispered while pressing a few kisses on your neck and face.
Giggling you pulled him closer so that his whole body weight was resting on top of you. Deacon kept a hand next to your head, resting on his elbow, as he lovingly stared at you. He traced your face with his finger, before kissing you softly.
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.
Ambush
IOne Shot - Rocker x reader, Deacon x readerI
A/N: I'm very obsessed with Rocker and Deacon so I made my own little world around the SWAT series but I changed the story line. If you're not a fan of occ or changing the universe's details, this will probably not something you enjoy. In my own SWAT world Rocker and Deacon are best friends, living together and Rocker being on Hondo's team. Just a warning: I NEVER WATCH A SERIES WITH MUCH PASSION, I only use the characters for my own little world of fanfic.
Summary: Y/n found a family in the SWAT team where she works as a forensics and tech specialist. When Y/n has to save electronic evidence at a crime scene it suddenly turns into a hostage situation.
Warnings: hurt reader, fluffy, reade is attacked, injuries, hospital, violence, bad police (not SWAT), protective Rocker and Deacon (I plan on making more one shots in this universe which could end sooner or later in a poly romance, we will see, but every one shot can stand alone)
Word Count: ~8.6k
The SWAT headquarter was already alive when y/n stepped off the elevator. Phones rang. Chairs scraped. Keyboards clicked in rapid bursts. Someone laughed near the coffee machine while Hondo spoke quietly with Tan near the board. It was the kind of normal morning that made y/n smile without realizing it. "Morning girly!" Chris called from her desk. With a wave and a cheerful "good morning" y/n replied softly, waving. Deacon looked up from his Ipad the second he heard her voice. Even if they saw each other in the morning, in the kitchen of their shared house, he couldn't deny the fact that something was missing when y/n wasn't in the bullpen with them. A little over two years the young woman helped the team with her IT and forensic abilities and of course as a perfect asset for the whole team. "Coffee's fresh," the grey haired Sergeant said warmly. "Rocker hasn't ruined it yet." "Hey. I make excellent coffee," Rocker protested from the kitchenette. "You burn water," Luca's loud voice beamed from the across the room, a mischievous grin on his face. Y/n giggled quietly as she set her bag down at her workstation. Rocker slid a mug towards her anyway, already fixed the way she liked it. "Fuel for the brain," he said with a wink, making y/n slightly blush at the extra attention her colleague gave her. "You're spoiling her, big guy." Chris teased, making y/n duck her head to hide her pink cheeks. The way she was treated here was such a drastic difference from her old precinct. The slight mocking was nothing compared to the bitter times she had to get through over two years ago. Even when the mood is tense, the workload nearly unmanageable, her team stays fair. They all had a lot of respect for each other, no matter if they're in active duty or like y/n in technics and forensics. She loved it here and the team loved her. "She deserves it," Rocker replied instantly and Deacon nodded in agreement. She loved mornings like this. Safe, loud, normal. It still amazed her how easily the team had become a family.
---
A few moments later y/n was already deep into helping Tan with a stubborn software glitch. Fingers flying over the keyboard, a focused expression on the young woman's face. "Okay…" she murmured thoughtfully. "Here it is," a smiled spread on y/n's face when she finally found the reason for Tan's problems with his Ipad. "You saw that in that short amount of time?" Tan blinked. "I've seen worse." Y/n giggled, handing the electronic devise back to her colleague. Deacon leaned over her shoulder. "We seriously don't deserve you." A quiet but shy laugh escaped y/n's soft lips.
Across the room Hondo's phone rang. He listened, expression focused. With some long strides the tall man went over to the tech specialist. "Y/ln," he called her gently. "Narcotics could use your help on a cleared scene. Digital evidence recovery." Her eyes widened slightly. "Of course, I'm already on my way." Rocker frowned a little. "Cleared?" "That's what they said," Hondo replied. Deacon stood, his attention fully on his female roommate. "You want one of us with her?" Hondo shook his head. "Uniforms still on site." "As long as it is so calm for us, we should use the time for a bit of training. I need my revenge on Street." Luca raised his fists for an symbolic act of fighting. None of them knew it would be the last normal moment of the day.
---
With all her tech stored in the trunk of the black police issued SUV, y/n arrived in less than twenty minutes the house which was in the focus of Narcotics. Y/n let her eyes wander while exiting the car. It looked like a normal two story house. The wooden windows needed a new layer of pale blue coating and the front yard needed some more attention and love, that was for sure. While contemplating which of her devises she needed for her first sweep, y/n thought back to the time she officially moved in with Deacon and Rocker. Despite what outsiders might think, their shared house was, even before y/n moved in, clinically clean. Not in an uncomfortable way. It was warm and welcoming and y/n did her best to make it even more a home. Some touches here and there, freshly planted flowers in the front yard and her very own aura made the Sergeants' house more of home than it ever was. This two story house was nothing but unsuspicious. Despite the information that Narcotics needed her expertise, there was nothing y/n knew about their case. A short talk with the head of this call was more than needed for the young woman. The officer informed her about possible important data on the electronic devises they found in the office. Slowly most of the officers were filtering into their squad cars, ready to serve and protect the countless streets of LA.
The house was quiet in that wrong kind of way. Not peaceful. Empty. The kind of silence that felt sick, like the air itself was holding its breath. Y/n stood in the doorway of the office, gloves already on, tablet tucked under her arm, eyes scanning the room with practiced precision. Dust motes floated in the sunlight coming through the half-closed blinds. Papers were scattered across the desk, a laptop knocked onto its side, cords trailing like severed veins. The narcotics team had moved fast. Hopefully not too fast, but she had a bad gut feeling. Her instincts, sharpened from the years of forensics work, whispered that something here had been rushed. "Clear and secure," the officer outside had said confidently. But y/n had learned that "secure" didn't always mean safe. She stepped further inside. The faint smell of dust and paper lingered beneath the chemical tang of cleaning spray. Someone tried to wipe things down. "Okay, let's see what is been trying to be hide." Y/n murmured softly to herself, setting her tablet on the desk. She plugged in her portable drive and flipped the laptop upright. The screen flickered. Password protected, of course. Her fingers moved quickly, calm and precise. Behind her the house creaked. The sudden change of air, like something dangerous is lurking around the corner made her freeze. It was subtle. The kind of sound old houses made all the time. But her pulse spiked anyway. Y/n glanced over her shoulder, the hallway beyond the office was dark and empty. She turned back to the screen, the password cracked within seconds. Folders bloomed open, transactions, burner accounts, encrypted files, security footage. "Gotcha," she whispered. That was when a shadow moved behind the door. Too close, too fast. Before she could turn around a hand slammed over her mouth. Another arm wrapped around her throat. Her tablet clattered to the floor. "Don't you dare scream," a male voice hissed in her ear, wild and shaking. "Or I swear I'll kill you." Terror exploded in her body. She clawed at his arm instinctively, her breath trapped in her chest. The man dragged her backwards into the room, slamming the door shut with his foot. "You cops think, you're so smart," he snarled. "You missed me." Y/n struggled, but he was stronger, adrenaline-fueled and desperate. The woman reminded herself of the self-defense techniques Rocker and Deacon once taught her. It was a funny and slow day at the headquarter. She tried to teach them some of her relaxing yoga poses which ended with the two Sergeants moaning and groaning in pain from. Later they showed her some techniques to defend herself. Smashing someone's nose with her elbow. Crushing crown jewels with her knee. Stomping on feet with all her might. All those techniques now were gone. What lasted was the tight feeling in her chest with not enough oxygen filling her lungs. When he loosened his grip enough y/n tried to get out the stranger's grip. But in a moment of seconds he shoved her hard. She stumbles into the back, pain exploding through her spine. "You're gonna give me everything you pulled off that computer," he shouted. "I- I don't have it yet," y/n stuttered honestly. "I just got her." "Liar!" He backhanded her across the face. Stars burst behind her eyes. Her legs buckled. "I swear," fear pouring out now. "I don't know anything yet."
Rage twisted his face. "You think I'm stupid?" And with that he shoved her violently. The sudden attack caught her frightened body without forewarning. She stumbled but soon lost her footing so fast she couldn't try to hold herself upright. While her body went down her head cracked painfully against the edge of the wooden desk. A sickening sound filled the room. White-hot pain tore through her skull and the world flipped. She collapsed sideways, shoulder slamming into the hardwood floor with a brutal snap. Agony exploded down her arm, Then everything went dark. "Hey!" The man crouched over her. "Get the fuck up!" No response. Her body lay twisted unnaturally, blood slowly pooling beneath her head. "Wake up!" The man kicked her in the ribs, hard. Pain dragged her back into awareness in a blur of fire. She cried out weakly, not fully regaining back the realization of the past events and why she is laying on the ground in agony. "There you go. You don't get to pass out, no easy way out for a bitch like you." Another kick. Her side screamed. Instinctively, y/n curled further into herself, her shoulder screaming in protest. Her vision swam. Blood dripping down her temple where she crashed into the corner of the wooden desk. Everything hurt. Her shoulder burned like it was tearing itself apart. Her head pounded with every heartbeat. She couldn't breathe right, she couldn't think straight. She could barely stay conscious. Never had y/n been more scared in her life.
Across the city, the members of LA SWAT hurried out of the gym to their black vehicle. Movements professional, fast yet calm. Gear snapping into place. Weapons checked. Faces hard, focused and utterly professional. Hondo murmured into his phone, when his entire expression changed he ended the call. "Everything alright, Hondo?" Deacon asked instantly, feeling the shift of his friend's composure. "The hostage…It's presumedly y/n." he said carefully. "Didn't get enough intel right now, just the parameter for us to make a big entrance, but it's likely that it is her." The world stopped. Rocker went pale. Deacon's breath punched out of his chest. Luca swore under his breath. Chris' eyes filled with dread. "What do you mean, it's y/n?" Rocker demanded. "She was assisting narcotics," Hondo said grimly. "They missed the suspect. He took her. They're still in the house, but the guy is running on empty." Silence crushed the van. Rocker's hands trembled around his rifle. "He touched her," Rocker growled softly. "I swear to God…" "Fucking idiots of narcotics, if something happened to her…" Luca spit. "Focus," Hondo snapped gently but firmly. "We need to be clear. We save her first. That's the mission."
---
Inside the house, y/n drifted in and out. More squad cars filled the space in front of the house. Officers in blue surrounding the house. An attempt from the Captain of Narcotics to negotiate, to reduce the fallout of the failure his team had to be responsible for, fell on deaf ears. So they just observed the house and waited for SWAT to save the day. Pain was everywhere. Y/n's shoulder felt wrong, hanging, burning, useless. Her head throbbed violently. Every breath hurt her ribs. The man nervously looked out of the window. More cop cars, more officers. He needed a plan and that fast. He spun on her. "You already ruined everything!" He yanked her up by her arm. Her shoulder screamed. Y/n cried out in agony. Not able to think straight the only sound she could muster was a soft whimper. "Shut up!" He dragged her towards the window. "They want proof I'm serious," he said wildly. The outside world looked like pure chaos. Police cars lined the street. Weapons trained and megaphones blaring. "Put the hostage down!" The man shoved her against him, gun pressed to her temple.
SWAT moves into position. Hondo watched through binoculars which were trained on the only window which shows movement. "Got visual," he said sharply. Rocker's breath hitched. A chorus of "ready", "visual, affirmative", "clear shot", was heard in their comms. "Sniper ready. On my mark," Hondo replied to his team. The man screamed into the window, clearly hanging on a threat. Nervous and desperate, not a good combination, that was clear for the whole team. "You let me walk or she dies!" His grip tightened. The man turned slightly, just enough for Hondo to give his final command. "Clear, now!" The shot cracked through the air. The window shattering immediately. The perp screamed as the bullet tore through his shoulder. His gun made a loud clattering noise on the hardwood floor. The door to the office flew open the same moment the bullet hit the man, leaving him no seconds to scramble back to get his gun or grab his hostage again. Y/n collapsed instantly, not aware of the commotion in the office which was her prison just short moments ago. Rocker was on the man in seconds, wrenching him down, cuffing him hard. "Don't move!"
With Luca and Rocker on the perp and Street and Tan outside probably coming out of their position in which one of them just showed their sniper skills, Deacon cleared the room and ran straight to y/n. He dropped beside her, hands shaking. "Y/n! Darling, look at me!" Her eyes fluttered, a weak whisper leaving her dry mouth. "Dan…" "Oh God." Deacon breathed. There was blood everywhere, matting her silky hair. Her shoulder looked dislocated, her eyes half lidded. Her face screamed pain. Thank God she was breathing, but what should be a deep breathe only came out ragged and shallow. Deacon tried to assess and catalogue her injuries as fast and efficient as he can. He shoved her thin jacket, which has "Forensics" imprinted on her chest and at the back, away and lifted her long sleeve shirt. Bruising already blooming across her ribs. "Clear scene. Need a medic right now. Hostage is injured." The skilled SWAT Sergeant commanded in his professional, no-nonsense tone, he always used in situations like this. But that wasn't a normal SWAT situation. It was one of their own, laying hurt in front of him. It was his colleague, his roommate, his friend. Rocker's face was pure rage when he dragged the perp to one of the squad cars, listening to Deacon's voice over the radio.
"h-hurts…" Y/n whimpered. Her vision blurred, her breaths were shallow and uneven, little gasps that scraped her throat. Deacon whispered words of solace, sliding one hand behind her neck to keep her head still like he'd been trained. She tried to move, the cold from the hardwood floor slowly creeping into her bones, but cried out sharply. "Don't move," he said quickly but gently. "Easy." He scanned her further and his stomach twisted. Blood continued to ooze slowly from the head wound. Deacon fumbled a gauze pad out of his tactical vest and pressed it carefully against her head. "It's gonna help," he murmured. "Medics are on their way." She whimpered softly. Everything hurt. Her body started with light trembles which rapidly developed into uncontrollable shocks. The older man's eyes burned. On the floor, hurt and in pain, y/n even looked smaller. Broken. It were their job to protect her and they failed.
The house was suddenly quieter. Not peaceful but emptied of danger. Sirens wailed closer outside. Deacon stayed with y/n, never letting go. Her breathing hitched. "I'm so cold." Shock, he recognized it instantly. He tugged his vest open and pulled down his jacket to drape it over her gently.
Her teeth chattered, whispering something which Deacon couldn't make out. He leaned closer so that she could see his face clearly. "I know it hurts, you will feel better soon, y/n," he brushed her cheek with his thumb carefully, avoiding the blood on her face. "Help's almost here." He kept talking, anything to keep her conscious. "Remember movie night last week?" he said softly. "You fell asleep halfway through it." She gave the faintest breath of a laugh. "You tucked me in…" "Yeah," he smiled shakily. "And Rocker took a picture." Her eyes fluttered. "De- delete it," she murmured. Then she groaned softly. "My head's spinning." "Look at me," Deacon said gently but firmly.
Outside, chaos reigned. The perp was shoved into the back of a squad car, screaming and bleeding. Rocker slammed the door shut harder than necessary. The sound echoed. He spun immediately, eyes already searching the house, with a glimmer of hope that Deacon is already outside with y/n. "Is she okay?" he shouted. No one answered fast enough so bolted back inside.
---
He nearly skidded across the floor when he reached the office for the second time that day. The sight hit him with a punch. Y/n on the ground. Blood everywhere. Deacon holding one of her hands. Her left arm twisted wrong. "Oh God, y/n," Rocker's breath left his lungs in a rush. He dropped to his knees on her other side. Her eyes flickered toward him. "Donavan," she whispered weakly. His throat closed instantly. "Hey angel, I'm here." He brushed her hair back carefully, hands shaking. He looked at Deacon. "How bad?" "Concussion for sure. Shoulder dislocated. Maybe broken ribs," Deacon replied tightly. "She's in shock." Rocker swore quietly. Sirens finally screamed closer. Red and blue lights flooded through the windows. Almost there. Y/n whimpered when another wave of pain rolled through her. "Tired…" Deacon shook his head gently. "No sleeping yet, sweetheart." Rocker smiled softly through his very own fear. "Stay awake with us, 'kay?" Paramedics burst in moments later.
"Female hostage- Head trauma, possible dislocated shoulder, broken ribs," Deacon rattled off fast and clear, as professional as he could. "In and out of consciousness. Shock symptoms." "Got it, Sergeant." one medic said. They moved quickly. Cervical collar. Pressure bandage around her head. Vitals. Y/n cried softly when they adjusted her shoulder. Rocker flinched like it was his own pain. As they loaded her onto the stretcher, her grip tightened on Deacon's hand. "Don't leave." Deacon squeezed her hand back. "Never." Relief washed over her face before exhaustion pulled her under.
The stretcher rolled fast toward the ambulance, cold air brushing y/n's overheated skin as red and blue lights blurred together above her. Rocker started to climb in after her. "Only one," the paramedic said firmly, blocking him gently but decisively. "I've got her," Deacon was already stepping inside, the doors slammed shut before Rocker could say another word.
Everything felt too bright and too fast. Y/n whimpered as the stretcher vibrated with every bump in the road. Pain rippled violently through her ribs, her shoulder burned like it was tearing apart and her head throbbed so hard it made her vision swim. Deacon sat close beside her, one hand holding hers tightly, the other braced against the edge of the stretcher. Her breathing came in sharp shallow gasps. A paramedic leaned in, shining a bright light into her eyes. "Y/n, can you tell me where you are?" "Am-ambulance…" she mumbled. The vehicle swerved hard. The world spun violently. Her stomach lurched painfully from the sudden movement. "Sick," y/n gasped. Deacon turned instantly, getting a bag for him just in time as y/n gagged hard. The force of it sent agony ripping through her ribs. She cried out, body trembling violently. Deacon carefully supported her shoulders to keep her from moving too much. "I've got you." Another wave hit and y/n gagged again, tears pouring down her cheeks. Her injured shoulder screamed when her body jerked forward. The pain was blinding. "I'm sorry," she whispered confused when it finally eased. "Hey, none of that," Deacon said softly.
"…feel like…gonna pass out." Deacon leaned closer so she could see his face clearly. She tried her best to focus on his eyes. The same eyes she often got lost in, in the last two years. The medic pushed pain medication slowly into the IV. Warmth spread through her right arm. The pain dulled just enough to breathe. Her eyelids drooped. The sirens grew louder, then slower as they neared the hospital. The ambulance slowed and the doors burst open. The bright lights of the hospital's vehicle hall flooded in. "Trauma team ready!" The paramedic rattled off y/n's injuries and state as the stretcher rolled fast through the swinging doors of the ED. Bright fluorescent lights streaked above y/n's blurred vision. Footsteps pounded. Voices overlapped. Machines beeped. Her stomach lurched again as they pushed her into the trauma bay. Deacon stayed right beside her, hand tight in hers, grounding her in the chaos. The trauma team swarmed around the young woman. Scissors cut through her clothes. Cold air hit her skin. Gloved hands pressed everywhere. "Bp's low." "Pulse elevated." "Get oxygen on her." "Prep CT for head scan." A strangled cry bleeds out of y/n's mouth when fingers pressed against her ribcage. "Sir, you need to step back now." A doctor leaned over. "We have to treat her." Her breathing hitched into short, desperate gasps. "No, please no…" Deacon's heart shattered. He knew he has to make room for the nurses and the doctor. Y/n needed the medical attention and he didn't want to slow down the process. With a shattered heart he took a step back, out of the room. Her sobs echoed through the closed door. Deacon stood there shaking, fists clenched, feeling like he'd abandoned her even though he knew he hadn't.
The waiting room was already full of SWAT. Hondo stood rigid near the windows. Chris paced. Tan sat stiffly, hands clasped. Luca leaned against then wall, jaw tight. Rocker stood near the far end, arms crossed like he was physically holding himself together. The second Deacon walked in, all eyes snapped to him. "How is she?" Chris blurted out. Deacon swallowed hard. "They're working on her now." Rocker stepped forward instantly. "Working on her now?" Deacon ran a hand through his hair shakily. "Head trauma. Dislocated shoulder. Probably broken ribs. She was in shock." Silence slammed down. Rocker's face drained of color. "He beat her?" Deacon nodded slowly. "Kicked her while she was unconscious." That was it. Rocker exploded. He slammed his fist into the wall so hard the sound echoed. "SON OF A…" Hondo was the first to move, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Rocker!" "He hurt her," Rocker roared, eyes blazing with tears and fire. "She was supposed to be safe." Rocker paced like a trapped animal. "I swear if she doesn't come out of that room okay… I let him pay and the incapable idiots from Narcotics too…"
Time stretched painfully in the waiting room. Every second felt too long. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each click digging into Deacon's nerves. Rocker hadn't stopped pacing for longer than five minutes. Chris sat with her knees pulled to her chest. Tan stared at the floor like he was trying to hold himself together by sheer focus. Luca kept checking the hallway every time footsteps echoed. Hondo stood calm on the outside, tense on the inside. Finally a woman in blue scrubs walked towards them, chart in hand. Every one of them stood instantly. "Y/n y/ln?" the doctor asked gently. "Yes," Deacon was the first one to speak out loud. "I'm Doctor Santos," she said. "Miss y/n is stable now." The room exhales in one collective breath. Rocker's knees nearly buckled in relief. "But she took a significant amount of trauma." The team leaned closer. "She has a moderate concussion and a laceration that required stitches. Her left shoulder was dislocated and there's ligament strain, possibly a small fracture we'll confirm with imaging. She also has two broken ribs." Rocker's hands curled into fists. "The bruising along her torso indicates blunt-force trauma." Silence hit hard. "She was kicked," Deacon said quietly. The doctor nodded. "We've reset the shoulder and given her pain management," Dr. Santos continued. "She'll be sore for quite a while, but no internal bleeding. That's good news." "Probably several weeks for her recovery. Concussion protocol, limited movement of the shoulder and no heavy physical activity."
Y/n's room was dim and quiet. Monitors beeped softly. IV lines ran into her arm. Her head was wrapped in a bandage. One arm was secured in a sling. Bruises were already blooming dark along her collarbone and ribs. She looked so small in the hospital bed. Deacon stepped in first. "Y/n," he whispered. Her eyes fluttered open immediately. "Daniel," she breathed, relief flooding her face. He crossed the room in two long steps and very carefully took her right hand into his, avoiding the IV. Rocker hovered in the doorway, afraid to rush her. She turned her head slowly, wincing. "Don…?" That was the sign he needed, he hurried until he could finally touch her. "I'm here, angel." The moment she saw him, quiet sobs shook her body. Rocker gently brushed her hair back.
After the team made sure that indeed their friend and colleague was alive breathing, exhaustion pulled at y/n again. So the rest of the team, except for Rocker and Deacon, quietly backed out of her hospital room.
Night settled over the hospital, the hallway lights dimmed low and the usual chaos faded into hushed footsteps and distant murmurs. Y/n's room glowed in pale blue light form the monitor beside her bed, each steady beep a quiet reminder that she was still here, still breathing. Deacon sat in the chair closest to her bed, his forearms resting on the mattress, one hand wrapped carefully around hers. Rocker occupied the other chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes never leaving her face. She slept restlessly. Even with the pain medication her brow remained furrowed, lips parting as shallow breaths escaped. Every few minutes her body twitched. "She's not settling," Rocker murmured quietly. Deacon nodded. "Shock and trauma. The Doc warned us."
Y/n shifted again, a soft whimper slipping from her throat. "No…please…" Deacon leaned closer instantly. "Y/n, you're safe." Her breathing quickened. Her fingers tightening around his. "Don't hurt me," she whispered faintly. Rocker's jaw tightened painfully. "She's back there." Sweat beaded along her hairline. Her head shook weakly against the pillow. "I can't breathe, please…" Deacon brushed her hair back carefully, avoiding the bandage. "Sweetheart, wake up. It's a dream." Her chest rose fast and shallow. "He's here. He's gonna kill me." Rocker was at her side, kneeling beside the bed. "No one's here but us," he said softly but firmly. "You're in the hospital, safe." She suddenly cried out sharply and jolted awake with a gasp. Her eyes wild with fear. She tried to sit up and instantly cried out in pain. "Easy," Deacon said quickly, gently keeping her still. "Don't move, darling." She sobbed helplessly. "I couldn't get away." Rocker carefully rested a hand over her uninjured forearm, grounding but gentle. Her breath hitched and her body shook violently. Deacon wiped tears from her cheeks. Rocker's voice cracked just a little. "We've got you. No one is gonna touch you." Her breathing slowly eased as they spoke to her quietly, reassuringly, anchoring her back to the present. After several minutes, exhaustion dragged her eyelids closed again. But sleep didn't come easy. Every time she drifted off, her body tensed. Another hour passed. Then it happened again. This time her nightmare even more vivid than the last. Deacon leaned in immediately. Her face twisted with fear. Rocker squeezed her hand gently. "Open your eyes, angel." She gasped awake again. "Hurts…" she slurred. Deacon gently adjusted her pillow, making sure her injured shoulder stayed supported. "Let's get you more comfortable." He carefully helped her shift her just enough to ease the pressure on her ribs. She whimpered but relaxed slightly once settled. Rocker brushed her hair back again. "Better?" She made a barely noticeable nod with her head. "Try to breathe with me," he demonstrated quietly. Inhale. Exhale. She matched him shakily. Minutes passed. The tremors eased. "You're doing great," Deacon murmured. They sat there in the quiet, one hand in hers, the other resting reassuringly near her arm. Hours slipped by. Her breathing eventually deepened. Sleep finally came, lighter, but calmer. Ever so often she stirred and one of them whispered her name softly she settled again. When dawn's faint light crept in through the windows, y/n was finally resting peacefully. On the other hand, Deacon and Rocker hadn't slept a minute. But neither of them cared. She was alive, she was safe. And they were right where she needed them.
Morning light filtered softly through the hospital blinds, pale gold lights stretching across the floor and Lily's bed. The steady beeping of the heart monitor blended with the distant hospital sounds, carts rolling, low voices, the shift change beginning. Deacon sat exactly where he had all night, shoulders stiff, dark circles under his eyes, hand still loosely wrapped around y/n's. Rocker leaned back in the other chair, head tilted against the wall, eyes closed but instantly opening the second y/n stirred. She blinked slowly. The world swam. Her head pounded like a drum inside her skull. A wave of nausea rolled hard through her stomach. The sterile odor and the cold hospital atmosphere a stark contrast to the place where she should've woken up this morning. Home. In Deacon's and Rocker's former guest room which felt like a home almost too fast. She whimpered weakly, trying to sort her thoughts, the memories of the last day and to get the rolling of her stomach under control. Immediately both men leaned in. "Y/n?" Deacon said gently. "You okay?" She tried to nod and immediately regretted it. Pain exploded behind her eyes and she groaned softly. "My head hurts so bad." "That's the concussion," Rocker said quietly. "Take it easy, angel." Her mouth felt dry. Her ribs ached with every breath. One look into her face is enough for both SWAT Sergeants to know that their friend is in severe pain. Her ghostly pale skin no contrast to the white hospital sheets. "I feel dizzy," y/n whispered. Deacon carefully adjusted her pillow, lifting her head just slightly. "Slow breaths." The room tilted violently and y/n's stomach clenched again. "I think I'm gonna be sick." The grey haired man reached for the bag immediately, holding it gently to her mouth. She gagged softly, body trembling. It wasn't violent like the night before, but the nausea was relentless. Tears slid down her cheeks when it passed. She needed some minutes to get some more control over her shaking body and her rolling stomach to calm down further for her to speak instead of gagging. "You look tired," she directed at both her friends. Rocker brushed her hair back carefully when he exchanged a knowing look with the other Sergeant. "Nah, no way." "We look like zombies," Deacon said, lighting the mood. Her brow furrowed, while her brain caught up. "You stayed all night…" "Of course we did," Rocker said immediately. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up." Rocker straightened , his voice gentle and firm. "Hey, do not apologize. We'd do it again a thousand times." Deacon leaned a bit closer to the injured woman on the bed. He saw her smaller hands fidgeting with the hem of the hospital blanket, her eyes lowered to avoid their stares. "You're family, y/n." He laid a warm hand over her cold ones to gain her attention. "Th-thank you," y/n looked up. Another wave of dizziness hit suddenly. Her blank look alarming the two men the moment they met her eyes. "Are you dizzy?" Deacon asked with concern and urgency in his voice, a bit relieved when the door opened and the attending doctor and a nurse stepped inside y/n's room.
"Good morning, y/n. How are we feeling?" Dr. Morales said gently. Y/n swallowed carefully. "My head feels like it's splitting in half. My ribs hurt every time I breathe and my shoulder is on fire." The doctor nodded knowingly. "That's about what we expect after a trauma like yours." Rocker slowly stand up, his own nerves, lack of sleep and the worries he had all night making him restless, his jaw tight. "She's ben nauseous all morning," Deacon added quietly. "..dizzy…" y/n whispered. Dr. Morales scrolled through the chart, studying the notes from the ER and the variety of treatments she got on the way to the hospital and when she was brought to the ER yesterday. "On a scale from one to ten, how bad are you hurting at the moment?" Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat, hesitating. "Eight… sometimes nine." Rocker's head snapped up like he couldn't believe his ears. "Eight?"
The doctor tipped something on his ipad and nodded calmly. "Well, we've given a mild opioid overnight and IV anti-nausea medication. We're trying to avoid oversedation because of the head injury." Y/n closed her eyes, distress spreading in her chest. A silent tear rolled down her pale cheeks. "She's supposed to be in pain? Because she looks miserable, barely slept the night due to the pain." Rocker crossed his arm over his broad chest tightly. Y/n felt the tension getting thicker in her hospital room, almost unbearable for her in her state. "Donavan, it's okay…" a faint whisper could be heard in the room. "No it's not," he cut in immediately, not angry at her, just scared. Deacon made his way over to his friend, gently touching Rocker's shoulder. "Easy." Rocker ran a hand through his hair aggressively. "You're letting her suffer!" "No," the doctor said calmly but firmly. "We're treating her with great responsibility." Y/n whimpered softly as another pulse of pain hit her ribs. Rocker's face fell instantly. He lowered his voice, stressing out the injured woman was not his attention. "Look at her," he said quietly now. "Please…" The room went still. Dr. Morales sighed softly. "We can increase her medication slightly and add a lidocaine patch for her ribs. That should help without risking her neurological status." Deacon gave a faint smile. "Thank you doctor." Rocker let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. The nurse prepared the meds quickly while the doctor explains the side effects and checked y/n's shoulder and stitched up head wound. Rocker hovered close like a bodyguard. The fact that he couldn't take away the pain from the younger woman was making him utterly nervous. When the medication finally was administered, y/n relaxed just slightly. "Thank you," she whispered weakly. Her breathing came a little easier and the tension slowly eased from her battered body. After the doctor and the nurse left the room Rocker shook his head. "Next time they try to under-treat you, I'm flipping a table." Y/n gave a weak huff of laughter that turned into a wince. "Don't flip tables," Deacon said dryly, rolling his eyes at his colleague and friend. "I absolutely will," Rocker replied with a wink. Y/n smiled despite the pain. And for the first time that morning, the room felt lighter.
The room was finally quiet. The pain medication had dulled the sharpest edges of y/n's injuries, the nausea had settled and exhaustion wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. Her breathing evened out slowly, lashes resting against bruised cheeks. For the first time since the attack she slept. Deacon sat beside her bed, watching her chest rise and fall, finally allowing himself to breathe too. "She's out," Rocker whispered softly from the doorway. He glanced at the empty coffee cup in his hands. "I'm going to get a refill before we collapse." Deacon nodded. "Thanks, man." And with that Rocker left quietly to not disturb his sleeping friend.
Minutes later the door to the hospital room opened, a nurse appeared at the door. "Mr. Kay? Can I talk to you about Miss y/ln meds for a moment?" Deacon hesitated. He didn't want to leave y/n alone, but he knew discussion her meds and her overall all state is important for when she is finally discharged into his and Rocker's care, which hopefully didn't take much longer. He looked back at y/n's sleeping form and followed the nurse out of the room into the clean hospital hall.
---
The door opened, this time the blinds on the small door window rattled from the force. Heavy boots stepped inside. Y/n stirred immediately. Her mind wasn't fully awake yet, just sudden awareness of a presence in her room. Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented she saw a uniformed police officer at the foot of her bed, arms crosses, a grim expression on his face. "Y/n y/ln?" The officer said unfriendly. "I need your statement." Her heart stuttered. "I…now?" The woman tried to stay calm, to slow down her racing heart. The pounding of her heart immediately found its way into her concussed brain. Hammering there in a painful strong rhythm. Her tired eyes scanned the whole room. Obviously in search of her two friends. Her two protectors. Where were Daniel and Don? Over her pounded head she seemed to find her voice. "I'm really tired, officer." "This is important. There's an investigation against one of our own. So we're on a timeline," he said bluntly. Fear prickled along her skin. Y/n pushed herself up slightly, wincing in pain from her shoulder and her screaming ribs. The pain meds she finally got, thanks to Rocker, took away the edge and helped her to rest, but it wasn't strong enough to take off enough pain for her to move smoothly. "Start from when you entered the house." The officer said, fishing out a notebook out of his jacket. Her thoughts felt foggy. She remembered driving to the house where narcotics waited for her expertise. She still felt the pure rage of the man who beat her. Her head colliding with the wooden desk. She remembered the cold barrel of the gun against her temple. Deacon holding her in place on the floor. A gun shot. The ambulance. There were so many memories in her head, but she couldn't get them in a right order, not with how drowsy she felt currently. "I…I went into the office to secure the computer…" "More specific," he snapped. "Times. Movements." Y/n vision blurred. More details. The officer needed more details. She had details in her head but she couldn't put the pieces together. "I don't know exactly…" she stuttered. "Try harder. You entered the house and then?" Her chest tightened. "In the office… I saw the computer and… and I heard something and then…" "You entered the office without clearing the room? You just went to the computer without a parameter check?" The officer scribbled something on his notebook. "I don't… Narcotics said the scene was clear. My…my captain said, it was a clear scene… I think…" Her hands started shaking. Was it her fault? She wasn't a careless woman. In the contrary. She was always attentive, cautious. "You think? Think harder. This is an intern investigation, there are some careers on the stake." The officer's voice raised slightly. He was not amused with y/n's attempt to answer, that one was clear. Cold sweat broke out on y/n's forehead. The trembling of her hands slowly spreading out into her whole body. Irritated the officer exhaled dramatically. "You carefree forensics. Always eager to play with the big fish. But when it gets tough, WE have to take the fall." "They said it's clear… But he came from… he was in the office the whole time. He came from behind me…" Y/n tried to steady her wavering voice. "I'm sorry, my head… I've got a concussion. I can't really concentrate," the younger woman stuttered out, pleading with God, her angels, all her good karma, that one of her roommates made an entrance before the situations got worse. The officer stepped closer to the bed, hovering dangerously over her shaking frame. "We don't have all day, Miss y/ln," he said sharply. Y/n's breathing sped up. The room felt smaller, like the walls were enclosing around her. "I can't remember right now," she said, her face contorted in discomfort, panic and pain. "Dammit, you can. You just don't want to." He raised his voice harshly.
Tears filled her eyes. Whether from the pain, her tight chest or the frustration, she didn't know. "That's not true…" "Focus!" He snapped. Her heart slammed painfully against her ribcage. The noise of the room seemed too loud. Her skin too tight. The officer, too close for her liking, was a pile of blurred lines. The dizziness pulling her under again. "…dizzy…" she mumbled into the room. "Stay on track. You work with SWAT. Without the guys with their big guns you're incapable?" The officer chuckled dangerously , too loud for y/n's nerves. Her breath came faster and faster. Shorter. "I can't breathe…" "Oh sure you can, you're talking aren't you?" The uniformed man rolled his eyes with disrespect and took another step forward, nearly touching y/n's bed. That did it. Panic exploded in her chest. Air felt impossible to get into her body. Her fingers curled into the blanket. Her vision tunneled and the room started to spin more violently. "Miss y/ln! Calm down." The officer said sharply. But she couldn't Her breaths came in gasps. The pain faded into the background when her body was so desperate for her to take some proper breaths. Tears streamed down her face and fell on the white sheets which covered her lap. Her whole body shook.
The door flew open. Rocker froze in the doorway, coffee tray in his hands. He expected Deacon with a still resting y/n in the quiet room, just the way he left fifteen minutes ago, so he needed some seconds to interpret the whole situation. A uniformed officer stood beside y/n's bed, hovering above her, casting a shadow over the smaller woman. His gaze wandered to y/n. Shaking, crying, gasping, her eyes wild with fear and panic. With her right hand she clutched her ribcage. Her left arm shaking despite the sling which should restrain her injured shoulder. The tray hit the counter with a loud clatter. Coffee spilled out of the two cups he just bought at the hospital cafeteria. "What the hell is going on?" The officer turned around. Rocker didn't recognize the guy. So what the hell was he doing in y/n's hospital room. "Step away from her!" Donavan said low and dangerous when he crossed the room in long strides. "She is giving her statement." The officer snapped. "Oh no, she is not." Rocker growled. "She is having a panic attack and a severe concussion." The officer chuckled bluntly. "She needs to cooperate. It's an intern…" Rocker leaned in closer, eyes blazing. He was one head taller than the officer, who suddenly looked like a dear in the headlights with the taller and broader man hovering over him. "You will leave. Right. NOW!" Rocker said slowly, his tone dangerous. The officer scoffed. "You can't order me…" Y/n was barely able to suck in a breath anymore, sobbing harder and spiraling further into her rabbit hole. "…can't breathe…" Rocker turned immediately. Cursing under his breath for giving this shit of an officer too much attention. "Hey. Hey, angel. Look at me." He knelt beside her bed , taking her shaking left hand into his warm ones. "You're safe. The clown is leaving." The officer hesitated. Rocker glared one more time at the man. "Out!" Finally the man backed away with a muttered curse and left. Rocker on the other hand didn't take his eyes off y/n. "Breathe with me, okay." He inhaled slowly. Y/n tried to follow her friend's instruction. But the panic, fear and pain too deep in her bones to calm down. With the warm and the comfort of the SWAT Sergeant her shaking eased bit by bit, her breaths ever so slowly lengthened. "That's it," he whispered. "Slow. You're okay. I'm here, princess." The door opened again, making y/n shrink further into herself, her breath once more hitched in the back of her throat.
"What happened?" A familiar voice asked into the room. The atmosphere still tight with tension. Rocker looked up from his position beside the bed, fury flashing again. "A cop interrogated her alone and pushed her into a panic attack." Deacon's face hardened instantly. Why was a cop in her room, without anyone being informed? First of all she wasn't in the state to give her statement, especially not with the pain meds she got just half an hour ago. Deacon went straight to y/n's side. "Oh y/n," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. I should have stayed with you." Regret gnawed at him. She clutched his hand desperately. "I got confused." Her breathing crashed over her again. "I should have checked the office, the house. I was too careless…" Her breathing finally slower and steadier. Deacon and Rocker shared a glance. She was giving herself the blame for what happened at the scene. A scene where she was called to, to secure data from a computer. To do her forensic work, not to do police work, not to clear the scene, not to find the perp and arrest him. That is all on narcotics and Deacon and Rocker knew that. Exhaustion crashed over her again like a train. When her eyes finally began to drop, the two men stayed close this time. Guarding her. Protecting her.
Y/n drifted off quickly this time after she calmed down enough, worn out from the panic. Once her breathing deepened, both men carefully stepped a little away from the bed. Their eyes never left the injured woman. Deacon's jaw was set hard. "I'm handling this. I'm going to call Hondo."
Back in the room y/n stirred again softly. When her eyes opened slowly, her eyes wandered unfocused along the shadows of the hospital room. Deacon was instantly by her side, not risking another panic attack. "Hey," the grey haired man whispered. A small smile spread on her pale lips. When the memories from earlier came crashing down on her. Deacon immediately notices her sudden change and gently touches her uninjured shoulder with care. "Will I have to talk to him again?" Y/n let out a shaky breath. "No," Deacon said gently. He did everything in his power that this guy won't interrogate y/n ever again. He was way out of line and that he would feel painfully, from SWAT, from Hondo, from internal affairs. It was not y/n's job to secure a scene. She didn't wear a gun, for crying out loud. She was a tech and forensics specialist, not a cop. "If anyone takes a statement, it'll be later. With us there. And only when you're ready. Hondo also is going to make sure of that." Rocker added. That seemed to calm her.
———
The hospital discharge papers were finally signed three days later. Three long days of scans, pain management, concussion checks, nightmares and slow improvement. Y/n sat in a a wheelchair by the nurse's station, wrapped in a soft hoodie that Deacon had brought from home, her injured arm tucked carefully in a sling, bruises still dark along her cheek and collarbone. She looked pale and tired, but alive. Rocker crouched in front of her. "Ready to get out of here, angel?" The nickname made her stomach flutter and warm spread all the way up from her chest, over her neck and coloring her cheeks a shade of pink. She managed a small but shy smile, nearly too embarrassed to hold Rocker's intense stare. Deacon thanked the nurse one last time, then gently pushed the wheelchair toward the exit. When the automatic doors opened, Deacon's truck was already in sight, parked patiently, waiting for the trip back home.
Rocker opened the truck door carefully while Deacon helped y/n stand slowly. The movement sent dizziness rushing through her. "Whoa…" she whispered. The older Sergeant steadied her. Not risking her falling down or hurting herself by stumbling into the wheelchair or the car door. Once she was settled and buckled in with pillows supporting her ribs and shoulder, Rocker climbed into the passenger seat while Deacon drove. The ride was quiet. But y/n couldn't bring herself to enjoy the drive home. Sure she was excited to be finally home again, after spending days in the uncomfortable hospital bed. But every bump in the road made y/n flinch. Her head throbbed, her ribs burned. The world felt fuzzy around the edges. She rested her head against the window, welcoming the support for her head. "Daniel," the younger woman whimpered. "Yeah, y/n?" Deacon answered, looking into the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the woman sitting in the backseat of his truck. "I feel weird." He gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turned white. "That's the concussion sweetheart. We're almost home." Rocker twisted in his seat to look at her "Just breathe okay?" Y/n nodded weakly, eyes glassy. By the time they pulled into the driveway, she looked completely wiped out.
———
Morning came quietly. Almost too quietly. Sunlight crept through the hallway window, pale and soft, but y/n's room was empty. Rocker noticed it first. The bed was rumpled, blankets kicked aside. A strange tightness hit his chest. "Y/n?" No answer. Deacon stepped out of his room, already alert. They noticed her en suite bathroom door slightly ajar. The light was on. Another gentle shout of her name, but no answer came out of the room. As calm as possible both Sergeants entered their roommate's bathroom, silently praying that they wouldn't catch her naked. It's her own bathroom after all. But there she was, on her knees on the cold tile floor. One hand gripping the toilet seat so hard her knuckles turned white, the other arm securely immobilized by a sling. Her body shook violently with each breath. Cold sweat coated her pale skin, darkening the collar of her shirt, her hair damp and clinging to her temples. Her face was colorless and her lips trembled when another violent wave tore through her. She gagged harshly, her whole body convulsing as she threw up again. The force made her cry out softly in pain. "Oh y/n," Deacon breathed, dropping down beside her with Rocker on his heels. She didn't seem to hear them. Her eyes were unfocused, glassy, darting wildly like she wasn't fully there. The room spun around her. Her head pounded like it was splitting open with her stomach violently twisting. She barely managed to lean forward before another heave ripped through her. Deacon supporting her carefully so she wouldn't collapse forward. "It's okay, sweetheart. Let it out." Her breath came in broken gasps between retches. The dizziness surged so badly her vision went dark at the edges. Rocker gently wiped her sweaty forehead with a towel, his hands shaking slightly. Her body trembled harder now, cold and shock mixing with exhaustion. "I'm so cold." Deacon quickly got rid of his sweater and wrapped it around her shoulders. When the nausea finally slowed down, she slumped weakly against Deacon's chest, breathing hard. Relief flickered faintly, consuming her heart. She was not alone. Not with Deacon and Rocker as her roommates. Y/n lay back further into Deacon's chest, wrapped in his sweater. The cold tile seeped through the thin fabric of her leggings, making her shiver harder even though sweat still coated her skin. Rocker hovered close, one hand braced on the floor beside her, the other gripping the sweater around her shoulders to keep her warm. Deacon stayed still, just the way he was, steady and calm. She was not alone, not now, not ever.
Always Like This
Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader
Summary: You get a special invite to a 20 squad barbecue and learn that your boyfriend's team is a family. One you fit into perfectly.
Warnings/Word Count: fluff, banter, Street gets bullied. 1.4k+ words, requested.
A/N: This is my 2,000th post. Thanks for reading and letting me talk so much.
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"A barbecue? In this weather?"
As if Mother Nature is agreeing with you, the wind howls and sends raindrops spattering against the window above the sink. Deacon smiles and offers a shrug in response to your question. You just recently met 20 squad — on the same day you celebrated your sixth month anniversary with David. So, the invitation to Hondo's house comes as a bit of a surprise.
"And you're sure he invited me?" you check without looking away from the food simmering on Deacon's stove.
Deacon sighs, the sound long-suffering but still loving, before he wraps his arms around your waist. He tugs you back from the stove, smiling into your shoulder as you collapse into him.
“Of course he invited you,” Deacon assures you.
“I don’t want to be that girlfriend,” you explain softly.
“That girlfriend?” Deacon repeats inquisitively, his hands wandering your hips and stomach as he begins to sway to the rhythm of the rain.
Shrugging, you add, “You know, the girl who assumes she’s invited everywhere but ends up interfering with a boys’ night or bothering you because you felt some obligation to not leave me out of something.”
Deacon exhales heavily. He knows that you’re not trying to make him feel any specific way, but he never wants you to think that he doesn’t want you close.
“I don’t want you to feel left out,” Deacon replies. “But regardless of what I think or want — and I’d rather stay home with you than spend another night with my team every time — Hondo’s mom invited you. Before she invited me, actually.”
You smile, turning just enough to see Deacon over your shoulder. “Really?”
“Don’t rub it in,” Deacon jokes. “Yeah. She wants to meet you.”
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were all really close,” you muse.
“No. And now you’re part of that family, part of our team. Street tried to pitch why we should adopt him this morning.”
Tipping your head back against Deacon’s shoulder, you laugh. Even though you’ve only met Street once (and received numerous TikTok links from him since then), you can picture that encounter perfectly. Based on what you’ve heard about his family, it might not even be the worst idea.
“So, what am I telling Hondo?” Deacon hums. “You coming with me or leaving me to fend for myself?”
“I’ll come with,” you answer, nodding as you trace the muscles in Deacon’s forearms. “Since you asked so nicely. Do I need to take anything?”
“No. Luca tried once. I won’t let you make the same mistake.”
You turn to kiss Deacon’s jaw before you step out of his hold to finish dinner. You’re lucky, you know.
“Not even-“ you begin.
“Nope,” Deacon answers before you finish.
You spend the rest of the week looking forward to Hondo’s family barbecue. Because of the winter storms battering Los Angeles, it has become an indoor gathering, but you understand that a Harrelson party is never hindered nor affected by anything. Though you’ve met 20-David squad, you haven’t met their families, significant others, or the neighbors you understand have an open invitation to the cookout.
So, you’re not surprised when Deacon has to park down the block from Hondo’s house. He takes your hand as you exit his car, keeping you on the inside of the sidewalk and under his umbrella as he leads you up the road.
“Why don’t you invite the team over for stuff?” you wonder.
“Because I’ve seen the mess we leave at Luca’s,” Deacon offers. “The guys have been over a few times; Luca and Hondo live in a more central area, I guess. I’ve also just never felt the urge to… I don’t know, entertain?”
Nodding in understanding, you follow Deacon up the walkway. Hondo’s house is pretty; it fits him well based on what you know about him.
“I don’t deserve you,” you muse as Deacon pushes the door open.
He stops in the doorway, his hand tightening around yours, still gentle as always.
“I’m not supposed to say that,” you murmur. “I know. Lecture me later.”
“Clearly it works so well,” Deacon grumbles.
“Not my fault you look good when you get bossy,” you defend.
“Hey!” Street yells as he walks into the hallway.
“Hi, Street!” you call, waving as he nears you for a hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he sighs into the hug.
“That’s long enough, Street,” Deacon jokes.
“If that bothered you, what makes you think bringing her into Hondo’s house was a good idea?”
You chuckle at their bantering while following them deeper into the house. Music and overlapping conversations are audible from the kitchen, and you recognize most of the people as soon as they come into view. Luca and Hondo are in the kitchen, helping who you assume is Hondo’s mom, Tan and Hicks are holding cups while they look at a bookshelf, and Street finds his place by the window without hesitation.
“There she is!” Luca announces when he sees you.
“And she brought Deacon!” Hondo plays along.
His mother smiles, wiping her hands on a dishrag before she steps behind Luca to greet you.
“Mrs. Harrelson, thank you so much for having me,” you say before you introduce yourself.
“Sweetheart,” she replies kindly, “you are always welcome here. As you can see, manners and beautiful women are severely lacking.”
You chuckle, welcoming her hug as Tan and Hondo grumble arguments about having manners and ‘prospects.’ She ushers you into the kitchen, shaking her head when she sees the soft, love-filled look Deacon wears as he watches you go.
“Deacon tells me that this is a regular occurrence?” you ask. “It’s really nice of you to do this.”
“We’d go crazy if we didn’t get to hang out off duty,” Hondo explains. “It’s quite literally the least I can do. I like the chance to let loose, act like guys rather than cops.”
“He says that like it wasn’t my idea,” his mom whispers to you, smiling when you stifle your laughter.
“You’re the first non-SWAT guest to get a special invitation,” Luca tells you. “High honor.”
“I feel bad coming empty-handed, though,” you pout. “Deacon said-“
“That you’re not expected to bring anything,” Hondo finishes for you. “He’s right. We wanted to see you, not make you feel obligated to do anything for us.”
“The tables turn,” Deacon muses, approaching the counter with a cup in his hand. “Told you.”
“Be nice to her Deacon,” Luca warns, pointing a fork at him.
“You’re outnumbered, Deac,” Hicks agrees.
“Now I’m very glad I came,” you hum, smiling at Deacon.
“This is great,” Street interrupts. “Wait, I have the best idea!”
“Words that usually precede something incomprehensible or downright awful,” Luca warns you under his breath.
“We should do a team vacation,” Street continues, moving his hands as he talks. “Like go to the mountains for a week or a few days in a nice beach house in San Diego.”
The people around you fall silent, staring at Street like he just pitched the idea in a foreign language.
“Sounds fun,” you offer to break the silence.
“Ain’t no way Jim Street just said that,” Hondo exclaims.
“His first good idea,” Tan muses. “We should celebrate that alone.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Street deadpans. “Look, future Mrs. Deacon said it sounds fun, so you can’t hurt me now.”
“Future Mrs. Deacon,” Hicks repeats. He raises his brows as he glances at you. “Got something to share?”
“Not yet,” Deacon answers for you.
“I can help plan the wedding,” Street offers.
“No, you can’t,” Hondo, Tan, Hicks, Luca, and Deacon say together.
“Is it always like this?” you whisper to Hondo’s mother.
“Sometimes they get goin’ so fast I can’t follow what they’re saying,” she murmurs. “But it’s always fun. It’s nice to see them let loose like this.”
“It is.”
Deacon shakes his head as he steps into the kitchen. His hand finds your lower back as he sighs.
“Look what you started,” he grumbles playfully.
“Careful, Deacon,” Hondo’s mom warns, yielding a wooden spoon like a weapon. “Your next invite might get lost.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Harrelson,” he offers, tugging you against his side. “And sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it.”
“Sure, you didn’t,” you agree. “Just like I didn’t mean it when I said Street could throw your bachelor party.”
“Yes!” Street yells, thrusting his fists in the air. “Take that, Hondo!”
“Told you you’d fit in,” Deacon reminds you.
“Hey, you chose me.”
Deacon drops his eyes to your lips as he murmurs, “I did.”
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