#swat cbs

[jeeyuns]

donovan rocker in S.W.A.T. 6.14 - Gut Punch (24FEB2023)

[meep-meep-richie]

'' Keep your head on a swivel.''

[unreliablesnake]

Untitled. Part one.

Summary: Deacon wants to introduce his girlfriend to his kids.

Note: Reader is a fashion model in her twenties. Deacon and Annie only have three kids. To be honest I like him and the reader together and I see potential. I mean, jealousy from Annie's side or her coming up with the idea that Deac is experiencing some midlife crisis, the kids hating/loving her, the team finding out they're together, she gets into trouble and he has to save our protect her...

Warning: age gap, afab!reader.

PS: I told you I can't stop.

Danica, the lead makeup artist of the photo shoot came over to you with a wide grin on her face, quickly sending the others away so she could tell you an important piece of gossip. You returned her smile as you leaned closer to listen, expecting something about the model who caused some chaos by not showing up.

But she remained silent for a little too long, and you began to assume it was about something else. And just like that, your suspicion was proven right when she finally spoke up. “There's a handsome silver fox outside with a police badge and he's looking for you. Jack is trying to convince him to leave if it's not related to an investigation, though, so if he belongs to you…”

“Oh, yes, he's mine,” you were quick to say with a bright smile. “Thanks for the heads-up, I'll talk to Jack.”

She nodded before gently patting you on the shoulder, giving you the green light to leave. Your makeup was done, it was only your hair that they had to finish before you could stand in front of the camera. They could surely survive five minutes without you, so you rushed out of the building to find your boyfriend and hopefully tell the head of security that there was nothing to worry about.

When your eyes finally fell on Deacon, you couldn't help but gulp from the sight. He was wearing a suit, something you always pointed out looked good on him, and when he noticed you, his face immediately lit up. You had been together for three months now, so this was probably the honeymoon phase making you this happy around each other, but you truly hoped things would stay this way.

His marriage ended shortly before you met thanks to Chris, and back then he wasn't ready to make a move on someone. But months later you met again on a night out with the team and he finally made up his mind to ask for your number. Long story short, he swept you off your feet with ease, and even the age difference wasn't enough to stop you from being happy together.

“Jack, he's with me. Can you let him in?” you asked with a sweet smile.

The man let out a sigh then gestured to him that he was allowed to enter the premises under your watch. Deacon leaned down to kiss the top of your head, already knowing better than to ruin your makeup, then took your hand and led you a little further away from people.

“Don’t get me wrong, I'm glad you're here, but why did you come? Did something happen?” you asked worriedly.

He was quick to reassure you with a shake of his head. “I just wanted to see you. But there's a change in the plans. Annie called; something came along and I'll have the kids over tonight,” he told you.

If he had the kids over, it meant your planned date had to be canceled. It sucked, but you were okay with it. His kids would always come first, and you liked that about him. He loved them more than anything, and it was nice to see how well he and his ex got along after the divorce. Were you jealous of their relationship? Yes, some days it was hard, but you knew they had a history together. You can't delete so many years with a piece of paper that proved you weren't together anymore.

“Raincheck?”

Deacon's smile returned as he watched you. “No. Come over tonight and meet the kids,” he suggested casually. You bit on your lower lip and avoided his gaze, showing the tell tale signs of your insecurity. “Hey, it's okay. I want them to finally meet you. Actually, I think Lila would love you. I was going through some photos of you the other day and there was this stunning picture of you wearing a purple gown. When she saw that, she said you looked like a princess and got all excited, saying she wanted to dress like that too.”

It was hard to hold back a laugh. You could imagine a young girl going nuts over the idea of wearing gowns every single day, and you could also imagine the way he was torn between smiling at his daughter and wishing she would just go to sleep.

Despite your good mood, you still didn't know if you were ready. Meeting the kids was a big step, one that he wanted to happen sooner than it would naturally occur. So you took a deep breath and stepped away, dragging him along as you walked back inside the building. Maybe if he began to focus on seeing you work, he would forget about this idea.

While Henry styled your hair, Deacon leaned against a table with his arms folded over his chest as he watched you. “You don't want to meet them,” he suddenly said. When you let out a sigh and tore your gaze away from him, he nodded. “At all or just yet?”

“It's too soon, Deac,” you admitted. “Look, we've only been together for a few months. I love you, you know that, but I don't think I'm ready for their questions. I need some time to figure out how to talk to kids first. I don't know anything about that, I don't have the experience, and–”

With a small smile on his face he came closer and signaled the hair stylist the step aside for a second. When you gave him a worried look, he just leaned down to place a light kiss on your temple. “Okay, okay, I get it. I love you too, no matter when you meet them. I can give you advice, don't worry, then we'll wait until you're ready,” he assured you.

“Lovebirds, I hate to interrupt, but if you're not ready in ten minutes, they will kill you,” Henry said, but then his eyes fell on Deacon's badge. “Not literally, of course.”

“Yeah, I assumed you meant it that way.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Cop Meet Cop

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader ; platonic Deacon Kay x reader

Summary: When your best friend, Deacon Kay, finds out that you're dating a cop, he wants to know everything. Introducing him to Tim Bradford is easier said than done.

Warnings: fluff! Tim's a little grumpy but we love him. cop show inception

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | S.W.A.T. Masterlist

Deacon yells your name before you even see him. S.W.A.T. HQ has become your home away from home, and your home away from Deacon’s home. As you walk in today, you’re greeted by Deacon’s excited greeting and a tight hug.

“It’s been too long,” Deacon says as he steps back.

“I saw you yesterday,” you remind him.

Deacon rolls his eyes before asking, “Is it wrong to miss my best friend?”

Your eyes widen as your smile grows, and Deacon regrets reminding you that you’re his best friend. You know, of course, he’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember, but you like hearing the acknowledgement in his own words.

“Adopted Kay,” Hondo greets when he sees you.

“Still funny,” you deadpan.

Since Hondo found out you and Deacon grew up next door to each other and have been inseparable since you could walk, he’s taken to referring to you as Deacon’s adopted sister, or his preferred sister from another mister. You don’t mind; Deacon is the best “brother” you’ve ever had (including any blood relatives you may or may not have).

“You ask her yet, Deac?” Hondo inquires.

“Ask me what?” you interject.

“The mayor is treating all of us and our families to dinner at La Boucherie,” Deacon explains. “You’re family, so I wanted to extend the invitation to you.”

“That’s thousands of dollars for that many people!”

“Why you should go when it’s free,” Hondo says with a smile and a shrug.

“When is it?” you ask Deacon.

“Next Friday,” he and Hondo answer.

You purse your lips as you think. Next Friday, you have plans with your boyfriend. The boyfriend that Deacon knows nothing about.

“I actually have a date next Friday,” you admit slowly. “Maybe we could reschedule.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Hondo interrupts, raising his hands toward you.

“A what?” Deacon yells.

“I was going to tell you,” you promise.

“This doesn’t seem like my business, so I’m gonna go,” Hondo says. He stops by your shoulder with his back to Deacon to whisper, “Fill me in later.”

You push him away before looking at Deacon. The apology in your eyes is enough to calm him, but innumerable questions are running through his mind.

“How long?” he asks first.

“A few months.” Deacon takes a deep breath, wondering why you didn’t tell him sooner. “How’d you meet?”

“It’s embarrassing,” you mumble.

“More embarrassing than when you fell off my bike because you weren’t tall enough to reach the pedals?”

“Why would you bring that up? Deacon, look, I trust you, don’t doubt that. I was worried that the relationship wouldn’t work out; he’s so different than anyone I have ever dated. If it fell apart after a few dates, I didn’t want to… push it on you or anything, I guess.”

“I am here for you, no matter what.”

“Thank you. We-“

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to interrogate you. My house after work.”

“Okay. Be careful today, Deac.”

“What’s his name?”

“Whose name?” you ask as you walk away.

Deacon grumbles as you round the corner. He has a lot of information to find out tonight, and he hopes you’re more forthcoming in private. It’s been a while since he scared away a guy who wasn’t good enough for you, and he hasn’t had to deal with Lila dating yet, but S.W.A.T. operations and defending your honor can’t be that different.

After you leave Deacon, your phone buzzes with a text from the man you were just talking about. You smile as you read the short message but turn down his invitation to hang out later. As you pass a police cruiser on your way to your car, you have an idea. Maybe asking your boyfriend to meet Deacon would make everything easier. Hopefully it ends differently than junior prom.

Your afternoon flies by in a storm of nervousness and excitement. If Deacon expresses any interest in meeting your boyfriend, you will jump on the opportunity. Although, you know it will take some convincing to get your boyfriend to agree. You’re imagining his reaction as you knock on Deacon’s door, lost in thought.

“Lose your key?” Deacon asks as he opens the door.

Annie waves from the kitchen, and you give her a quick hug. Deacon shakes his head at your blatant betrayal and favoritism, and Annie reminds him that she doesn’t bring up past embarrassments and injuries like Deacon does.

“That’s what friends do,” he argues.

“Best friends, right, Deac?” you ask, batting your lashes.

“Did she tell you about her boyfriend?” Deacon asks Annie.

“Boyfriend?! Since when?” Annie turns to you with wide eyes, and you glare at Deacon across the countertop.

“Start asking questions,” you say with a sigh.

“What’s his name?” Deacon repeats.

“How’d you meet?” Annie asks.

“Um, he’s a cop,” you explain. “And we met while he was on patrol.”

Deacon falls silent as he considers every cop he has ever met. You don’t know half of them, at the least, yet Deacon still runs through a mental list. His search for one worthy of your time or attention comes up empty. While he thinks, Annie continues asking you questions.

“No, he’s not on patrol anymore,” you say to Annie. It snaps Deacon out of his thoughts as he realizes he’s analyzing the wrong officers.

“If he’s not patrol,” Deacon begins before trailing off.

“Metro Sergeant,” you say softly.

“Metro. Metro?” Deacon repeats. “Not at our station.”

“What makes you so sure?” you challenge.

“Because I know you, and you wouldn’t go for any of them.”

“David,” Annie chides.

“No, he’s right,” you admit. “He works at a different station, in a different division. But, if you want to meet him, I can ask.”

“Of course, I want to meet him! You’re not giving me answers and I need to vet him.”

“You’re talking like a cop.”

“You’re dating a cop!”

“Look, Deacon, my boyfriend is… he can be hesitant and standoffish. I’ll ask, but I can’t guarantee that he’ll agree.”

“They’re both police officers, so at least they’ll have something to bond over other than you,” Annie whispers as Deacon leans against the counter.

“If I don’t like him,” Deacon begins.

“You don’t like anyone I date.”

“If I don’t like him or he’s not good enough for you, I will tell you.”

“I know. You care, even if you show it by bringing up the time I asked to hold your keys to feel more grown up.”

“That’s adorable,” Annie murmurs.

“Ask him, please,” Deacon requests. “And let me know what he says. As long as you’re happy, I’ll give him a chance.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your conversation with Deacon and Annie, you try to find the perfect opportunity to ask Tim. If he says no, you’ll just tell Deacon the truth. But then Deacon will get suspicious and will try to… You close your eyes and take a deep breath to keep your thoughts from spiraling.

When you open your eyes, you blink quickly at the sight before you. Your boyfriend is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He raises his brows, and you know it’s his invitation for you to speak.

“Hi, Tim,” you say.

“No.”

You nod and interlace your fingers together before tapping your joined hands against your chin. Tim tilts his head to the side as he tries to decipher what is making you nervous.

“Do you want to come to my house for dinner this weekend?” you ask.

“Not until you tell me why.”

“Tim,” you groan. “Okay, just let me tell you all of it before you say no, okay?”

Tim nods once and you step closer to him.

“I want you to meet my best friend, and I thought having you both over for dinner would be the best chance to do that. He, um, my friend is a S.W.A.T. sergeant in the LAPD.”

“Is that all?” Tim asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t think-“

“Look, he’s been my best friend for my entire life. We grew up next door to each other and have stayed friends for all these years, so he means a lot to me. And I know you’ve met a ton of S.W.A.T. officers and some of them are really stuck up, but you haven’t met him. Please just think about meeting my friend, not another cop, before you decide.”

Your plea was intended to convince Tim, but it only makes him more hesitant. His concerns don’t come from your friend being in law enforcement, but from the idea that it is a man who knows you and what you deserve very well. Probably knows you better than Tim does. Plus, Tim is not a fan of socializing and making more friends, for the most part.

“If you don’t want to, I get it,” you add.

It only takes another moment for you to wear Tim down; you murmur, “Please?”

“Fine. Tell me when,” he agrees with a sigh.

You bounce in place before throwing your arms over Tim’s shoulders to hug him. He sighs again before pulling you close and kissing your forehead.

“I promise it will be fun,” you say.

Tim raises his brows, and you take it as a challenge.

✯✯✯✯✯

On the day of your dinner with Tim and Deacon, you spend the day at home. You clean, cook, and do anything else you can think of to keep your mind off how the evening could go wrong. Being nervous that they won’t get along isn’t a completely unfounded idea, but you don’t know why it is bothering you. As dinner is nearing completion, someone opens your door, and because both men have keys, you’re not sure who it is until Deacon says your name.

“Kitchen,” you call.

Deacon steps in with a dish in his hands. He sets it down and you recognize it as Annie’s baking and your favorite dessert.

“Oh, thank you! And thank Annie!” you say before hugging Deacon.

“Sorry I’m early, I got off work after a call and wanted to see if you need any help,” he explains.

“No apologies necessary. If you can check the pot on the stove, I’m going to grab something from the pantry, and I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.”

When you return, Deacon is looking at you with a smile.

“What?” you ask, running your hands over your outfit to remove any nonexistent wrinkles.

“I know you said I’ve never met the boyfriend, but are you sure?” Deacon asks.

You don’t have a chance to answer before someone knocks. Tim usually lets himself in, but you’re sure the sight of another car parked outside is what deterred him. As you walk to the door, you take a deep breath and hope for a nice evening.

“Hi,” you greet.

“Hey,” Tim replies with a smile. “These are for you.”

He passes you a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane and a gift bag before he closes the door behind him. You run a finger over one of the petals and smile.

“What is this?” you ask while looking at the bag. “A bribe?”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he murmurs, “Something like that.”

“Alright, uh, come on in.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Tim whispers.

He lays a hand on your back, and it helps to calm your nerves, at least until you see Deacon standing by the table and watching you.

“Deacon, this is my boyfriend, Tim Bradford. Tim, this is my best friend, Deacon Kay,” you introduce.

Tim removes his hand from your back to shake Deacon’s hand, and you watch them nervously. You invite them to take seats and you move into the kitchen to gather a few items. The quiet is unsettling, and you need to do something to eliminate the awkwardness.

“Deacon asked how we met,” you say as you lower into the chair between them. “I was out walking one night, and this guy was following me. After making a bunch of random turns and going in a circle, he was still behind me, so I called the police. Tim was the responding officer.”

“Who was the guy?” Deacon asks.

You look at Tim, who shakes his head before answering, “He and his teenage daughter live around here and were out for a walk together. He was distracted looking at his phone and answering work emails and ended up following the wrong woman around the neighborhood.”

Deacon shakes his head and smiles. “I tell her all the time that her youthful good looks are going to get her in trouble.”

“Oh, no, it gets better,” Tim continues. “When he did see her while we were questioning him, he asked her out!”

Deacon tilts his head back and laughs, while Tim chuckles, and though it’s at your expense, you’re glad they’re able to laugh about something together. You notice Tim glance between you and Deacon a few times; unknown to you, he’s wondering if you ever had a thing for your neighbor and best friend, Deacon.

“I’m glad the most frightening event of my life is so humorous,” you joke.

“Hey, that’s not even the weirdest call I had that month,” Tim offers.

“It’s not just me, right?” Deacon asks. “People are getting crazier?”

“Oh, absolutely. My last boot and I got called to a psychic studio in Hollywood, and the girl admitted she was making stuff up, but revealed the location of a missing person. She was more concerned with the condition of her $900 crystal ball and flirting with me though.”

“Hollywood calls are always more interesting,” Deacon agrees. “We raided an illegal poker club and everyone inside was dressed as assassinated presidents and their widows. Bloody clothes and all.”

“Oh, that beats anything I’ve got,” Tim concedes. “Metro doesn’t get as many calls as patrol cops, but I know they’re going to be good.”

You lean back in your seat and smile, glad to see the most important men in your life getting along. They start talking about how anyone will flirt with cops to get out of trouble, and you chuckle at their excited discussion of the weirdest things people have said.

“Luckily, your friend over here didn’t flirt with me until after,” Tim says. He winks at you as you roll your eyes.

“You asked me out,” you remind him.

“Not my fault you’re cute,” Tim murmurs.

“Oh, you think she’s cute when she’s being followed. Have you seen her when she-“

You cover your ears and look down, regretting bringing them into your house at the same time. Deacon reminding you of your worst moments is one thing, but telling your boyfriend is different. They’re both lucky you love them. Tim wraps his fingers around your arm to pull your hand away from your hand, while Deacon does the same with the other.

“All good things,” Deacon promises.

“I’m going to tell Annie that you’re being mean to me,” you threaten. Tim fails to conceal his smile, and you add, “And Angela.”

“I’m not apologizing,” Tim responds.

“Doesn’t do much good anyway,” Deacon adds.

“Why did I agree to this?” you ask yourself.

“Because you thought we could bond over being cops. You were wrong, we’re going to bond over you.”

“Careful,” Tim warns. “She won’t invite you to the wedding.”

You look up quickly, your eyes wide as they search Tim’s face. He and Deacon begin laughing at your reaction, and you stand silently before walking to the kitchen. Annie’s dessert will be your only source of comfort it seems; more so when Deacon and Tim walk in with half-hearted apologies. You love them, you remind yourself. When Deacon hugs you before leaving, and Tim pulls you into a kiss after, you forget all about the previous teasing.

“Wait,” you say, pushing Tim back. “What’s in the bag?”

“It’s a picture of Kojo. A failsafe apology if dinner didn’t go well.”

You smile before kissing Tim again. Everyone knows that this dinner wasn’t the last, and when you get a text from Annie asking how it went, you invite her to the next one.

[chrisalonso-domluca-jimstreet]

Open Thread

Open to everyone - M/F

Relationship type - Friend, lover, spouse, colleague, ex partner.

Plot type - Drama, angst, smut with plot

Approved Kinks- Roleplay, objectication, breath play, knife play, BDSM, exhibitionism, scene play, dom and sub, sadism and machoism, edge play, CBT, impact play, rope bandage, fisting, pegging, orgasm control, dirty talk, nipple play, gags, praise kink, electrostimulation, whipping, wax play.

Plot - Luca has been secretly diagnosed with stomach cancer and he's decided that he's leaving SWAT and leaving LA, but he doesn't intend on telling anyone who is in his life. Convince him to stay and give him some hope because he may or may not get the treatment to fight it.

~~~~

Luca removed his bag from his locker and discreetly began removing the contents of his locker piece by piece so no one would notice, sighing softly as he jammed a few pictures into one of the pockets before zipping up the pocket. In a few weeks he would be gone and no one would know where he would end up because truthfully, he didn't know where he would end up. And since he was off the next day, he was planning on going home and getting shit faced drunk. Do drunk that he wouldn't be able to walk, talk or even think.

[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Omg I just accidently found your blog and I'm so freaking happy, cause there are not enough writer who writes for Deacon 😭 unfortunately I'm super obsessed with him, with an unhealthy amount of fic ideas in my brain xD so I give it a try and send you one of those, hopefully jot annoying you with this (or with my shitty English, it's not my first language, so I'm sorry).

Well buckle up for my request:

Reader is a new Swat member and instantly everybody loves her, with her bubbly friendly self. She's bonding great with her teammates and especially her and Deacon grow super close (they develop feelings for each other but don't want to tell the each other afraid to ruin their friendship, so their feelings stay hidden). When one day a case goes sideways and it leaves her injured (maybe a concussion or something like that) Deacon blames himself for her injury and the next days he distances himself from her, cause he thinks that it is unhealthy for him to have such deep feelings for her and him constantly worrying for her wellbeing. She notices his change of behavior and she's super sad. He starts to being unfriendly to her and being a little bit of an ass?! Even alerting the other members with his behavior. The whole situation is taking a toll on her and she is starting to effecting not only her poor heart but also her health. (so maybe she falls sick, but keep it from her teammates especially Deacon, cause she thinks that after her injury during a case he thinks of her as not capable or something like that). That is until one day she doesn't show up to work which very uncommon for her, cause she's always on time and the first one at the station. They're all worrried and Hondo tells Deacon that he has to drive to her apartment. Well he tries to refuse and send Stress but Hondo insists, so Deacon drives to her apartment. He finds her suffering from a very high fever..... So maybe with a happy ending like Deacon regrets his shitty behavior, she instantly cries when she recognizes him in her feverish state, asking him why he hates her suddenly, which is now breaking his heart. He cares for her and nurses her back to health, or at first tries to bring her fever down. Later he confesses why he was an asshole.

Soooorry it's so long. There's so pressure for you to write this. Maybe you just want to use some ideas? Well I would be so happy.

Please take care lovely

Here you go, hope you enjoy!

“Nice!” Luca exclaimed as the team watched you send rounds down range from your firearm.

With the increase in officer related shootings, LAPD had decided to provide each team a SWAT medic and you were the newest member of 20 squad. 

“Who knew girls can shoot?” You heard Deacon asked. You turned to playfully scowl at him and noticed him wink at you. 

“Better watch it, Kay, or I’ll show you just how good I really am.” 

You had been a part of the team for just over two months and they were the best guys you had ever worked with in your career. You truly became a part of their family – you had their backs and they had yours. There was one that was different though. 

David Kay. 

You had noticed him watching you on more than one occasion, stealing winks from you, sharing small, flirtatious smiles. You weren’t sure if your attraction to him was mutual or not, but if you had to guess, you would say yes. However, you didn’t want to complicate anything by dating one of your teammates and you didn’t want to ruin the friendship you had developed with Deacon. You assumed Deacon adopted the same mindset because he never brought it up either. 

However, that didn’t mean your flirting with each other fell on blind eyes. 

The entire team noticed it and often gave you both shit over it. 

You both were in the middle of denying another teasing round of friends with benefits accusations from your teammates when you were dispatched to a school shooting. 

The mood immediately sobered up as all of you put on your gear and grabbed your bags and firearms. The ride to the school in Black Betty was quiet minus updates from Hondo. 

“Stay liquid, guys,” He told the team as you pulled up on scene. 

There were multiple reports of injured children inside of the school. 

This call was all yours. 

It was going to be your job to go inside and assess each injured child to see how critically injured they were. It was your team’s job to protect you while you did that. You were going in without any knowledge of where the shooter was, but you knew if you had children, you would want someone to go in and save your baby. You swallowed your fear and prepared to do your job. 

You got out of the armored truck and took your spot in the middle of your team. You slowed your breathing down to get your heart rate under control and keep your emotions in check. 

Deacon made sure that he stayed close to you as you entered the school. He knew his teammates would have your back too, but he felt… differently about you. He cared about you a lot. He had quickly fallen for your smile and your personality. You didn’t let the team’s banter intimidate you one bit from the start. You were quick and witty with your playfulness with them. You were smart as hell when it came to medicine and you had proven to be a solid member of the SWAT team in training exercises and on calls you had run together. He wanted so badly to ask you out to dinner, but he wasn’t willing to change the dynamic of the team by adding a relationship to the mix. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be protective over you – whether you noticed it or not. 

That was why Deacon had taken it so personally when you were knelt down, applying a tourniquet to a fourth-grade student’s leg and got shot by the hidden gunman. His team covered him while he immediately turned to you to make sure you were okay. The round had struck your vest, but you knew it had broken ribs. The pain you felt in your side was unmistakable. Regardless, you threw your body over the child’s to protect her from the gunfire that ensued. Deacon and Luca dragged you both behind a desk behind a wall in a classroom. 

“Are you okay?” Deacon asked without taking his aim from the door way. 

“We’ve got to get her out of here.” You ignored his question as you continued to try and stop the little girl’s bleeding. 

Your voice was forced and you were breathy. 

“I asked if you were okay,” Deacon said angrily. 

“I’m fine.” You retorted. 

You soon heard Tan’s voice over the radio that the shooter had been neutralized. You didn’t know if there was more than one shooter, but didn’t see any signs of one so far. When you got the clear from Hondo, you radioed for another team to come in and get the girl out and get her to a hospital. Once she was safely removed, you resumed your formation in the middle of the team to continue to clear the school building. Deacon could tell you were injured because you didn’t shoulder your firearm correctly, but he didn’t see any blood so he let it go. He was pissed off at you for not stopping and going to get help yourself, but he was even more pissed off at himself for not seeing the gunman before he shot at you. 

It took two hours to clear the rest of the school and stabilize the remaining children. By the time you were done, you were visibly diaphoretic and short of breath. You could hardly manage three words without stopping to catch your breath. 

“20-David to command,” Deacon radioed, “We need an EMS unit to our location, we have a team member who needs to be checked out.” 

You were in pain, you couldn’t breathe, and you were pissed off that Deacon asked for EMS without consulting you first. 

“Why did you do that?!” You managed to asked through clenched teeth. “These children need those paramedics.” You took a few shallow breaths, “Not me! Cancel. Them.” 

If looks could kill, your sergeant would be the one who needed a medic unit, not you.

“Officer,” Deacon said sternly, “You look like hell and you cannot breathe.”

You started to open your mouth to cut him off, but he started speaking loudly again.

“Now, I suggest you shut up and listen to your sergeant. I am not the one who takes orders from you.” 

His harsh words hit you harder than the bullet hit your ballistic vest and left you just as speechless. David had never been so disrespectful to you. If the paramedics hadn’t arrived to assess you, you would have turned in your badge right there. You knew the rest of the team had noticed as well because they were all silent which pissed you off even more. Where was your support?

The paramedics tried helping you onto the stretcher, but you refused it. Despite not being able to speak for being short of breath. You held onto the stretcher for support and walked to the ambulance. By the time you finally made it outside to the ambulance, you were physically unable to get into the ambulance because you were hurting so bad and so short of breath. The EMS providers finally convinced you to get onto the stretcher and they were able to load you into the truck. 

When you arrived to the ER, you were taken to a trauma room due to the fact that you had technically been shot. Your chest x-ray revealed a collapsed lung due to the broken ribs. 

The rest of the team finished debriefing before being cleared to leave for the day. Hondo met Deacon in the quiet locker rooms since most of everyone else had already left. 

“Deac…” Hondo paused, knowing he needed to tread carefully, “What was up back at the school? I have never heard you speak to anyone like that – especially one of our teammates.” 

Deacon slammed his locker shut. 

“Hondo, now ain’t the time, brother.”

The lieutenant raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, I won’t press, but I do ask that you consider an apology. It was unwarranted today. We all performed immaculately given the circumstances.”

“No, Hondo. No. We did not all perform immaculately.” His tone was biting. 

Deacon walked passed Hondo and left the locker rooms. He left the station and threw his duffel bag in the backseat of his truck. He climbed in, started it, and drove to a nearby lake that off the road and would likely be deserted after dark on a week night. He parked in the dark and slammed his fists against the steering wheel in frustration. 

Tears filled his eyes as he mentally kicked himself in the ass for missing the shooter that injured you today. He didn’t fight the tears as they spilled down his cheeks. What had gotten into him? Why were you different? Why was he so upset? Why did you getting injured bother him so badly? You were okay and you were expected to make a full recovery according to Hicks. Where along the line had he developed feelings and why was he so afraid of talking to you about them?

You spent 6 days in the hospital, 4 of those with a chest tube before being discharged home. During your entire hospital stay, Deacon had not been by to see you once despite daily visits from the rest of your teammates. It made you mad, but most of all, it hurt your feelings. You really liked you sergeant – or you thought that you did. His actions since you had been injured spoke louder than any words that could have been said. 

Luca and Chris were there to take you home and help you get settled. They carried your bags in and Chris helped you unpack your things while Luca cooked supper for the three of you. Chris helped you remove your bra so you could put on a loose, comfy t-shirt. Being the only females on the squad left you two comfortable around each other. 

“That is one hell of a bruise, babe.” She said as she looked at your black and purple side. 

You had to agree – the entire left side of your torso was bruised. It looked awful. Thankfully, the doctors had been able to help manage your pain with narcotics. 

“I’m glad it finally looks worse than it feels… Which is saying a lot because it still hurts like hell.” 

You slipped on a pair of sleep shorts and made your way back into your kitchen with Chris. 

You took a pain pill and joined your teammates in your living room to eat the spaghetti that Luca made. 

“Thank you so much for taking care of me guys,” You said several hours later as you walked Luca and Chris to your door. 

“That’s what we’re here for, love,” Luca said, pulling you into a gentle hug. 

You kissed his cheek, “Supper was delicious, Dom. Thank you times a million.” 

He returned the kiss to your cheek and Chris pulled you in for a hug. 

“Call us if you need anything?” 

You smiled at her after the hug, “You know I will.” 

You settled onto your couch with a glass of wine. You knew the alcohol and narcotic wasn’t the smartest elixir, however, you needed to mask more than your physical pain. 

You couldn’t get Deacon off your mind and your heart had yet to stop hurting. Your emotional pain screamed much louder than your physical pain. 

“Dammit!” You heard through clouded consciousness. “What the fuck?” 

You felt yourself being picked up and carried to your bed. You recognized a familiar cologne but quickly disregarded the scent and winced at the pain in your ribs before drifting back off to sleep. 

You woke up the next morning nearly in tears again as you entered a coughing spell. You managed to get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen where your pain pills were, but you were scared shitless by a man sitting at your kitchen table. As soon as your heart began racing with fear, the fear subsided, realizing that it was Deacon sitting inside of your home. 

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck, David?” You held your chest with one hand and braced your broken ribs with the other. 

He didn’t answer you. 

You ignored his silence and took your morning pain medication. 

“Ya know… I said the same thing last night when I came over and found you unconscious on your couch. So, I can also say, what the fuck? What were you thinking?” Deacon’s voice grew steadily louder as he stood up and turned to you. “Pain pills and alcohol?”

You were angry. “Something to make this shit stop hurting,” You spat as you snatched up the side of your shirt to reveal your black and blue torso. 

You could tell the extent of your injuries caught Deacon off guard. His facial expression softened and he didn’t respond. 

You let go of your shirt, letting it fall back down to your waist and continued fixing yourself a glass of water to take your pain pill with. You took your medicine and continued to ignore your sergeant as you turned your back to him to get the milk out of your refrigerator to fix yourself a bowl of cereal. His hand stopped yours mid-air reaching for your cabinet. He gently held your wrist with one hand and you felt the edge of your shirt being lifted again. He let go of your hand, staring at the bruising that covered you. You could sense his demeanor soften. 

There was a long silence as he took in your injuries. 

“I’m so sorry…” He whispered. 

The tone in his voice felt like a hug to your soul. 

“Deacon-” You turned around to face him. 

“No, listen to me,” he interrupted you. “This…” He grazed his fingertip down your side, “is all my fault.”

The confusion was written all over your face. 

“I should have seen that bastard before he ever had a chance at you.” 

You began shaking your head but you weren’t quite sure what to say. 

“You’ve been an asshole to me ever since it happened, David, what the hell has changed now?” You were beginning to grow angry again. 

“Look, I am so, so sorry.” His voice was gentle. “I should have stopped that guy before he shot you. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like I did. I should have visited you in the hospital. You are a teammate and I failed you, but I really should have told you from the get-go that I have developed feelings for you.” He didn’t take a breath the entire time he spoke so you struggled to follow him, but his last sentence hit you like a ton of bricks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ever since you have been on the team with us, you have become more than just a teammate to me. Truthfully, I have liked you from the day that I met you and my attraction to you has only grown every single day. I like you so much more than just as a teammate. I would dare say that I am falling in love with you.” He slowly reached up to cradle your face with his hand, hesitant, wondering if you would allow him to touch you. 

You did. 

“I am so, so sorry that I have treated you so poorly this week – so wrong. It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that I hate myself for not being able to protect you like I should have. I’ve been so afraid to let you know how I feel about you. I’m sorry I was more afraid of affecting the team than I was giving you the honesty that you deserve. Please, please forgive me.” 

He looked into your eyes as he nervously chewed on his bottom lip. 

“Deacon…” You said quietly, leaning into his hand caressing your jaw. 

He took a deep breath and continued, “If you don’t feel the same way, I understand, but I came over here last night to apologize and tell you all of this. When I found you passed out on the couch, barely responsive, it frustrated me. So, I stayed here last night to make sure you were okay. Please don’t be mad.” 

Silence fell between you while you considered how to respond. Given the emotions that you had worked through over the past week, going from feelings for your partner, to physical and emotional hurt, to anger towards David for not visiting, texting or calling, resentment towards yourself for having feelings towards David despite how cruel he had been to you with his absence while you had been hospitalized, you struggled to find any words.

Deacon watched you suffer through a week’s worth of feelings as he watched your eyes. You took a deep breath. 

He decided that you were taken too long to respond and if he didn’t act now, he never would. 

He leaned down and softly pressed his lips on yours. 

You instinctively closed your eyes and allowed David to kiss you. When you didn’t pull away, he parted his lips just enough to run his tongue tenderly along your bottom lip. You opened your lips, allowing him to kiss you deeper. You began to return the kiss when David went to place his hands on your waist, forgetting about your injuries. You stopped kissing him and winced. 

“God, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay.” You whispered, your voice shaky. 

Deacon noticed the tears that trickled down your cheeks. 

He wiped them away with his thumbs and began apologizing to you again. 

You interrupted him with another kiss. You reached up and intertwined your fingers behind his head, softly rubbing his neck with your fingertips. He moaned quietly into the kiss. He grabbed your arm and squeezed it, needing to touch you, but being mindful of your injuries. You enjoyed the feeling of his tall, muscular body, towering over yours. You felt protected. 

“Deacon?” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, brushing a stand of hair behind your ear, “Mmhmm?”

“I love you.” 

"I love you too."

[simpingforhotfictionalcharacters]

buck and tommy seem so cute together. and if they get turned into some stepping stone for buddie I will riot. buck does not need his heart to be broken for buddie to happen. if they end it better be because they realised they don't work or something that lets them end on good terms.

eddie also needs to figure out his sexuality if buddie has any hope of happening properly. I love buddie. I'm a buddie shipper but my god I think buck and tommy are beautiful together.

I kinda want tommy to be endgame because I'm a lou ferrigno jr simp. and I've been shipping rocker and buck for so long it's not even funny.

[anythingilovee]

I especially like this picture😘

[plooto]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ meeting him after breaking up with bonnie . ft. victor tan

warnings . divorced ! victor , hc style

words . 545

-> it was after his suspension when you two met, the one day you go to try and work out, he’s there. you got there when he was finishing his last set. without thinking, your feet took you to him.

“ hi! i um..i though you were cute and i was wondering if i could have your number.. get to know you ? ”

-> he took your number, but informed you he was getting over a bad breakup, to which you respected, giving him time to reach out to you.

laying in bed after a long work day, you’re cuddled in your favorite pjs with a cup of your favorite juice when your phone rang. you had his number saved, eternally thankful of your forgetfulness.

-> the two of you talked allll night. until 4am when you crashed first, tan not hanging up the phone, but having to when he woke up for work, barely an hour later.

-> since that night, you two talked every night, vowing to not stay up that late again.

-> he called you after his shift, and you were up, waiting for his call every night—till one night , he didn’t .

-> he was still hurt , his failed marriage with bonnie , getting booted from the TLI exam , he couldn’t try something new right now.

-> you thought you’d been ghosted , just another guy that lost interest or something , right ? oh you couldn’t have been more wrong..

-> you probably go to the gym again , hoping the new burn of your muscles would take your mind off of him.

you’re minding your own business , retying your hair and picking up a weight .

“ hey uh , i thought you were cute.. and i was wondering if i could get your number ? ” you pulled off your headphones to see him beside you.

-> you didn’t want to pressure him into telling you why he went ghost , but , he told you anyway . while he was confessing to you

“ i’m sorry for going radio silent on you..these past weeks . i had a lot going on, but that’s not an excuse . if you’ll have me, i’d like to get to know you . ”

-> you were shocked to say the least , after he went ghost you figured he just wasn’t into you after he went silent but you gave him another chance .

-> he was a nervous wreck , he didn’t want to make a big deal of it at work , but he couldn’t stop himself from calling you right after work .

“ hey , y’n ! i remembered you wanted to go to that restaurant downtown ? i booked reservations for us tonight . i’ll pick you up at what , eight ? ”

-> remembers everything ! kinda

-> your first ever fight was over something so small , just tan getting lost in his head.

“ hey um victor , i was just wondering.. if we could invite your friends out to eat with us ”

-> the last woman he introduced to them , she screwed him over . he said he’d think about it .. luca ended up catching it , then powell and then street and hondo and it just went down the line . push comes to shove and he was bringing you out on a date , meeting the rest of the team at the place .

-> watching you interact with his team was the highlight of his year

..maybe you weren’t so bad

published . september 28 , 2023

[lcvesjj]

Hey! I hope you're well and I hope you're taking requests!

I was hoping you could do a Chris Alonso × fem!reader?

Maybe something with angst and end fluff where the reader is busy with day to day errands and suddenly they are in danger and SWAT are sent to handle it? Maybe Chris and the reader are already dating? The plot is up to you!

Thanks again!

Title : Safe - Chris Alonso x Fem!Reader 

Warnings : reader is being followed and is attempted to be taken hostage?? (Idk what else to call it I'm sorry-), angst (but it all ends fluffy), Chris is a huge softie here (might be slightly ooc)

A/n : SUHHDJSND I literally screamed after seeing this ask bc I’ve wanted to write something for Chris for sooo long! Thank you for this request! And I hope this is alright :) Requests are currently open! This was written in a rush since I'm trying to catch up on some requests so it's not the best 🥲

my masterlist

who I write for & request rules

Getting out of bed in the morning gave you such a bad feeling as if something terrible was supposed to happen but you just brushed it off as anxiety.

The feeling got even worse when you walked out of yours and Chris’s shared apartment. It was like someone was watching you- the thought of you being followed by someone crossed your mind but you just brushed it off thinking that nothing bad would happen. Chris taught you some simple self defence moves, so in your mind you felt safe- like nothing bad could ever happen to you.

Driving towards the store you listened to some music while thinking about Chris, the two of you planned to go on a nice date tonight after she was done with work. Which made you really excited since you loved spending time with her and it was a little rare that you both had enough time to go on a proper date. 

Looking back into your front view mirror you frowned. Why was there a big black van constantly following you? What could they want? You decided to send Chris a short text saying “Sorry to bother you but I’m omw to the grocery store but there a black van constantly following me. What should I do now?” Hoping she’d see it soon and respond quickly. The gut feeling got even worse, seeing as the van was still there. 

After arriving at the store parking lot you parked the car, locked all doors and decided to call Chris and ask what to do since you felt unsafe and couldn't think clearly due to all the nerves and stress you felt. Hearing the phone go to voicemail you decided to head inside of the store and maybe ask someone who works there for help. Which wasn't the best idea but you were to scared and stressed to think clearly.

What you didn’t know is that Chris had seen your texts and your call and had alerted the team about your text, since they were currently searching for a group of people who would follow and then kidnap their victims. One thing that all of the victims had in common was that they were somehow related to police or swat officers which made it even dangerous.

After hearing the alert that you might be in danger they quickly geared up and drove towards where your last seen location was. And while you were walking towards the store you heard loud and fast footsteps behind you. Hearing the telltale sirens of the Black Betty you tried to walk faster until you felt someone grab you and pull you back. That’s when the 20- David Squad arrived and all aimed their weapons at the person who was holding you back.

Seeing Chris’s and the rest of the teams expressions while they yelled for the guy to let you go. You didn’t think twice and with all of your strength you punched back your elbow into the stomach of the guy who was holding you, which took him by surprise and you managed to get away while Street and Hondo cuffed the guy up while yelling something at him. You couldn't make out what they were saying since your ears were ringing and your whole body was trembling.

Chris ran up to you and grabbed you into a tight hug while rubbing your back and whispering over and over again that you're safe and that he won’t hurt you or anyone else anymore. 

You leaned into her touch and held onto her tightly while trying to take some deep breaths to calm down. After a while you stopped shaking and slightly pulled away from her. “Thank you.” You breathed out. “No need to thank me, I’m just doing my job and my duties as your girlfriend. Are you okay?” She asks while softly brushing the hair out of your face. “Yea I think I’m alright just a little shaken up.” You say while leaning into her more. Chris pulls you in again and kisses your forehead. “I love you Y/n and you made a good call by texting me.” She smiles softly. “I love you too Chris.” You say sighing in slight relief. You held onto her for just a little longer to fully calm down. “You’re safe now and I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.” Chris whispers to you softly before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. That’s when you knew you were safe.

BONUS PART : (later that evening) 

Later that evening you and Chris were walking by the beach laughing at the stories Chris was telling about the pranks Street had recently pulled at the SWAT HQ. Laughing while walking hand in hand you smiled widely before pressing a small kiss to Chris’s cheek. “I love you so much Chris and thank you for the amazing date and for saving me today.” You said while smiling softly at her. “Of course mi amor. I’d do anything to keep you safe and happy.” Chris smiled at you before pulling you into a soft kiss. “I love you too.” She adds with a soft grin. You were safe.

[jeeyuns]

donovan rocker in S.W.A.T. 7.09 - Honeytrap (19APR2024)

[violetflowerswrites]

Taking it Slow

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

Pairing: Jim Street x (Female) Reader

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

Word Count: 4.5k

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

Part One Here - “Too Complicated”

Masterlist Here

…

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

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

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

A school bombing?

Not on their watch.

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

tick

tock

It’s

only

9

freakin

AM

on a Monday.

But, no one could have predicted what would happen in the next ten seconds.

One

A thunderous boom echoes across the playground, so loud that all the kids freeze, balls dropped and forgotten.

Two

Thousands of shards of shattered glass fly through the air as the school building collapses into itself from the roof downwards.

Three

The ear-splitting screech of the fire alarm forces everyone to cover their ears, eyes squeezed shut.

Four

Smoke rises in thick gray plumes into the sky, followed by bright orange flames.

Five

The stampede of three hundred little feet shakes the earth as panicked children run towards the grass field, away from their burning school.

Six

Bewildered shouts across the blacktop try to account for all the children, staff members still running out of the smoke.

Seven

Wide-eyed stares fill with tears as it dawns on the kids what had happened.

Eight

A dozen simultaneous calls to 911, all trying to be heard over the crying, screams, and shouts.

Nine

A terrifying pop pop pop makes everyone flinch and duck for cover, as the heat from the fire breaks even more windows. But it could have been gunshots. Everyone doesn’t dare to move.

Ten

After those ten, chaotic seconds, you finally open your dust-filled eyes, ears ringing, sounds muffled as if you were underwater, and your dazed mind takes several agonizing seconds to comprehend the scene around you.

Fallen desks and books scattered haphazardly across the classroom.

Shattered glass reflecting the flickering flames of a fire somewhere above you.

Looking up, a gaping hole in the ceiling leading to a smoke-stained blue sky.

The incessant blaring of the fire alarm doesn’t help your clearly concussed head make sense of it all.

You deduce that there had been some kind of accident. An explosion maybe.

And that caused an industrial AC unit to collapse through the ceiling, knock you out of your chair, and pin one of your legs from the waist down.

And now, an alarming pool of blood was starting to seep from under the crumpled gray metal.

Even more alarming, you couldn’t feel a thing underneath the crushing weight.

“Oh. I’m dying.” You huff out loud, your logical deduction giving way into dark humor.

You twist your neck around, the soreness long forgotten, and try to find something, anything, to help yourself survive.

You grab your cardigan, covered in drywall dust, and slip it under your upper thigh, tying the sleeves together as tight as it could possibly go. The makeshift tourniquet immediately soaks up your blood, turning the cream-colored yarn into a horrific deep red.

Bile rises in your throat as panic sets in, but you push it down, desperate to get out of this.

You look down, realizing that your phone fell out of the pocket of your jacket when you grabbed it. The screen is cracked, but usable.

Without hesitating, you press a number on your phone and it starts to ring. There’s only one person in the world you want to talk to before you lose consciousness. Maybe forever.

…

“Street! What do you think you’re doing?”

“What? You’ve never played in one of these as a kid?”

You’re out on another casual date with Jim Street, LAPD SWAT. Also known as your impulsive, annoying, immature, and absolutely adorable roommate.

That you had accidentally-on-purpose kissed one drunken night. Which led to much more…for several hours.

And now, the two of you went out most every weekend, casually dating, but not trying to label it…yet.

“Come on, Y/N! It’ll be fun!”

Street ducks into an arcade, which immediately deafens you with a cacophony of beeps and honks, electronic character voices, and techno dance music. It’s an overstimulating nightmare so you focus on the leather-clad back of Street, who is leading you deeper into the room.

A couple of surly teens throw judgemental side eyes at the two of you, grown-ass adults screaming and shouting at basketball, skew-ball, and claw machines.

You clutch a small blue plushie, from Lilo and Stitch, courtesy of Street’s claw machine skills, as he whoops upon seeing another game, his childhood favorite.

“Yes! We have to play this next!” Street grins at you from ear to ear.

You hesitate for a split second, but shake your head, chuckling, “Okay NASCAR, wait for me!”

You tease him, knowing that Street’s name is all too fitting, his long history of all things on wheels that can go faster than 100 miles per hour is well known.

You sit behind the plastic wheel of the racing game as Street quickly punches in a couple quarters.

“Think you can keep up?” Street teases you immediately.

“Mhm.” You reply, your face dead serious, all traces of amusement long gone.

Street takes in your expression and furrows his brow.

“Oh shit!” He exclaims as you leave him in the dust, your digital car screeching as the wheels fight against the tight turns.

You’re silent, the only sounds are the quiet clicking of your foot pressing on the fake gas pedals of the game.

Your car peels around the track, going into the final lap, with a 3 second lead on Street.

“Oh my god, are you seriously drifting?” Street shouts in frustration, watching your vehicle slide sideways against the last tight turn and across the finish line with a flourish.

He smacks the wheel and laughs.

“That was crazy, Y/N. I didn’t expect you to be so good! I thought you said you didn’t really go to arcades growing up.”

“Can we go home?” You grab your jacket from the armrest of the racing game chair, turning away from Street.

“Uhh…yeah sure.” Street says slowly, confused.

You walk quickly out of the arcade, a mix of frustration, shame, and sadness filling you.

Hands clench into fists at your sides as you suck in a shaky breath, trying to steady your whirlwind of emotion.

Street half-jogs to catch up with you, calling your name. He reaches out a hand to grab your wrist, but the instant he makes contact you snatch your arm back abruptly.

“Don’t touch me!” You snap, more harshly than you intended.

Street’s face flashes confusion, hurt, and a bit of anger all at once. You see him stifle the urge to snap back at you, and instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped down and he quietly pleads with you instead.

“Talk to me, Y/N. Don’t keep it in again.”

You know you’re acting like an asshole and ruining the date. Street surprised you with being the mature one in this situation while you’re the one taking out your emotions on him.

So you slowly reach out to take one of his hands in both of yours. It’s warm, heavy, and sure in your grasp, a reassuring anchor. You clutch his hand close to your chest and duck your head down, unable to make eye contact.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Just tell me what’s going on. Please?”

“It’s just—I’m not used to opening up like this.”

“I know. We’re learning how to, with each other.” Street slips his free hand under your chin, lifting your head up to kiss you affectionately on the cheek.

“Take your time.”

You sigh into his touch, releasing some of the tightness in your chest.

“Can we get ice cream first?”

…

Over a double scoop of cookies and cream, you confide in Street more of your life story.

How there was a period of time in middle school where you used to spend hours at the arcade after school to avoid going home.

Your parents were fighting constantly and you just couldn’t take all the screaming. Your older sister was in high school and worked part time, so she would drop you off with a handful of quarters and get you after.

For some reason, that racing game became your focus, your obsession. You channeled all your frustration, all your hurt, all your pain into that game.

It was your escape.

“It feels silly to freak out now. It’s been well over a decade since I’ve played that game.” You mumble into your ice cream.

“It’s not silly,” Street reassures you, “It’s a painful part of your life.”

You scrunch up your nose and murmur in agreement, not really wanting to think about it anymore. You take another lick of your ice cream, accidentally getting some on your cheek.

Street reaches out with a finger to wipe the smudge of the sticky treat off your face and instead of cleaning his hands on a napkin, he decides to lick it off instead.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the gesture unexpectedly sexy, but Street just chuckles.

“What? You taste good.”

…

You clutch Street by the collar of his leather jacket, slamming his broad back against the apartment door.

He drops the keys with a clatter, slides a free hand up to lock the door before gripping the back of your neck roughly, returning your desperate kiss.

“Y/N. Are you sure?” He releases your lips with a pant, pressing his forehead to yours and checking in with you.

Consent is so sexy, especially coming from him. Your previous boyfriends always took what they wanted, when they wanted, and you thought that’s how sex had to be.

It was only after being with Street that you realized how gentle, how considerate, and how trustworthy someone could be during sex.

Street treated you with respect, with reverence. He took his time to worship your body.

You were his queen, his goddess, and even if he didn’t say as much in words, he sure as hell showed it with his actions.

So yes.

You were fucking sure you wanted him.

You pulled off your clothes as you walked ahead of him towards your room, dropping fabric across the hallway on your way there.

Street followed quickly, stopping at the foot of your bed with his jeans still on. His chest visibly flushed red as he stared in wonder at your naked form. And he half-laughed, half-groaned out loud.

How did you manage to get your clothes off so quickly and look so damn delicious on the bed for him?

He grabs both of your ankles and drags you down, lifting them up above his shoulders so he can taste you.

You lean back on both elbows, your hair splayed across the sheets as you tip your head back in delight.

“Oh shit, that feels so good.” You breathe out, a moan slipping through your lips.

“Mmm, I can tell.” Street smiles into your pussy as he licks long strips up your core. He finds your clit within a few moments, and starts alternating sucking and licking the sensitive nub.

Your thighs start shaking as the stimulation shoots down your legs.

Street’s chin grows slick as your arousal throbs out of your core, but he simply holds down your thighs with his strong grip, and dives his tongue into your center even more.

It’s only when you spasm particularly hard, almost kicking him in the head that he finally releases you, chuckling as he swipes a thumb across his lips, wiping off some of your juices.

Your body is still twitching, your nerve endings shooting electricity from your core all the way down to your toes and you throw an arm back across your forehead, trying to recover.

“Come on, you can’t be done yet…” Street teases.

“Absolutely not.” You laugh out in a huff, “j-just…give me a minute.”

“Nah.”

Street lifts your legs again, this time crossing them behind his hips, so that he can line himself up to your entrance.

He pushes in slowly, but just the round head of his cock stretches your pussy to the point that you have to grab his arms and stop him.

“Hold on, Jim.”

Street freezes. You only call him by his first name when you’re being serious or something’s wrong.

He pulls out immediately and lifts you up into a sitting position. He immediately grabs your face in his hands, searching your eyes for pain.

“I’m so sorry, did I hurt you? We can stop— I didn’t mean to—“

You grip his wrists and gently remove them from your cheeks. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to his lips, your gaze at him soft and reassuring.

“I’m okay. Let’s try a different position.”

“Are you sure?”

You turn around, holding up your weight on your hands and knees, and spreading your hips back. You flip your hair over your shoulder and glance back at him with a smirk.

“You haven’t made me cum yet, have you?”

Slowly, Street’s concerned look spreads into a smile.

“No, I haven’t.”

“So fuck me.”

Street holds his cock steady while you carefully push back against him, controlling the pace.

When you’ve fully taken him in, now adjusted to his size, Street still hesitates.

“It’s okay. I’m ready now.” You brace yourself.

“Be as rough as you want.”

A sound akin to a growl escapes from the man who is balls deep in your pussy.

He places a bruising grip on your right shoulder and left hip, and slams you back, knocking the wind out of your lungs.

He does that again and again - pulling out almost all the way before slamming your body back against him almost violently.

“Oh fuck!” You yelp each time, your pussy throbbing around him.

Street then pushes your neck down, and you fist the sheets in your hands as you press into the bed, your ass in the air as he thrusts into you relentlessly.

You can hear your bottom smacking against his strong abs, as he swings his hips into you over and over.

And that cock, his huge, delicious cock, spears your pussy in just the right place every time.

“Oh my god, Street. That feels so good!” Your muffled voice can barely be heard over his grunting. God, you love it when men are loud during sex.

Before you know it, you’re close. Street must be too because he snakes a firm arm around your tummy and lifts you up, holding you tightly to his chest. Your core is still clenched in a vice grip around his member as he thrusts upward into your pussy.

“Street! Oh wow! You’re so big!” You praise him, feeling his cock hitting your cervix from his position.

“Yeah? You like it when my cock hits your pussy. Just. like. that?” Street punctuates his question with a hard bounce into you.

“Mmph!” You moan, and you grab his arm, still trapping you against his sweat-slicked body.

“Street,” you pant.

“Yeah?”

“Go faster.”

With a guttural groan, Street grabs the flesh around your hips and drills up into you. His cock drives in and out at a speed that could only be described as mechanical, a piston that pumps as deep as it could possibly go before pulling out and slamming back in as far as it can go.

You fall onto the bed again, unable to do anything but hold on far dear life as Street rails you like a rag doll.

Within seconds, you feel that familiar tingle spread from your core to your entire body, washing over you in waves of pleasure.

“Oh god— I’m cumming!” You scream, gasping for air.

You are answered with a growl as Street collapses on top of you, cumming inside your throbbing core, your pussy milking every last drop from his twitching cock.

Fuck, that was incredible.

After a few moments, you crawl out from under him, and stand up to head to the shower. He leans up on an elbow, watching you with a blissed-out smile. You tie your hair up into a messy bun, the simple action somehow sensual as hell as he sees your bare shoulder blades squeeze together as you reach up to your head.

You turn, catching him admiring you.

“What?” You ask, totally unaware.

“You’re beautiful.”

Your already hot skin somehow flushes even hotter at his words. You have a love-hate relationship with Street’s compliments.

So you just lean down and peck his cheek with kiss-puffed lips.

“Go to bed. We both have work tomorrow.” You whisper before pushing him back onto the mattress, shaking your head in laughter.

…

Your current reality is a universe away from yesterday’s date night with Jim Street.

You stare at his name on the phone, willing him to pick up.

“Y/N?”

Before you can explain to him, you hear the police radio in his car announce your school site and the bombing.

“Jim. I’m there.”

Street is speechless, the dots connecting with several torturous seconds as his worst fears become true.

One

You had told him that morning that you weren’t going into the office, but visiting a school today.

Two

You never call him, preferring to text. If it’s a call, something must be urgent.

Three

You almost never call him by his first name.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Hondo responds to the radio but Street barely hears it as he shouts into the phone.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“There’s been an explosion. A bomb? An AC unit fell through the roof. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

“Are you hurt?” Street repeats his question, desperation seeping into his tone.

Somehow you hesitate to tell him. So instead, you switch to video call and show him your leg.

Street’s eyes widen in horror as he sees the bloodied, crushed flesh.

Hondo glances at Street’s phone, his siren already screaming down the streets of LA.

“We’re coming.”

…

“You can’t keep me here, Hondo! Y/N is hurt, I have to get to her!”

“Street, you’re compromised. You’re gonna take risks and I can’t have you do that, not when there are kids here who need your head straight.”

Another sudden crash makes both men instinctually duck for cover. They had just arrived into a horror scene, with a blazing fire, fire trucks dousing the building with water, police holding back hysterical parents, ambulances treating kids and staff for smoke inhalation, and a soot-smeared principal talking to the fire marshal.

Hondo makes a beeline for her, Street on his heels.

“Sergeant Harrelson, LAPD SWAT. Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, all the kids and staff, but we’re missing one visitor, a social worker.”

Street chokes your name out, to which the principal nods, confirming that it’s you.

Meanwhile you breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god everyone is safe.” You remark weakly, still on the phone, hearing their entire conversation.

Street is astonished you can think about others but his train of thought is interrupted when Chris in his comms crackles to life.

“There! I got eyes on the bomber! He’s on the roof, east side!”

“We have to go!” Street yells desperately.

“Okay.” Hondo huffs out, making a split second decision.

“Tan, go with Street and get Y/N out. Weapons hot, masks on, the bomber might run into the building. Deacon, you’re with me, let’s trap this rat.”

Street wastes no time running inside the smoke-filled building, his flashlight barely penetrating the ash and dust as he finds the stairs and runs up, Tan covering his back, sweeping his gun back and forth just in case the bomber decides to come their way.

“I’m coming, Y/N. Ten seconds out.” Street speaks into his comms, and his phone, for your benefit too.

But he doesn’t hear a reply.

“Shit!” Street curses. “She was losing a lot of blood, she’s not responding!”

Tan makes a game plan immediately as they keep running.

“I got the AC unit, you start CPR!” Tan shouts.

They skid to a stop at the destroyed classroom, and Street’s heart almost stops at the scene.

Your limp body, lying in a pool of dark blood, trapped under a giant hunk of metal, your phone still clutched in one hand.

Street kneels next to you, his own heartbeat reverberating loudly in his ears.

Thu-thump

He presses his fingers to your neck, feeling for a pulse while leaning down, trying to feel your breath on his face.

Thu-thump

Nothing. He immediately rips his smoke mask off his face and breathes into your mouth.

Once. Twice.

Thu-thump

He braces his hands against your chest and pushes down forcefully, starting CPR compressions.

Thu-thump

With a grating screech of metal, Tan manages to tip the AC unit off of you, revealing your upper thigh soaked in blood and your leg clearly broken in at least two parts.

Thu-thump

Street barely glances down to look, focusing on bringing you back to life. He feels for a pulse again, finally feeling a weak heartbeat, but a heartbeat nonetheless.

“She’s stable! Let’s get out of here!” Street shouts, throwing his smoke mask back on, and another for you.

Tan has already tied your leg down into two splints, one for your thigh, and another for your calf and ankle.

“Ready!” Tan replies in a voice muffled by his smoke mask, wiping his blood soaked hands on his tactical pants and gripping his gun again.

Street lifts you up, carefully draping your injured leg over his forearm, and cradling your concussed head gently against his shoulder.

He flies down the steps, Tan covering his back.

“This is 25-David, Y/N is secured, coming out of the school now.” Tan communicates to the team.

The moment they step out onto the front lawn of the school, their comms crackle again.

“Don’t do it man, don’t!” Hondo yells out. He must have found the bomber.

“Second bomb!” Chris warns, just as another explosion on the far side of the school collapses the roof completely, burying the spot where you were just trapped, and taking the bomber along with it.

“Hondo! Deacon! Chris!” Tan shouts into comms. The two of them shield you from the debris, holding their breath as they wait for a reply.

After a few moments, they hear Hondo coughing into the radio.

“20-David. We’re okay, we’re coming down.”

Street and Tan breathe a sigh of relief, as the EMTs run up to the three of you, carefully putting you on a stretcher.

Streets hurries alongside them, and jumps up into the back of the ambulance, glancing back at Tan.

“Go!” Tan shouts at him. “I got it covered.”

The last thing Street sees as the doors close is Tan standing with his back illuminated by a school on fire, his hands hanging at his sides, bright red with your blood.

…

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

Vision blurry, it takes a few seconds for your eyes to focus and notice the late afternoon sun streaming through plastic blinds in a white-washed room.

A hospital room. That’s right, you were injured in an explosion at the elementary school, and your leg…

You looked down to see a full cast, from thigh to ankle, keeping your leg locked straight. A thin, polyester blanket covers the rest of your body.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

The insistent vibrating of a phone turns your attention to where a sleeping Jim Street, still in full SWAT gear, rests his head on his folded arms in the empty space on your bedside. One of his hands holds yours gently, even as he dozes.

You slip your hand out from his warm grip and brush his hair back, still flecked with a bit of ash and dust from the rescue mission.

Your gaze softens as you look at his peaceful face. You must have worried him so much with the accident.

Bzzt Bzzt Bzzt !

You see his phone lying on the table and you can just make out what it says.

5 missed calls from Hondo. 2 texts from Chris and Tan saying he missed the debriefing.

And currently, Commander Hicks is ringing, ready to ream his ass for being irresponsible, you’re sure of it.

“Street.” Your voice cracks. Clearing your throat, you try again, louder this time.

“Street!” You shake his shoulder insistently.

He shoots up, awake in an instant. “Y/N! You’re up!”

His eyes dart over your face, checking for any signs of pain.

“You’re in trouble.”

Street takes one look at his phone and mutters “Shit.” Without thinking, he presses a kiss to your clammy forehead and ducks out the door, phone pressed to his ear.

You bring a tentative hand up to your forehead, a lot dazed and a little shocked. The two of you haven’t really discussed the nature of your relationship after that weekend of crazy sex, trying to take it slow.

But it’s not every day that you get gruesomely injured and your hot as fuck roommate rescues you from near death.

As you hear Street’s muffled apologies outside of your hospital room, fuzzy memories start coming back to you.

White letters of a SWAT vest hovering over you as firm hands push down on your weakening heart.

Strong arms holding you up as you feel yourself being carried down a flight of stairs at a ridiculous speed.

The smell of smoke, and the unmistakable smell of Jim Street as he cradles your head into his chest, keeping you safe.

A warm hand never letting go of yours as sirens squeal in the ambulance, your consciousness fading in and out.

A reassuring voice, his voice, telling you that you’re alright, that you're safe.

“I got you, Y/N. I’m right here.”

Fuck taking it slow.

You’re not a girl who normally falls in love with a man in an uniform but damn. You sure as hell get it now.

The door opens with a quiet click and Jim Street steps back inside.

“Hey—“

“I love you.” It comes out a little louder than a whisper. ”I love you, Jim.”

Street's words die in his throat as his eyes widen. He crosses over to you in two strides and simply lifts up your chin so that he can press a kiss to your lips.

A desperate, urgent, love-filled kiss that says just how scared, just how terrified he was to lose you.

And just how much he loves you too.

….

[kaenbl4ze]

The more SWAT!Buck I want, the more SWAT!Buck you get. And boy do I love this crossover, so here's another sketch!

[fluentmoviequoter]

Every Day After

Requested Here!

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x fem!shy!SWAT!reader

Summary: You are Deacon's best friend, and when you're poisoned and nearly killed, his protective tendencies make an appearance as he stays by your side to help you heal.

Warnings: angst to fluff, depictions of benzene poisoning, references to drug use and distribution, mention of character death, poisoning scene loosely based on 1x19 "Source"

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Being shy and being a member of 20-David don’t always mix well. Some days, you can talk with them without any problems; other days, they push you a touch too far, and you’re more comfortable being quiet. But no matter what kind of day it is, your team is your family, and they have your back.

One member of the team, however, you consider to be your best friend. David “Deacon” Kay is one of the best friends you have ever had, and when he jumps in to defend you and protect you, it’s easy for the rest of your team to see why you’re so attached to him.

“Where’s Deac?” Hondo asks as he enters the locker room.

“Not here yet,” you answer after closing your locker.

“You mean you didn’t carpool? Deacon was okay letting you out of his sight for that long?”

“He’s my friend, not my probation officer,” you reply softly.

Hondo smiles at your comment before explaining, “I just mean you’re usually together. Don’t see you separated much these days. Is there a reason for that?”

“Not whatever you’re thinking,” you answer, your voice weaker than it was a moment ago. “He’s my friend.”

“Who’s your friend?” Deacon asks, using the other door to come in.

“You,” Hondo answers, winking at you. He chuckles when you turn your chin away from him and steps toward the door as he calls, “We’re rolling in twenty to serve a warrant, so do your thing.”

“You alright?” Deacon asks, placing his backpack in his locker.

You nod, reaching down to tie your laces and take a moment to breathe. Your job is stressful, so finding quiet moments whenever you can helps you be a better S.W.A.T. officer.

“Here,” Deacon says, gently knocking your hand out of the way as he ties your laces.

Standing up straight, you watch Deacon double knot your laces and ensure your safety before tapping the side of your boot. He stands and meets your eyes.

“You good?” he asks, looking into your eyes as he rolls his shoulders.

“I am. Are you?”

“Always,” Deacon answers with a smile. “When you’re around, at least.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, gesturing toward your boots.

“That was adorable,” Street says.

You look over quickly, surprised to see him standing in the doorway. His smile grows when you lock eyes with him; you immediately drop your eyes to avoid his pleased look.

“A little Cinderella-esque, but cute. We just got a tip that our guy’s gonna try to run, so we’re rolling now. Unless you two need a minute?”

“We’re good,” you reply, while Deacon says, “Let’s do it.”

Deacon spreads his hand across your upper back, sweeping his thumb over the base of your neck in a comforting motion. You know he has your back, and the rest of your team is there for you, too, but physically feeling Deacon at your side makes you feel prepared to take on anything.

Climbing into Black Betty, you sit in your usual seat beside Deacon and listen to Hondo explain the warrant and the layout of the house you’re breaching.

“This guy will be armed, but we don’t know what else he may have goin’ on in there, so stay liquid,” Hondo concludes.

Deacon nods once as Black Betty stops. You follow Deacon to the west side of the house, waiting for Hondo’s signal to shoot a flashbang through a window before using the new opening to enter the residence. Deacon moves in first, clearing the room before you cover the hallway so you can move deeper into the house.

Tapping Deacon’s shoulder, you let him know you’ve got his back before he enters a bedroom.

“Closet only,” Deacon alerts, stepping back into the hallway before you.

Something hits the floor in the closet, but before you can turn back to check, the door slings open, and someone steps out. The suspect appears to be male, but you can’t tell much about his physical composure as he slams you into the wall behind you. You raise your arms to his neck, attempting to push him off of you. He grunts as he pushes harder, raising you so your feet are off the floor. Deacon moves in your peripheral, but you use the suspect’s momentum to kick him in the torso, falling onto him as he tips back.

“You’re under arrest,” you pant, flipping him onto his stomach and removing handcuffs from your belt.

“Get down!” Deacon yells.

You don’t hesitate to obey his demand, dropping to the floor beside the suspect as someone opens fire.

“30-David, we’re taking fire in the west hallway,” Deacon radios.

Looking over, you don’t see Deacon and assume he has taken cover in one of the bedrooms.

“One suspect in custody, one armed but not visible. Likely barricaded in the back room at the northwest corner,” Deacon continues.

You feel a hand on your ankle but immediately recognize the touch. Twisting, you confirm your suspicion when you see Deacon gesture for you to stay quiet. He raises to his knees in a doorway, and you move your weapon to your back just before he pulls you into the bedroom.

“Thank you,” you whisper as he closes the door.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replies, matching your volume. “Nobody else even got in, we’re trapped in here.”

“We need our cuffed guy. At the least, maybe we can trade him to get out.”

“I’ll get him, but if he makes noise, I’m pushing him back out.”

You nod and help Deacon pull the man you just fought with into the room. He pants as the door closes but doesn’t fight against you or Deacon.

“Yo, this dude is crazy,” he says, though you suspect he’s talking to himself. “I’m just try’na buy some dope fo’ ma cousins and he tell me to get in the attic and get the 5-0 off his trail.”

You furrow your eyebrows as you listen. The story may not make sense to everyone, but being a cop in Los Angeles quickly teaches you just what people are willing to do to score drugs.

“Did he offer to trade you drugs for getting the police away from him?” you ask.

“Sure did. ‘N’ then he dipped.”

“That’s not him in the back room, the one that was shooting at my partner?”

“Nah, that the guy who stay here. He bad, too, though. Ain’t nobody on this street mess with him.”

“Hondo,” Deacon radios.

“Are there more people coming?” you ask quickly.

“Is you a cop?” the man asks sarcastically.

You turn toward Deacon, and he nods to answer your unasked question about getting out of here. He will get you out of this, and you trust him, but you don’t want to imagine what he’d do to save you. He may be protective of you, but you care about him too and don’t want him to risk his safety, or worse, his life, to keep you out of harm’s way.

“Deac,” you whisper.

He looks at you, and you point to a loose piece of flooring beside the wall.

“This house may have a crawl space,” you explain, moving toward the corner.

You begin pulling pieces of the floor up quietly, smiling when you reach a spot without a subfloor. Deacon sees the opening above the small crawl space and drags your apprehended suspect toward it.

“I’m going to uncuff you,” Deacon says. “But there are dozens of officers waiting out there, so if you try to run you will fail and rack up more charges than you’re already facing.”

“Man, just get me outta this psycho’s house!” the man responds.

Deacon lets him go out first, not trusting him to be behind you. Helping you into the hole, Deacon waits until you’re moving toward the access panel on the south wall to slide into the opening. He pulls a few pieces of flooring back into place, hoping that if the “psycho” owner of the house manages to get in the room faster than expected, he won’t realize how you escaped.

When Deacon stands after army crawling the entire length of the house, you immediately hug him. His arms wrap around you without hesitation, glad to see you safe and out of the house. When a shot sounds from the other side of the house, Deacon wraps an arm around the back of your head and rushes across the yard, ushering you to Black Betty.

“Thanks for keeping me informed,” Hondo chides when he sees you.

“Radios don’t work when they get crushed,” Deacon argues, pointing to your destroyed radio. “You can thank this guy for that.”

“Man, my name’s Randy. Please take me to jail and don’ let these fools fin’ me,” your radio destroyer and previous enemy interjects.

“New warrant just came through,” Luca alerts. “We can hit his stash house, try to draw him out.”

“Fantastic,” you grumble.

Deacon pats your back, a reminder that you’re not alone, and the team now has an idea of what you’re up against. While Luca drives to the stash house, you take a mental note of your new injuries. For the most part, you feel fine, but you know there will be bumps and bruises tomorrow, and you’ll feel them when the adrenaline wears off.

“You need to get everything checked when we’re done. He hit you hard,” Deacon says quietly, ensuring no one else can hear.

Nodding, you agree to whatever he says. Deacon saved your life and though you don’t think you need a doctor, you’ll do anything he wants right now.

“We’ve got intel that this place is empty but stick together anyway. The call was right before we left, so it could be full now,” Hondo alerts. “We’re not here for the drugs, narcotics’ll deal with all that later, we’re just trying to catch a rat.”

“By becoming the cheese,” Street complains.

“We’ll be fine, playboy,” Luca promises.

“As long as you stick to the plan and listen,” Hondo amends. “Let’s get to it.”

You lead Deacon inside this time, using a small lock bypassing device. As you clear the first floor, you don’t see any sign of anyone using the building, and there isn’t as much as residue from drug use.

“Looks like he moved,” Deacon muses.

“Maybe our tipster made more than one call,” you agree.

“We don’t know that,” Deacon reminds you. “Stay vigilant.”

You nod, letting Deacon take the lead as you climb the stairs.

“This level looks just as empty,” Deacon says into his comm. “Second floor appears to be a code 4.”

“Something ain’t right,” Hondo replies.

“Deacon,” you call.

You don’t attempt to conceal your worry, and he turns quickly.

“Don’t move,” you add. “This place is rigged.”

“Rigged how?” he inquires.

“Hondo, you need to get everyone out,” you radio. “Watch the floor and don’t step on anything that isn’t flooring.”

“Copy that,” Hondo responds before commanding the team to exit cautiously.

“Why?” Deacon asks.

“You too,” you demand. “You need to go but be careful.”

“I’m not leaving without you.”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting it harshly as you look down. There’s a small button under your boot, and you’ve already depressed it. The moment you move off of it, something will happen. It doesn’t appear to be a landmine or any other kind of explosive, but that makes you more concerned because you don't know what it is.

“Deacon, please,” you beg, your voice a whisper as you look at him. “Just give me a minute to try to figure this out.”

“No,” he answers. “I’m going to take a few steps back, and you decide what you want to do, or we can wait for a bomb squad.”

“It’s not a bomb.”

“Then do what do you need to do. I trust you.”

You want him to leave but don’t want to be alone if this is the end. You tap the wall beside you and quickly realize that whatever this detonator is connected to is probably directly to your side, hidden between the studs.

“Can you- can you back up, like a lot?” you request. “I want to try something, but if I’m wrong, you can’t be this close.”

Deacon nods, taking about ten steps backward. He stops, his complete focus on you as he keeps a hand on his gun. Whatever happens, he’s prepared to rush toward you. Feeling helpless is something Deacon hasn’t felt in a very long time. He realizes you wouldn’t be in this position if he had done a better job protecting you and tries to find a way to take your place. He steps forward, but you raise a hand to stop him before speaking.

“I’m going to move backward, really fast,” you explain. “Last chance to leave, Deac.”

“Wait-“

You move your foot up, stepping back, your movements fast but not fast enough. Something sprays from the wall beside you and into your face. As you gasp for air, Deacon runs toward you, pulling you over his shoulders as he watches the floor. Rushing through the stash house, Deacon radios for Hondo to get an ambulance.

Bursting through the door, Deacon lowers you to the concrete and watches you. Your breaths are short gasps, and a bright red rash spreads across your chest and face. Deacon pulls your Kevlar vest over your head and tugs your shirt down, giving you more room to breathe and removing any pressure from your chest.

“What’d she get hit with?” Hondo asks, kneeling beside your head.

“I don’t know!” Deacon answers, not meaning to take out his fear on Hondo but failing to hide it. “Whatever it was came from the wall and she immediately started having trouble breathing.”

“This isn’t good,” Hondo adds. “Her airways are closing; we only have a few minutes to figure out what this is and counteract it.”

“We don’t have time for an ambulance,” Luca says. “Get in, Betty and I will get you there.”

Deacon nods and pulls you into his arms again before laying you on the floor of Black Betty and pulling your head into his lap.

“St. Stephen’s is the closest hospital,” Luca tells Street. “I need you to call ahead and give them as much information as you can. They’ll need to be ready.”

“I’m on it,” Street replies, moving into the backseat beside you and Deacon. He talks quickly and quietly to the doctors on the other end of the line, but when your gasps turn to strangled wheezes, he yells, “Just be ready!”

Luca pulls into the emergency room ambulance entrance a moment later, rushing to the back to open the doors. Several nurses take you from Deacon, put you on a gurney, and run into the hospital. Deacon runs behind them, leaving the rest of the team outside.

“How long has it been?” Hondo asks. “She only had eight minutes, tops.”

“Six since they came out,” Street answers, looking up from his watch. “If it’s too late, Deacon…”

“Will never forgive himself,” Luca finishes. “And we won’t either.”

Hondo’s phone chimes, and he looks at it before shaking his head, his jaw clenched as he makes a half-sigh, half-laugh sound. “Our guy just turned himself in. And Deac’s buddy Randy lied to them about who was in the house. They knew where we were the whole time.”

“We have to leave her?” Street asks.

“For a bit. We’ll get updates and come back later,” Luca answers. “She’ll be fine.”

As Street, Luca, and Hondo leave to return to HQ and question Randy and the original suspect, Simon, you’re surrounded by nurses and doctors. As you near the eight-minute mark, the doctors decide to run down a list of possible treatments.

“Symptoms align with benzene poisoning by inhalation,” someone comments.

“Intentional overdose?” a young woman in bright pink scrubs asks.

“Get her out of here!” a doctor snaps, glancing toward Deacon with an apologetic look.

“That explains the skin irritation, irregular heartbeats, and lung irritation may be the cause of the shortness of breath,” the first person continues. “That would have been an incredibly high, concentrated dose.”

“Whatever she got hit with was thick enough that I could see it standing five yards away,” Deacon offers.

“I’m calling it,” the chief doctor says, “benzene poisoning by inhalation. Get her on oxygen, clean her eyes and skin, and get these clothes off. We need to remove the outside traces and get her breathing regulated before we move on.”

The nurses jump to action, and Deacon steps back as you’re wheeled into a room. The doctor who sent the Barbie lookalike away opens the door to your room a few minutes later, gesturing for Deacon to step inside.

“Her breathing is regular, heart rate has returned to a stable, though slightly elevated, number, and we’re running some tests right now to check for long-term damage,” he explains.

Deacon keeps his eyes on you as he listens to the doctor, letting the steady rise and fall of your chest prove that you are okay, that you are alive. No thanks to Deacon. Immediately upon hearing that you may have long-term damage, Deacon lets himself remember that it is his fault you are in this hospital bed, on oxygen, and possibly in danger of losing your career. He should have been more careful, he thinks, done more to protect you.

“Sergeant, I’m unsure if it’s my place to say this, but you saved her life, so don’t allow yourself to think otherwise. I’ll be back in a bit to check in on her, but if you need anything, press that call button.”

“Thanks, doctor,” Deacon replies, his eyes still on you.

Deacon takes a seat in the chair beside your bed, forcefully tearing his eyes away from you to text Hondo and Luca that you’re stable but unconscious. They reply quickly, saying they’ll be back soon and asking for more updates as Deacon gets them. He hopes he won’t have to tell them about any permanent damage.

“Deac?” you mumble, your voice quiet and distorted by the oxygen mask covering your face.

“Hey,” he answers, dropping his phone into his lap as he leans toward you. “Let me tell someone you’re up.”

“Deac, wait,” you request. When he sits back down, you say, “Thank you. You saved my life.”

“I should’ve noticed that it was a trap,” Deacon argues.

“The doctors said it was benzene. That doesn’t kill you unless you have prolonged exposure or inhale an incredibly large dose. I would’ve died if you hadn’t been with me.”

“I think that’s the most you’ve ever said to me at once,” Deacon replies, hoping to lighten the mood.

“I- I’m really dizzy, Deac.”

“I’ll get the doctor,” Deacon replies, pushing the call button before he walks to the door and stops a nurse.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Grayson,” the doctor says as he enters your room, looking at your chart on a tablet. “You seem to be one lucky officer.”

“I’ve got a good team,” you answer, looking at Deacon’s hands rather than any of the faces in the room.

“Well, I understand you’re feeling dizzy and have a bit of a headache, so I’ll make this quick. Those symptoms should go away, but it may take up to a few weeks to see improvement there. Other common symptoms of benzene overdose include nausea, and the breathing difficulties you experienced was caused by lung irritation which may cause shortness of breath. Weakness is the only other symptom I’d expect to see. Since your exposure was so concentrated and delivered so quickly, I don’t think you’ll experience any of the more intense effects, but I’d like to keep you for observation for, let’s say 36 hours just to be sure we found everything.”

“Will I get completely better? Where I can go back to work at S.W.A.T.?” you whisper, even though you are terrified to learn the answer.

“Oh, I have no doubt you will be back in uniform within a month. Again, there’s only a few symptoms that may last, and at the most they should pass within a month.”

“Thank you.”

The doctor nods and hands Deacon a piece of paper before he leaves. Deacon returns to his spot beside you and looks at the paper before passing it to you.

“When you’re up for it, you’ve got some bed-bound exercises you can do to stay in fighting shape,” Deacon explains.

“Where are Hondo, Street, and Luca?” you inquire.

“They got our guy, so they went to interview him and Randy.”

“Randy lied, didn’t he?”

Deacon nods, and his jaw clenches as he realizes that Randy probably knew about the benzene trap and may have even been the one to set it up, yet let you go, knowing you were headed for a death trap.

“What happens when I get discharged?” you ask, looking at the blanket as you keep your head down.

“They’ll probably want you to take it easy for a few days, be around someone in case something happens, and then you can ease back into fieldwork. With your record and how much Hicks and Hondo trust you, you probably won’t have to wait long after you get medical clearance,” Deacon explains, smiling as he thinks about you getting back to work as soon as you can.

“I don’t have anyone,” you whisper.

Deacon doesn’t catch it, leaning closer to look at your list of exercises. When it’s time to go home, they may not let you because you live alone and don’t have any family nearby. You grow sad at the idea of going to a rehab facility or staying in the hospital longer just because you don’t have any family nearby to take care of you. Suddenly, your head begins pounding, and the room seems to spin. You raise your hands to your head, putting pressure on your eye sockets to ease the pain. Deacon’s hand jumps to your back, pressing against the top of your spine as you ride it out.

“I don’t like that,” you murmur, moving a hand to your stomach as it churns. “It’s going to be a long few weeks.”

“We’re going to make Randy and Simon pay for it, though,” Deacon whispers. “And we’re all here for you.”

You nod, and when Deacon leaves to answer a call from Hondo, your nausea worsens.

“Tell me they’re talking,” Deacon answers.

“Oh, they’re talking, just not giving us enough to put it on either one of ‘em,” Hondo answers. “I need you to do me a favor though.”

 “Anything.”

“You and Randy had some kind of connection, however brief it was. We’re thinking if you come in and tell him she didn’t make it, he’ll give something up.”

Deacon looks back into your room, but you’re turned away, curled into the fetal position, and, unknown to Deacon, fighting to keep your bearings as the dizziness causes nausea and worsens your headache.

“I’ll be there in twenty,” Deacon replies.

“Sergeant, I’ve got her test results here,” Doctor Grayson says as he walks down the hall. “Everything looks good in the long-term, so we’re just going to have to wait out the side effects. I’m going to discuss continued care with her now, would you like to join?”

“I’ve got to get down to the station, but if you’ve got a-“

“Complete list of recommendations and necessary actions,” Doctor Grayson finishes, passing Deacon a paper. “Along with a few more low impact exercises, since she is clearly ready to get back to work.”

“Thank you, doc. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Doctor Grayson watches Deacon leave before knocking and entering your room.

“Sergeant Kay had to return to the station for a moment, but I have good news for you,” he begins.

You sit up against your pillows, giving him your full attention. Your mind wants to think about Deacon, curious about what he’s doing.

“I could use some good news,” you reply.

“Your test results look good, and I see no indications of long-term damage or complications. So, once these initial symptoms pass, you should be as good as before. What symptoms are you experiencing now?”

“Headache, dizziness, and nausea. Every once in a while it feels like my chest gets tight, but the dizziness is the worst.”

Doctor Grayson nods, pressing a button on his tablet. “I think you’re going to be ready for discharge tomorrow evening, as I said originally, I’d just like to observe you a bit longer and make sure nothing changes. You will need to have whoever you will be staying with complete the discharge paperwork; having someone nearby will be crucial to your recovery and ensuring those symptoms don’t get out of hand.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t have any family nearby and there’s no one I can ask to take me in for who knows how long while I recover,” you explain softly.

“We’ll discuss this further in the morning, but my team and I will make sure you have somewhere safe and comfortable to stay, I promise that. I’ll be back once more before the end of my shift, but you know where the call button is.”

While you try to fall asleep, hoping it will help you heal faster and move on from the intense dizziness and nausea, Deacon is lying to criminals and hoping it will help you heal by getting some answers.

“Randy, remember my partner? The woman you helped me get out of the house this morning after you tried to kill her?” Deacon asks.

“Yeah, nice lady, but she can kick,” Randy replies.

“She died fifteen minutes ago. From an involuntary benzene poisoning. You know what that means, Randy? That someone poisoned her, murdered her, and is going to prison for a very long time.”

“Ooh,” Hondo adds, tilting his head in disbelief. “Cop killers never do well in prison, but when it’s one of our own? A S.W.A.T. officer? You’re dealing with a whole ‘nother set of problems in this room alone.”

“Benzene ain’t kill people after the first time,” Randy argues.

Deacon slaps the table as he leans over it. “You put enough benzene in that wall to kill me, Hondo here, and yourself, and you’re the only routine drug user in here.”

“Man, she really dead?”

“She is,” Hondo answers. “And now we have to tell her family, even though we’re grieving too.”

“I only did that ‘cause Simon told me to. He said it wouldn’t hurt nobody, just confuse ‘em or some’in. I ain’t mean’a kill nobody, specially not no cop!”

Deacon nods at Hondo before they walk out of the interview room, and Randy is left to wonder why they seemed so happy after learning that he set the trap that killed you. Across town at St. Stephen’s, you do feel like you’re dying just because you’re refusing to take more than anti-inflammatory pain relievers, unwilling to use anything stronger after years as a cop.

“Sergeant Kay will be back soon,” your nurse says. “He called and asked about you a few minutes ago. You must be very close.”

“We are. My team is the only family I have, but they’re also my best friends.”

“I didn’t mean your team. How are you feeling? Is the dizziness any better or worse?”

“It’s about the same,” you answer, forgetting her first point.

“Well, that’s good, at least it’s not worsening. We weren’t expecting a miraculous recovery this quickly, but Doctor Grayson wants us to give you as much time to sleep as we can, so you won’t have many, if any, middle of the night pokes and prods from us.”

“That sounds nice,” you answer with a small smile.

“I’ll leave you to rest until your friend gets back.”

You fall asleep before Deacon returns, and when he sees you resting, he texts Hondo an update and makes himself comfortable for a night at your side. There is a folder with Deacon's name on it on the small countertop in the corner of the room. Deacon opens it and finds a list of rehabilitation centers and a note that you can’t go home alone tomorrow before he decides to do something while you sleep. Deacon has been restless since the moment you alerted him to the traps set in the storehouse, but he finally has something to do that will help you.

“Excuse me,” he says, approaching the nurses’ station with a kind smile. “I’m Deacon Kay, I came in with-“

“My favorite patient,” the nurse finishes. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“Doctor Grayson left this list of rehab clinics for me, but I’d like to take her home with me tomorrow. I don’t feel right sending her somewhere when I’ve got plenty of room.”

“And I have no doubt you will attend to her no matter what. If you fill out the discharge forms, she’s free to go with you when the doctor signs off. Doctor Grayson comes in at four, so he’ll be the one signing off.”

Deacon accepts the clipboard holding the discharge paperwork and takes it back to your room to complete it. The nurses watch him with smiles, able to tell that he’s more than a friend and protective as more than a teammate, even if he’s unwilling to admit it.

You whimper in your sleep, pressing your face into the cushion to relieve your headache. Deacon moves a hand onto your bed, only pulling it away from your side to flip to the next page of paperwork.

“When did you get back?” you ask into the pillow with your eyes closed.

“Not long ago. How are you feeling?” Deacon replies, smiling when you take his hand.

“The headache is getting worse.”

Deacon brushes his thumb over his knuckles as you curl tighter around the pillow.

“I’m sorry,” Deacon whispers.

“It’s not your fault, Deac. You saved my life,” you reply.

“Shouldn’t have endangered it.”

“Deacon-“

You get dizzy before you can say anything else, gently squeezing Deacon’s hand as you clamp your eyes shut. Deacon stands, laying his other hand on your shoulder as you wait for the dizziness to pass. You know now to expect the nausea that follows, but each time it happens, the nausea is less intense.

“Do you think it’ll really take weeks to feel better?”

“No,” Deacon answers. “You’re strong – and stubborn – so you’ll fight to get back in fighting shape.”

“It hurts.”

Deacon frowns but doesn’t apologize again, though he’s blaming himself for everything. Maybe having a soft spot for you, as the team so lovingly puts it, made him blind to certain dangers of working together. He trusts you and would do anything to protect you from the risks of being a S.W.A.T. officer; now, he wonders if being distracted by you made him stop thinking about what he could do for you.

“You should go home,” you say. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m not leaving you. I’ll be right here when you wake up, or if you want to stay awake.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Deacon doesn’t add that despite how much he wants to, he needs to stay by your side and do what he couldn’t do earlier today: protect you and be there for you through all this pain and recovery.

When you wake again, the sun is up, and Deacon is no longer in your room. You can hear him talking, though, and when the door opens, he steps inside with Doctor Grayson.

“Good morning,” Doctor Grayson greets. “Are you ready to get out of here?”

Shrugging, you don’t want to bring up how sad you are to go spend the next few weeks alone in a rehab facility, which is arguably no better than a hospital.

“You did well last night, so I’m comfortable sending you home now, given that your discharge situation has changed.”

“It has?” you ask, looking at Deacon rather than the doctor.

“I’m taking you to my house,” Deacon explains. “Not for you, for Hondo. He needs hourly updates and none of the rehab places do that.”

You duck your chin, hiding from Deacon’s teasing as you smile. Part of you wants to insist Deacon doesn’t have to do this, but the other part desperately wants it.

“Are you sure?” you whisper.

“Positive.”

Deacon sets a backpack on your bed, gently taps your leg, and walks out to complete the discharge. You open the bag and smile when you see some of your clothes and a blanket. Standing carefully, you change into the clothes and wait at the edge of the bed for Deacon to return.

“Let’s go,” Deacon murmurs as he takes your hands.

Pulling your backpack over his shoulder, Deacon keeps a hand in yours as he walks beside your wheelchair. When you reach the hospital entrance, Deacon’s car is waiting, and he helps you into the passenger seat before setting your bag in the back and getting inside.

You close your eyes, your stomach churning and your head spinning as the car moves. Deacon offers a hand over the console, and you hold it as he drives through Los Angeles and to his house. Releasing a shaky breath as he parks, you squeeze his hand in thanks.

“It’s going to be a long few weeks for you,” you mumble.

“You’re wrong, but we’re not worrying about me. Our top priority is you and getting you healthy again. That means that you need to talk to me, even if you don’t want to, okay?”

You nod, and Deacon smiles as he argues, “That’s not talking.”

He gives you a break from his teasing and helps you inside before carrying a few bags in from the car. You recognize them and realize he must have gone to your place last night to get everything you’ll need over the next few weeks.

“Deac, why’d you go back to the station yesterday?” you ask, reclining on his guest bed while he unpacks your bags.

He points to the water bottle beside the bed, waiting until you start drinking to say, “Hondo had an idea to flip Randy, and it worked. He gave up his boss, and they found enough evidence to charge both of them with a long list of felony charges.”

“What was his plan?” Deacon doesn’t answer, so you ask, “You told him I died?”

“Yeah,” Deacon says softly.

You nod before you move to the edge of the bed. Deacon rushes to your side as you stand and wobble slightly. As he grips your arms, you lean your head against his shoulder, taking deep breaths as your heartbeat pounds in your ears.

“Do you still get nauseous after this happens?” Deacon whispers, rubbing his hands over your shoulders.

“No,” you reply. “That passed after the first few hours. Now I just have a headache that won’t go away and get really dizzy. It’s random, so I don’t know when to expect it.”

Deacon nods and makes a mental note to keep a very close eye on you, especially when you’re up and moving around. Deacon's heart breaks as he watches you be affected by something he should have never let happen. Watching you be poisoned, being helpless in the hospital, and feeling like he can’t do enough to help you is weighing on Deacon, but he can’t worry about himself when you’re struggling because of him.

“Stop,” you demand, so softly that Deacon barely hears it.

“Stop what?” he asks.

“You’re blaming yourself. I could tell from the moment you turned around in that house. There’s nothing you could have done, Deacon, to keep this from happening, but you saved my life. So, please stop blaming yourself and thinking about what you could’ve done differently.”

Deacon thinks about everything you said, and his mind lingers on how your shyness was nowhere to be seen as you asked him to stop blaming himself. You read him with no effort, and the realization makes him smile.

“I’ll try. But only if you promise to talk to me, really talk to me, and let me know what’s going on,” Deacon offers.

“Deal. Right now, the floor is kind of spinning, but I need to walk around because everything is stiff.”

“I got you,” Deacon murmurs, letting you hold onto him as you walk around his house. You know he means it in more than the obvious way; he’s always had you and always will.

“Why’d you stay?” you ask. “In the hospital, I mean. And then you brought me here. If you did it just because you blame yourself-“

“Not at all. I was blaming myself, you’re right about that, but I did this because I care about you. That soft spot that the guys tease me about… that’s you. So, when I get overbearing and protective and everything else you’re going to see over the next few weeks, just know that it’s because I care about you.”

“I’m your soft spot? Because we’re friends?”

Deacon smiles, letting you lead him toward the patio door. “Something like that.”

Your breathing catches, and you stop to take a few shaky breaths before returning to your normal breathing patterns. Deacon rubs his hand up and down your spine as he waits, hovering nervously beside you.

“The headache is a little better,” you tell him. “Either walking around or your touch is curing me.”

“Why not both?”

You smile before looking away from Deacon. He walks you back to the bedroom and digs through one of your bags before handing you a piece of paper. While you look at the exercises depicted on the therapy list, you lean back against the pillows, tired and experiencing the worst headache of your life.

“Don’t rush anything,” Deacon says. “You’re already getting better, but don’t risk that trying to heal on your schedule.”

“What does ‘something like that’ mean?” you murmur. “About why we’re friends and I’m your soft spot.”

“It means that you’re my soft spot because we’re friends for now.”

“You don’t want to be friends forever?”

Deacon chuckles and sits on the edge of the bed as he answers, “Not really. I’ve always wanted more.”

You sit up quickly and wince in pain. You don’t hesitate before asking, “You do?”

“Are you okay?” You shrug, and Deacon answers, “Yeah. You’re my friend, but, c’mon, you couldn’t tell?”

“I thought you were just being nice, protecting me because we’re teammates.”

“That’s part of it. But even if you left S.W.A.T. today, I’d still be right here.”

“If I didn’t know you, I’d think that’s why you’re so upset,” you muse. “But you’re just a great man.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

You shake your head and look away from Deacon.

“Could we- could we try to be more? After I’m back in fighting shape?”

Deacon smiles, leaning closer to you as he promises, “Yes. Just tell me when.”

You lean back, huffing when your headache worsens suddenly.

“I thought the Hondo-induced headaches were bad, but this makes them seem easy.”

“I’m telling Hondo you said that.”

“No, you aren’t. You know I’m shy and injured.”

“You haven’t been acting very shy.”

“Because I’m disoriented and have a crush on you,” you mumble as you drift to sleep.

“I’ll be right here when you wake,” Deacon whispers.

“And every day after?”

“And every day after,” he promises, smiling as you fall into a restful sleep.

Deacon has no doubt you’ll be back to yourself in a few days, meaning his advances will make you shy, but, for now, he’s happy waiting on you hand and foot, doing everything he can to help and keep you comfortable.

[brinleyparke]

Luca: What's a word that's a mix between 'sad' and 'mad'?

Deacon: Disgruntled, miserable, desolated, ...

Street: Smad.

[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Hero

For you, @spnshortcake !

You pulled your husband’s body close to yours by his belt. He cradled your face in his hands, giving you a deep, loving kiss. 

“Be safe today, baby.” You said to him once he pulled away. 

He responded with a smile, “Everyone goes home, darling.”

You and Deacon were both preparing to leave for work, standing between your vehicles parked in your garage. He opened your car door for you to get in. Once you were buckled, he leaned in and kissed you again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“I will be right here, waiting on my prince charming.” You winked at him as he shut your door and you parted ways. 

Deacon walked into the station with his duffel bag on his shoulder. He greeted his team mates and made himself a cup of coffee before meeting in the debrief room prior to their shift starting. Once the team was seated around the table, Hicks stepped into the room and began a rundown of what to expect for the day. Right before the meeting wrapped up, Hicks’ cell phone rang. He answered it and quickly told the team to suit up as all their pagers went off simultaneously. 

“There’s a hostage situation at a bank downtown.” Hicks announced. 

A few minutes later, the team was in Black Betty, heading towards their call. 

“Hostage situation, one confirmed fatality, a few other injured is what we know so far.” Hondo said as he began reading the notes that came across his work phone to give his guys a rundown of what they were heading into. 

Hondo made it to the bottom of the notes and saw the address of the bank they were going to. “Deacon?” 

“Oh my god.” Deacon interrupted. He had beat Hondo to the bank’s address in the notes. He immediately pulled out his personal cell phone and tried to call you, only to be greeted by your voicemail. 

Hondo knew you hadn’t answered as he watched his teammates face turn pale and tears well up in his eyes. 

“She is okay, brother. We are going to take care of her, but I need to know you are safe to go in here with us.” He leaned forward, meeting Deacon eye to eye. 

Deacon looked at him and nodded, wiping his eyes. “She knows what to do, she’s trained with us before; we’ve taught her what to do…” He spoke words, yearning for his heart to believe what his mouth was saying. “I’m good, Hondo. It’s my job to protect her.” 

S.W.A.T. arrived on scene to law enforcement still getting a perimeter set up outside of the bank. The team lined up at the front and back entrance of the building, preparing to enter once given the go ahead. 

Deacon was sure his heart rate was 180. He was scared as hell on what he might walk into. He knew you had been faced with losing him multiple times – how many calls had involved him getting shot at and he was unable to communicate with you until hours later? It was a part of the territory that came with being a SWAT wife. Even though he had put himself in your shoes before, or at least tried to, he had never actually been in your shoes and it made him nauseated at the thought of losing you. He made a brief mental note to love on you extra once you were safe in his arms. 

Deacon lined up behind Hondo, preparing to enter the building. 

Once they entered, Deacon took lead. One masked man laid on the floor in front of the teller’s desk, dead. There was no one behind the teller’s desk. A second body was found in the hallway leading to a back area of the bank. Deacon was initially unable to determine if the second person was a suspect or an employee, but soon noticed a firearm laying several feet away from him and decided that the dead man was likely a suspect.

 The rest of the bank was cleared except for the conference room. It was the last hallway and room to be cleared. The team approached the door. Deacon took his stance on the side of the door. 

“LAPD,” Deacon announced, his voice deep and loud. 

“David?!” A weak voice came from the other side of the door. 

As soon as Deacon heard your voice, he immediately opened the door, gun aimed, his teammates behind him. 

20 David entered the room to find you kneeling on the ground with your knee in the groin of one of the bank tellers who had gotten shot. Your knee was holding pressure to gun-shot wound to keep him from bleeding out of his femoral artery, where he had been struck. Your 9mm was pointed right back at the SWAT team. Other bank employees were also cowered in the corner of the room to your left. 

As soon as you saw your husband and his team, you lowered your weapon and began sobbing. 

“The shooters are dead,” you said through sobs and hyperventilating, “We need EMS for him.” You nodded your head towards your coworker whose life was in your… knee.

“Oh my god,” Hondo said as he looked around the room.

“Oh, baby…” Deacon said simultaneously. If you didn’t know better, you’d say your husband was also on the verge of tears as well. 

The team began getting the other bank employees out of the building. Deacon kneeled in front of you and cradled your face. 

“You did that?” he asked, nodding his head towards the door behind him, referencing the two dead gunman in the front of the bank.  

You nodded with tears still streaming down your face. Deacon glanced down at the gun beside you and immediately recognized that it was your personal firearm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you carried in here?” He kept his voice low to avoid any unwarranted questions. You both knew you would soon face plenty of those. 

“Because, I didn’t want you to ever be in trouble for knowing and not saying anything about it if… something like this were to happen.” You knew that anything you did could fall back on your husband if he was aware of it – another part of the SWAT wife territory. The last thing you wanted to do was to get him into trouble.

“Are you hurt?” 

You shook your head. 

“What happened?”

You sharply inhaled as you told your story for the first of many times that day. 

You were in your office at the bank when you heard loud voices followed by screams followed by instructions to “shut the fuck up!” Your heart sank when your mind processed what was happening but you didn’t have much time because very soon after, you heard a gunshot followed by more screaming. You pulled your firearm out of the holster underneath of your shirt, aimed it, and immediately met a gunman in the hallway. When you saw his weapon being raised towards you, you didn’t hesitate to pull your trigger. 

The man was dead before he hit the ground. 

You quietly made your way to the front of the bank. You peeked around the corner to see a second gunman pacing back and forth with the bank employees on the ground. His back was towards you and you took the shot the second that you had it. He was also dead moments later. 

You paused and looked around for a third gunman. When you didn’t see one after several moments, you stepped out into the front of the bank to find the teller shot. No one else was injured that you noticed. 

You had two male customers drag the injured employee to the conference room after you instructed everyone else to make their way there. It was a central room in the building. You didn’t know what was waiting on the outside of the bank for all of you if you decided to leave so you didn’t want to send anyone out. You knew you could sit inside of the room with your gun to neutralize any further threats that may find you. 

It was fourteen minutes from the time you shut and locked the door, knelt down with your knee in your coworker’s groin, steadied yourself and pointed your firearm at the door. However, it felt like eternity. You couldn’t express the relief that you felt when your husband was the first person you saw to walk through the door. It had felt like an eternity. 

Deacon kissed your forehead moments before paramedics entered the room. 

Security footage confirmed your story. Ever since you and David began dating, he always told you that everyone goes home when you told him to be safe. It was a theory you had adopted as well. That was why you decided to begin carrying your firearm inside of the bank with you every day at work. You knew if it was ever discovered, it would cost you your job, but what was the alternative? Losing your life? Jobs could be replaced. You or your husband could not be. 

And your suspicion of the following repercussions were correct – you were let go from the bank for carrying inside against policy. But, as you walked out of the interrogation room, hand in hand with Deacon, you didn’t care. All that mattered was that you got to be with your husband. 

The rest of the day was long and you didn’t walk out of your investigation until the early hours of the morning. You were walking hand in hand out of SWAT’s headquarters with Deacon. You had been able to shower at the station and Deacon had spare clothes you put on, but you were ready to get home, take a shower with your own things and slip into bed with your prince charming. 

The day had been so exhausting that you didn’t have much energy left for any conversation with Deacon and he recognized that. He didn’t pressure you to talk as you arrived home, showered, and prepared for bed together. He climbed into bed beside you and pulled you into his arms. Even as you drifted off to sleep, you were intoxicated by your husband’s scent – his skin, his beard oil, his body wash, and the spritz of cologne he put on every night before bed simply because he knew that you loved it. You were so grateful for the safety of David’s arms.

The following morning, you woke up still entangled in your husband. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” David said softly once he saw your eyes flutter open. 

“Mmm,” you nuzzled into your husband’s neck. “Good morning, baby.” 

He kissed your forehead. “What would you like to do today?” 

“Is spending the day wrapped up in you an option?” 

“It most definitely is if that’s what you want.” He rubbed your arm with his thumb. “Are you hungry?”

“Is my name Mrs. Kay?” 

Deacon chuckled. “Let’s go get some food, then we’ll come home and snuggle until you get tired of me.”

“Never.”

Deacon took you to your favorite coffee shop for breakfast. He chose a booth for the two of you and sat down on one side before pulling you into the seat next to him. He turned so he could pull you close to him and keep his arm around you. 

He was never one for much PDA so this took you slightly off guard, but you had no complaints. You were so thankful for Deacon after the previous day’s events. He peppered your cheek with kisses while you waiting on your food. 

“You know…” Deacon started talking after your plates were placed in front of you. You turned so that you were facing your husband while sitting next to him. “I know that you face the fear of something happening to me every single day I go to work,” he brushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “But I have never truly understood what that fear felt like – until yesterday.” 

You gave Deacon a small smile. He caressed your face with his hand, softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. 

“Baby, I don’t know how you endure that every day you watch me leave.” 

You reached up and held Deacon’s wrist and leaned into his hand. 

“Lots of prayer…”  you started, “and it comes with the territory.” You winked at him. 

“You know you’re a hero, right?” Deacon asked. 

You scoffed, “Not hardly.”

“Baby, because of you all of your coworkers lived and went home yesterday.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about taking the gun to work with me.” 

Deacon chuckled. It was typical of you to disregard compliments that shined any light on you – it made you uncomfortable. 

“Mrs. Kay, I am going to spend the rest of our lives never letting you forget how much I love you and how much you mean to me.” 

He leaned in and kissed you. He managed to keep the kiss PG, but you felt every ounce of passion that filled the kiss. 

You spent breakfast with your husband feeding each other pancakes and bacon, giggling and stealing quick kisses from each other. 

“Will you go home with me?” Deacon asked flirtatiously as you finished your last sip of chocolate milk. 

“Mmmm,” you smirked at him, “Going home with a good lookin’ man? Sounds like a fun time to me.” 

“God, I love you,” he kissed you again. 

You slid out of the booth, hanging onto your husband as you walked to the cash register together. Deacon paid for your food and drove you home together. When you got home, he opened your car door, helped you out, led you inside, and started your favorite movie before pulling you into his lap on your couch. You spent the day, snuggled up with your Sergeant.