#deacon x reader

In the middle of the shoot out you remember running out, finding the gun you had stashed a few meters out of the bar and firing back to ensure that your squad mates would be fine. And thankfully you did as you shot a man who was just about to lodge a bullet behind Rocker's skull.

Maybe it was because of the adrenaline that came with exchanging fire, but you didn't feel the thick liquid pouring from your arm, couldn't sense your ruptured skin until a horrified Sergeant Mumford made you sit in the black Betty while Luca drove. It was only under the dim lights of the streets, listening to Luca trying to find any topic of conversation possible to stop you from falling asleep that you realised that something was wrong, especially when the prospect of a little nap sounded irresistible.

☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓

It’s no secret that Jack Abbot is chill, calm, collected but not afraid to throw in snide remarks and some cursing when needed. From all the years he’d spent at the Pitt, not a single nightcrawler remembers him losing his mind at anything, not even when a patient had attacked him during their hallucinations caused by a drug infused bad trip. 

All of that just showed how out of character Dr. Abbot was being.

Since a SWAT emergency call had announced its imminent arrival with a patient, the silver haired man was seen stalking the bay, fingers tugging at his hair as his hazel eyes kept going back to the entry way. Even Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen who usually managed to calm things down seemed to not have any effect on the older attending, he even flinched away from their touch, ear glued central to make sure he wouldn't miss the SWAT arrival.

“Make sure bay 2 is open.” His voice was stern, fast. It could even be considered mean by the nurses if they didn't know him as well as they did.

“It's currently being clea-”

“I do not care. Make sure it's ready now.” 

And that’s when you arrived, pale seemingly lifeless as your eyes remained shut. And Abbot knew he was going to crumble, forcing Shen to take over, barking orders to place you in the prepped room. They all saw how Abbot gasped when you were wheeled in, loyal Luca still by your side even though security was trying to push him away. And for everyone in the Pitt, that was enough to give you the best treatment they could offer.

Dr. Ellis had to step away from her patient to gently pull Abbot into the break room, forcing down some water as his eyes turned glassy, arms going numb. He felt all the emotions he had felt when Officer Hiro had gotten shot, but with you, he felt them tenfold. You who had joined the SWAT team a few years ago, all eager and bushy-tailed hiding your heavy past in the navy. You who had held him close on nights where his PTSD threatened to resurface after particularly harsh missions. You who had meant that adrenaline wasn't the only thing he was looking forwards to when he would join the group during the SWAT operations.

Of course he had never done anything about his feelings to you. He was too old, too busy, too... not enough. But now as he grasped at your hands, eyes on your pale face, ears listing to the rhythmic beeping of your heart, he couldn't help but regret it. He should have told you when he had the chance. He remembers a particular night when you had stayed at his place after a long stake out, watching his old western reruns with him, your head dangerously close to his shoulder as you almost fell asleep. He should have inched closer, should have pressed his head on yours, showed you how much you meant to him.

And that's when the reason he didn't do what he wanted, appeared

Deacon, aka David Kay, almost slammed the door off its hinges as he entered the room.

The rest of the squads were in the waiting room, fiddling, relieved to hear that you should be okay soon, yet still all eager to see how you were.

But everyone knew that along with Jack, you also had a soft spot for Deacon. And that meant that no one could keep the man away once he got wind that you were in the ER.

Your closeness with Deacon had started off randomly when you both discovered that you didn't live far from each other so he'd drop you off before heading back to his bachelor pad. It had evolved to you two getting dinner together when you both didn't have plans, sometimes even breakfast when Jack had to go early into his shifts.

Deacon and Jack were similar in a lot of ways, older, calmer, always there for you, but they were different in more than many ways. While with Jack you could discuss movies, series, knowing that he'd make you laugh every ten minutes with his jokes, Deacon was more reserved, more prone to flash you one of his award winning smiles than laugh though the mirth in his eyes told you enough of his real sentiments.

Both different, yet you couldn't ask for better... whatever complicated thing they were to you.

The pair stared at each other painfully, both trying to stay strong as they took in your hurt body. Jack stayed in the chair closest to your bed while Deacon took a seat on the guest sofa, holding his head in his hands, praying to God that you'd make it out alive.

☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓 ☀︎ 𖤓

You woke up to beeping, your left arm held up weirdly by a heavy cast, and someone’s head tucked neatly against your neck, every movement felt painful, every breath like your lungs didn’t want to cooperate. A whimper escaped when you tried to move your legs and that’s when the head moved. 

“Sweetheart... Birdie.” Jack, it was your Jack. And it was now your turn to crumble as tears escaped your eyes, sobs wracking you up, painfully awakening your tired body. His hands found your hair, smoothing it out while he held you close, it was as though his proximity allowed you to show your real emotions, how scared and awful you felt.

Then you felt another hand on your shoulder, gently caressing over your hospital gown. Your eyes snapped into warm brown ones and you untangled your right hand towards Deacon.

"You scared us, Birdie" He took your hand, wrapping his body awkwardly around your right side while Jack kept his hold on your left.

"I-I should have come on today's mission. I'm so sorry sweetheart." Jack's voice was rough from tears and you couldn't help but whine at his words.

"It's not your fault." Your voice felt scratchy, dehydrated and Deacon quickly moved to give you tiny little sips of water before regaining his place by your side.

"We're here now brother." Deacon said, voice hard to stop himself from letting tears fall as he patted Jack's back. He had never seen you this way, so helpless, so innocent-like. He was used to your brashness, to your minx-like disposition. They both hated to see you like this.

Hancock

You cannot tell me this man does not have a thing for seeing Sole in his clothes. He’d all but beg you to wear them, in and out of the bedroom.

The first time it happened was during a rad storm. You’d underestimated the speed of the approaching storm, and soon he was silently panicking as you faded away, trying and failing to hide how poorly you felt from him. He draped his coat and hat over you, protecting your skin from the rain as he carried you until the first bit of safe shelter he could find.

When you woke up that morning, he decided the sight of you in his coat and hat was the best thing in the world. He’d toss every ounce of jet he owned into the vat of lava at the ironworks if it meant he could see you like that every morning.

If he was strangely doting that morning, it was mostly because you were ill, but it was also because it provided him an excuse to keep looking at you. He felt bad about it, but when you picked up on it and teased him about it, it became a thing between the two of you.

Seeing you on top of him in his coat and hat? That might just do it for him alone.

Hancock watched as you lorded over him, tilting your hat as if greeting him while he laid on his back and begged for mercy from whatever higher power was out there. You were upright on your knees, in nothing but a nice set of underwear you planned to surprise him with and his coat and hat, overtop of his torso.

Hancock decided then that you would be the death of him, and he would die happy.

            “You seem pleased with yourself.” He drawled, chuckling at your smug expression.

            You laughed at this, placing your hands by his head as you leaned in, then sat back on his torso. If you felt Hancock Jr. against your lower back, you were not acknowledging it, much to his chagrin as he was quickly growing more and more frustrated. In a good way, that is - but still frustrated.

            “Don’t act like you don’t love it.” You tease, and it takes every ounce of self-control in him to not flip the two of you over.

            “Oh, I do, Sunshine. Believe me, I do.” He told her, his hands roaming over the expanse of her skin, tracing her hips and down her thighs, relishing in her anticipatory shiver.

            “Tease.” She crossed her arms, the smug smirk returning.

            “Takes one to know one – is that how that saying goes?” He teased in return.

            Hancock had mayoral duties to attend to that morning. He did not get to them, in a shocking twist that surprised everyone. When Fahrenheit came looking for him after a several hour absence, she took one look at the two of you fast asleep while tangled together before letting out a loud sigh and an exasperated (but amused) “Of fucking course.”

MacCready

He’s incredibly possessive of his stuff at first, including his clothes. Think Boone with his beret: he will not let go of it if you take his hat or anything from him.

One day, when staying for a few days in Sanctuary Hills to sort something out, you decide to pull a prank on him. When he slips away into the bathroom of the house you two are sharing to take a bath, you put on his whole usual get-up, bullet straps and all. When he comes out to find you, you expect him to get annoyed but laugh at the light-hearted prank, but instead he turns bright red, and his jaw drops open.

If this were a cartoon, he’d have heart eyes.

You don’t notice at first, still laughing at yourself in the mirror, the clothes ill-fitting and costume-ish on your smaller frame. It isn’t until he’s unusually silent that you pause and notice the bright red overtaking his face.

MacCready definitely blushes bright red. He hates it.

After he short-circuits at the sight of you, he forgets all previously arranged plans and instead he learns you look great writhing under him while you bite into his scarf so that the neighbours don’t hear. The houses in Sanctuary Hills aren’t exactly soundproof after 200 or so years and a plethora of holey walls.

He’s too awkward to ask you to wear his clothes for him at first, and instead comes up with increasingly ridiculous scenarios for why you need to wear them. Every time you tell him that he can just ask you to wear his clothes, but it still takes him a while.

You and MacCready had been lightly arguing the topic all evening, ever since you’d arrived at Tenpines Bluff. The place had some housing built, but it didn’t have any other space for the two of you, and you refused to let any of the settlers sleep outside. Instead, you were now in your small tent, where MacCready was insisting you would get frostbite and needed to wear his scarf and duster to bed.

      “MacCready, it’s maybe – at the coldest - 10 degrees outside. I’ll be fine. Besides, by those standards you’ll be exposed too. I’ve got plenty of blankets, anyways.” You explained away each of his arguments, pinching the bridge of your nose as you explained to him once more that you two would not freeze in the night.

      Then, your mind went to last week, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

      “What’s funny?” He asked, genuinely confused.

      In response, you pulled his hat off of his head, ruffled out his hat-flattened hair, and placed the cap on your head. “If you wanted to see me in your clothes, you could’ve just asked.”

      “No, I just-“ MacCready began, before letting out an agitated breath. His eyes went to the blankets, then to you, then to his hat resting on your head, and he decided to pick his battles. He leaned in and almost knocked the hat off your head with the force of his kiss.

      You two were plenty warm that evening.

Deacon

Deacon doesn’t have a “thing” for you in his clothes, especially considering he doesn’t have a typical look outside his glasses, but know he will not complain if you put on his sunglasses. He’ll be annoyingly smug, as long as you two are in private.

If you’re in public, he’ll probably just snatch them right back. He’s not really for public displays in general, unless a mission requires it.

He’s never associated you in his glasses or clothes with anything particular, as it was something that happened as a light-hearted bit you’d do even when you two were essentially just friendly coworkers. Coworkers that shot people together, but still coworkers.

You’d slip on his sunglasses before doing a god-awful impression of him. While Deacon may joke about being in love with his reflection, seeing you impersonating him didn’t exactly get him going.

It wasn’t until you slipped them on nonchalantly, placing them into your hair because you wanted to see his eyes that he considered it at all.

You looked up at him, panting as you pulled off his sunglasses and slipped them onto your face. He saw his own desire for you reflected in the glasses, which almost startled him out of what you were in the middle of. If he weren’t still inside you, his hard-on half gone, he’d probably have done exactly that and felt extremely silly about it afterwards.

      You smiled at him, and he realized he liked seeing your eyes. It would make it clear if you were smiling at him in a good way or a bad way. He hoped good, for obvious reasons.

      “Your eyes are pretty, let me see ‘em more, Deek.” You requested of him, and he couldn’t help but immediately agree to fulfil that request. If it weren’t incredibly embarrassing to admit to vulnerability, he’d ask the good doctor if it were possible to be addicted to pleasing a person.

      He slid the glasses up and into her hair, revealing her eyes as well. “Well, can’t be only one of us that’s naked.” He joked, referring to the glasses.

      “Oh, of course. Curse the thought.” You retort, running a hand across his cheek and through his hair, with a touch so gentle he’d think he was dreaming if it wasn’t for the stickiness where they had just disconnected that they’d soon need to deal with unless they wanted a very unpleasant morning.

      Currently, though, he was leaning into your hand, quietly wishing you never stopped touching him. You smile at him again, and one look in your eyes tells him it’s one of pure affection. His eyes widen, the sight leaving him feeling like you’d not just gotten him naked, but peeled off his skin and flesh too until it was just his soul rattling around his skeleton.

      You moved to put the glasses back on him, but he instead took them from your hand and placed them to the side, before leaning into you once more.

Preston Garvey

He ceases to function much like Macready, but he won’t pretend he doesn’t love the sight of you in his get-up. He’s a praise guy both ways, and that is only spurred on by you wearing his clothes. Readjust his hat whilst it’s on your head with a wink and he’s melted at your feet.

First time it happens is when you’re both drunk and leaning on each other after a party celebrating retaking the Castle, and you slip his hat onto your head with a tipsy giggle. He doesn’t remember much of that night - he pretty much blacked out after that - but his memory of you - with the full moon illuminating the edges of your silhouette - is clear as day.

When you two are intimate next, whether it’s the first time or the fiftieth, the first thing he does is ask if you’ll wear his hat. Amused, you also slip on his coat while wearing nothing but that and his hat. He felt like someone zapped him with a dull shot from an energy weapon, but it was just the sight of you.

When you two finally attempt to actually just sleep, nothing more, he’ll drape his coat over the two of you. You sleep surprisingly well that night, even considering how spent you were. Do you struggle from nightmares? Not anymore.

“Would you wear my hat?” Preston asks, feeling a little vulnerable as he watched you consider his request. You fulfilled it happily, loving that it smelled like him, but you were also curious about the needy tone in his voice.

Preston’s mind was elsewhere, however. Specifically, he was back in that night after retaking the castle.

You two were drunk, his arm over your shoulders and yours around his waist, the two of you stumbling past the mirelurks you’d yet to remove towards the old barracks, where the rest of the minutemen agreed to set up for the night. Tomorrow would be a tough, and smelly day. Tonight, however, you all drank and sang songs and Preston and you’s praises.

You paused for a moment, and Preston didn’t quite register the loss of his hat on his head until he heard your drawn-out giggles, the kind you’d usually be embarrassed to let out. He looked over at you, and any alcohol in him left his system as you freely laughed under the moonlight.

You were outlined by it, like the halos on the angels in pre-war media, and Preston considered a higher power for a moment, because your existence could not be explained by a simple accident. Your skin glowed, and your eyes sparkled like the stars just past the edges of the moon in the sky, and Preston knew he was a goner.

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.  

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”  

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”  

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.  

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.” 

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in” 

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something. 

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.  

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.   

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.  

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”  

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up. 

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.” 

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.  

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him. 

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.  

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.  

“So, Sergeant Kay-” 

“Deacon, call me Deacon” 

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.  

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.” 

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”  

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.  

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.  

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again. 

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.  

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”  

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.  

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.  

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk. 

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type” you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.  

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.  

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.  

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”  

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.  

“I see you asked her out” Chris said. 

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street 

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.  

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

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The baby was crying again; she woke to the sound like it had been sewn into her ears and before her eyes even opened, her body responded. Her breasts aching, nerve endings burning. The sharp, raw pull of overfull milk ducts radiated up her chest and down her sides. She didn’t move right away. Just lay there, one arm slung uselessly across the pillow, belly heavy and sore, eyes crusted with fatigue.

3:27 AM. That’s what the blinking red clock on the nightstand said. It was the same as last night and the night before. She exhaled through her nose, slowly. The sound caught in her throat like it had too far to go.

The crying continued, closer now and louder. It hadn’t even stopped while she was waking up. Her baby didn’t sleep in long pauses, he screamed in intervals. Her body hurt; her nipples throbbed, chapped and cracked, still raw from feeding two hours ago. Her lower back ached from sitting in the same glider chair every night. And deep in her pelvis, where stitches still held her together, was a dull, angry pulse of pressure that made every shift feel like stepping onto broken glass.

She sat up slowly, cradling her abdomen with one arm, legs sliding off the mattress in awkward, clumsy movements. The mesh underwear tugged uncomfortably against the pad she barely remembered changing. Something leaked down her thigh. She didn’t look, didn’t want to.

The baby’s cries cut sharper now. That new, desperate cry, the one she hadn’t learned how to decode yet. She shuffled barefoot down the hall, sweatshirt hanging limp off one shoulder, the elastic waistband of her maternity pants cutting unkindly across her belly. She hadn’t brushed her hair in days and hadn’t seen her own reflection since... she couldn’t remember. Her skin felt foreign. Her body a vessel emptied but not released.

The nursery was too warm, too quiet, except for the crying. She crossed the threshold like a ghost, her eyes burned from dry air and sleepless nights.

There he was: red-faced, arms flailing and body writhing in that newborn way, like nothing in the world made sense and everything was a threat. His face was scrunched into the kind of cry that shattered her because it sounded like need and she didn’t feel like she had anything left to give.

She scooped him up carefully, arms under his back, supporting his neck the way she’d practiced in the hospital. He was hot and furious and small, still so small. Her shoulder curved instinctively and her breast ached again. Milk had already leaked through the left side of her shirt.

She brought him to her chest anyway, lowering herself with effort into the glider chair. Her whole body whined in protest as she sat. The baby rooted and missed, missed again. The pain when he finally latched made her hiss through her teeth.

She held him there, one hand behind his head, trying not to cry; her jaw tightened and her eyes closed. The clock on the wall ticked once; she couldn’t remember the last time someone asked how she was doing. She couldn’t remember what her own name sounded like, not attached to the word mom.

She just rocked and bled and fed. And hoped someone in the house was still dreaming because she wasn’t.

He wouldn't latch, again. She adjusted him; cradled his head gently, tried to angle her nipple the way the lactation consultant had shown her, with two fingers supporting the breast and her wrist awkwardly bent like she was trying to defuse a bomb. He turned away, rooted blind and missed. His mouth bumped against her skin, lips slipping, chin wet with milk that had already begun to leak from her letdown reflex.

Her breast throbbed. Sharp pain in the same cracked spot where he'd latched too shallow the night before. She tried again, changed arms. He twisted, squirmed and screamed. Her hand slipped.

“Please,” she whispered, voice strained. “Please just... please latch.”

Another try and more crying. The pain now shot from her nipple into her shoulder. Her back curved with the effort of holding him steady, rocking him gently and staying soft. She could feel the burning behind her eyes starting to gather.

“You’re hungry, I know,” she said, trying to soothe, “I know, baby. Just help me out, okay?”

She tried to sound calm but didn’t. His legs kicked against her side and shrieked. A tear slipped down her cheek, then another. The room didn’t feel warm anymore, it felt small and smothering. Felt like the walls were creeping in around her, minute by minute.

She looked down at him, her son. Red-faced, mouth open, breathless from crying. Her baby, hers and she felt like she was failing him; like he deserved someone gentler. Someone more patient, someone who didn’t want to scream into a pillow when his mouth missed the latch again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears dripping off her chin and onto the crown of his head. “I’m sorry I’m not good at this.”

She didn’t even know what this meant. Feeding? Motherhood? Existing? She ran a shaky hand over his back, breathing shallowly through the discomfort between her legs, the sting in her breasts and the ache in her chest that had nothing to do with milk.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered again, not even sure if she meant it. “I’m sorry I’m tired, I’m sorry I keep getting it wrong. I’m sorry I don’t know how to do this.”

He whimpered now, not crying; just that little hiccupping whine between breaths. Still rooting and hungry. She adjusted him again, hands trembling; he latched painfully. But he latched.

She winced and let out a breath; she didn’t feel relief, not really. Just less useless than five minutes ago. Her tears kept falling anyway because this wasn’t about feeding. Not entirely. It was about everything she couldn’t say to anyone but him:  baby who couldn’t answer and wouldn’t remember.

She didn’t hear him come in. Maybe because she was too busy focusing on breathing through the pain, or maybe because her brain had simply stopped tracking anything that wasn’t her body or the baby. Either way, she only noticed him when a warm hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.

She flinched enough to remind her body she wasn’t alone. Then she looked up. Deacon was crouched beside the rocker. Hair messy, eyes still thick with sleep, wearing an old T-shirt and those soft sweatpants she always teased him for owning six identical pairs of. He looked at her the way you look at someone who’s not bleeding, but definitely breaking.

His eyes scanned her face slowly: one tear streaked cheek, swollen eyelids and lips pale from clenching. He didn’t ask what was wrong, he didn’t need to.

“I’ve got him,” he said quietly, already sliding one arm beneath the baby’s back, the other steadying the fragile head with practiced ease. “Let me handle it.”

She hesitated, reflexively tightening her hold for half a second, like the instinct to prove herself hadn’t faded yet. Like handing the baby over meant surrendering something.

Then her arms dropped, she let go. He lifted their son with the kind of care that came from muscle memory, not hesitation. Like this was just another rep in a long history of middle-of-the-night parenting. And it was; he’d done this before: two kids, two colicky phases, two sleep-deprived partners before her. But he’d never done it with her.

She shifted in the chair, groaning softly as her hips reminded her they still weren’t right. Deacon didn’t miss it; his gaze flicked to the way her body moved, how slow and stiff she was like her bones were tired of holding her together.

“You okay?” he asked, soft and low.

She nodded, he paused.

“You sure?”

She nodded again, he didn’t believe her but he didn’t push. Just adjusted the baby in his arms and began a gentle sway back and forth. Their son made a sleepy, broken noise against his chest and slowly quieted. No shushing, no bouncing; just steady rhythm.

Deacon Kay didn’t rush. She watched him from the rocker, half-wilted, damp with milk and tears and sweat and tried to remember what it felt like to breathe and move like that. Like your body wasn’t betraying you every time you used it.

Deacon glanced over his shoulder.

“You wanna lie down?” he asked. “I’ll keep walking him for a while.”

Her throat tightened, she opened her mouth and closed it again.

Then, finally, she whispered: “I don’t think I can stand up.”

Deacon nodded like that wasn’t the most devastating thing she’d ever admitted out loud.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll help you.”

He didn’t take her to bed, didn’t guide her out of the room or shush her with any kind of fix-it softness. He just sat down right there on the nursery floor, legs crossed, baby tucked to his chest and bottle tilted expertly in his hand. Like this was sacred ground and she belonged there too. And without a word, he patted the spot next to him.

She slid off the rocker slowly, wincing as her hips shifted. The stitches pulled and her breath caught. He saw it and waited. When she finally reached the floor, she curled beside him, legs tucked awkwardly under the hem of her sweatpants, back resting lightly against the wall. Her arms dangled, useless in her lap. She watched the baby’s little jaw suck gently against the bottle, eyes fluttering in half-sleep.

He made it look so easy that she broke. Not all at once; it started with a breath that snagged in her throat. Then came a quiet, shaking sound like a laugh but bitter. The tears came last, hot and fast. Rolling over her cheeks before she even realized her face had changed.

She didn’t try to hide them this time, she didn’t have it in her.

“I’m so tired, Deac,” she whispered, voice cracking down the middle. “I’m so tired I can’t see straight.”

He looked at her but didn’t speak, she stared at the baby.

“He wouldn’t latch again. And it hurts so bad and I... I don’t even know if he’s getting enough. I keep second guessing everything every hour, every noise he makes. I can’t even sleep without hearing him cry in my head.”

Deacon stayed quiet, listening and she kept going.

“And I feel disgusting; my body hurts all the time. I smell like milk and sweat and blood. I’m bleeding all the time and it doesn’t stop. And I can’t wear anything normal. And my... my boobs hurt and my underwear hurts and my everything hurts and you just look so calm, like... like you’re fine, like it’s easy for you and I...”

Her voice cracked again, she buried her face in her hands.

“I’m not good at this,” she whispered. “I think I might be a bad mom.”

The silence settled in; thick, intimate silence. The bottle clicked gently as the baby sucked slower now. Deacon leaned back against the wall beside her and shifted their son against his chest with one practiced move.

Then he spoke, slow and steady.

“You know what I used to think after our first?” he said, voice soft. “That Annie was magic, like she just knew what to do. But later, when we were already two kids in, she told me she cried in the closet the first time she changed a diaper. That she used to stay up just to make sure she could hear them breathing.”

She turned her head, slowly. Deacon looked at her fully now. No pity.

“You’re not supposed to be okay right now.”

She blinked.

“You had a human inside you, you gave birth and you haven’t slept in days. Your hormones are slingshotting around your body like a war zone, and you’re trying to keep someone else alive using nothing but your body and instinct and a prayer.”

He paused.

“You’re not supposed to be okay. And anyone who tells you otherwise has never had a baby or never loved someone who did.”

Her breath hitched. She looked down at the baby, now dozing against Deacon’s chest, lips parted.

“You’re doing so much better than you think,” he added. “And even when you don’t believe that, I do.”

She swallowed.

“You mean that?”

“Every damn word.” The baby stirred, let out a little sigh and Deacon smiled faintly. “And for the record? He’s full. Which means you did that, not me.”

Her chest tightened but this time, it wasn’t panic; it was release.

They didn’t speak much after the crying. She hadn’t said thank you and he hadn’t asked for it. He just shifted the baby gently into the bassinet, layered a blanket around their little boy, and turned off the nursery lamp. Then he took her hand; rough, warm, steady and led her down the hall toward the bathroom.

She didn’t protest; didn’t have the energy, maybe. Or maybe she didn’t want to anymore. The bathroom light was soft; just the mirror light, not the overhead. Steam rose from the mug he placed on the counter: ginger and honey. She didn’t even remember him boiling water.

“You don’t have to drink it,” he said, opening the linen closet quietly. “But it might help, your throat sounded raw.”

She nodded, blinking slowly, body heavy like someone had poured concrete into her bones.

Then, gently: “You want to change?”

She hesitated; he held her gaze, voice even.

“I’ll help you.”

The words settled between them unapologetic and familiar. She knew he’d done this before with Annie. With all the unspoken moments husbands and wives share when babies take over the world and bodies fall apart. But it still made her pause.

This wasn’t the version of herself she wanted him to see: milk-stained, sweat-slick, stretched and stitched and bleeding into disposable mesh. She had once made him speechless in a backless dress, now she couldn’t stand without wincing.

But Deacon Kay didn’t look away; not when she reached for the hem of her sweatshirt. Not when she slowly peeled it over her head, revealing cracked nipples and the dark lines that now carved across her belly like history. He didn’t flinch when she slid down her pants, revealing the swollen shape of her hips, the pad leaking red, the cotton waistband twisted with effort.

He just knelt in front of her, hands steady and voice soft.

“Let’s clean you up.”

He helped her step out of the mess with quiet efficiency, unwrapped a clean pad and rolled on a fresh pair of mesh underwear like it was nothing new. Not disgusting or shameful.

“You good?” he asked as he helped her step into a fresh pair of sweats.

She nodded but this time she meant it. He kissed the side of her hip before standing. It wasn’t sexual or pity, just love. In the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself: not perfect, not radiant, but held. Held up by someone who didn’t just say you’re not alone. He proved it.

The house was still, the kind of still that made even the refrigerator hum feel loud. But the crying had stopped and the pressure, too. No one was demanding anything from her: not her body, not her mind and not even her heartbeat.

Deacon had made the tea again, she didn’t drink it but she liked how it smelled. Now they were on the couch: her curled at one end, legs tucked under her, body blanketed in fleece and his scent. Her sweatshirt was clean and her skin no longer sticky with milk and tears and blood. She felt almost human.

Across from her, Deacon sat with their son cradled in his arms; tiny hand curled against his father’s chest, cheek pressed into a white T-shirt soft from years of wear. He rocked slowly and the baby breathed deeper each time.

Her eyelids fluttered but she wasn’t ready for sleep, not yet.

“I was scared I’d ruin this,” she whispered.

Deacon looked over, listening. She stared at her hands in her lap.

“I thought you’d look at me different after, like this.”

He didn’t speak right away, shifted the baby carefully into one arm, leaned forward and reached for her hand with the other. He laced their fingers together without ceremony.

 “I look at you like someone who just walked through hell and carried new life out with her.”

Her eyes welled again but the tears didn’t fall. Not this time. She squeezed his hand, forehead pressing into the crook of her arm. The baby let out a sigh in his sleep; tiny and soft, like a breath that didn’t know it was being heard. Deacon’s thumb moved gently across hers.

“You’re not doing this alone,” he said. “Not tonight, not ever.”

She nodded against the couch cushion and for the first time in days she believed him. Her breathing slowed, her hand stayed in his and she slept. Not because everything was fixed but because someone else was finally awake.

The kitchen smelled like coffee, oat milk and baby wipes. She sat at the table, one breast hooked up to a double electric pump, the soft rhythmic whir-click of suction filling the room like some weird industrial lullaby. Her shirt was open just enough to give the machine access and Deacon’s old hoodie was half on, half off her shoulders.

Her hair was a mess and her eyes were a little puffy but she looked relaxed. Legs were up on another chair and granola bar halfway eaten.

Deacon leaned against the counter with his coffee mug and just watched. He was trying not to look like he was staring but he failed.

“You good?” she asked, glancing at him over the top of her mug.

“Yup,” he said, not moving. “Just witnessing greatness.”

She snorted. “I’m literally hooked up to an appliance like a human cappuccino machine.”

He walked over slowly, mug in hand. “Yeah and that cappuccino machine is feeding our child.”

“Moo.”

“Don’t moo at me; I’m being serious,” he grinned, sitting down across from her. “This is the most badass thing I’ve ever seen. You’re out here, half asleep, still producing the exact thing keeping our son alive like it’s nothing.”

“I’m aware,” she said dryly. “Mostly because I can feel every drop leaving my body.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “It’s kind of sexy.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Deac, my boobs are literally in funnels.”

“Yeah, but like heroic funnels.”

She laughed for the first time in a while, a real one and it surprised her. Deacon beamed.

“There it is,” he said. “That laugh; that’s the good stuff.”

She shook her head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a goddess, the balance is perfect.”

She leaned back a little as the bottles slowly filled, watching the milk swirl, the motion oddly mesmerizing. “It is kinda cool, though. That my body just makes this.”

“Damn right it’s cool,” he said. “You’re like the universe in sweatpants.”

She gave him a long look. “That better not be your new pillow talk.”

“I’m saving it for your birthday.”

They both laughed this time. The pump slowed, signaling it was nearly done. Deacon got up without asking, already grabbing the clean bottle caps from the drying rack. He was humming some low, silly tune she couldn’t place while he capped both bottles and labeled them with the date in Sharpie.

Then he looked at her, not her body or the machine. Her.

“You really doing okay today?” he asked softly.

She paused and nodded. “Yeah, today I am.”

And he leaned down, kissed her forehead, and said the same thing he had the night everything cracked open:

After finishing their takedown, Street and Deacon stand at their lockers, packing up their bags to go home. As Street says a quick goodbye to Deacon, he looks down at Deacon’s bag, noticing a book peeking out of it. He smirks, making a quick grab for it, looking over it.

“What’s this, Deac? Didn’t know you were a reader,” he teases as Deacon turns around with wide eyes, noticing what he was holding.

“Nothing. It’s just a book.” Deacon replies, trying to take it back as Street flips the book back over to look at the cover. He raises a brow, looking up at Deacon, a small smile forming on his face.

“Wait, did your girl write this?” Street says in disbelief, as Deacon sighs, shaking his head, a small smile making its way onto his face.

“Yeah, she’s been working on it for a while. Finally got it published. But she didn’t want me to say anything. Said something about it being awkward if anyone hated it, which is ridiculous,” he states. “I read it. It’s amazing,” he adds, nodding his head, his smile growing wider. 

Street laughs at your reasoning, shaking his head as he flips the book open, glancing over a few of the pages, Deacon watching proudly as he crosses his arms across his chest, standing taller.

“Look, don’t let her know I told you. And don’t tell anyone else, okay?” Deacon whispers as he hears Hondo, Chris, and Tan’s voices getting closer to the locker room.

“Don’t tell anyone what?” Tan teases, smirking as they walk in, walking up to the two as Deacon grabs the book back, trying to put it in his bag. 

Hondo raises his hands in mock surrender, noticing Deacon’s movements as Chris and Tan look over at Street, raising a brow.

Street shrugs, smiling at both of them, shutting his locker. Chris moves into his path to the door, crossing her arms, giving him a look. Street sighs, looking back at Deacon quickly before turning back to Chris.

“Deacon’s girl wrote a book.” he mutters, defeated. Chris scoffs, turning to Deacon, laughing softly.

“Why didn’t you wanna tell us? That’s great!” she says, Tan and Hondo nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah, man. I’d be telling everyone I know. I’m kinda surprised you’re not,” Tan tells Deacon, patting him on the back. 

“Believe me, if she’d let me, I would tell everyone. She made me promise not to. I’ve seen how hard she worked on it, and you should’ve seen how happy she was when she finished it. I even bought 10 copies when it was published, but I didn’t tell her. I wanna support her, but she’s being really lowkey about it, around people she knows, at least.” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck, smiling softly, finally able to talk about it with someone that will listen to his praise.

“That’s awesome. If I wrote a book, I’d make everyone I know buy a copy.” Tan jokes, opening his locker to grab his bag.

“Who’s writing a book? If it’s an autobiography you better make me look good,” Luca jokes, walking into the room, patting Tan on the back as he walks by. 

“Deac’s girl wrote a book,” Street says, crossing his arms over his chest as he turns to Luca.

“What? No way! That’s great, man,” he tells Deacon, wrapping his arms around him for a short hug.

“Yeah, I’m proud of her. She’s always wanted to be a writer. Honestly, I was gonna tell her it was good no matter what, but it’s really well done. I hope she changes her mind so you guys can read it.” Deacon replies, face growing hot, thinking of you.

“Oh, and before we go, I have to show you what we found on our other target. We were able to find his ex-girlfriends address, it looks like that was his old stash house. There’s some stuff we found that forensics wants us to see,” Hondo explains, the team nodding, grabbing their bags before following him to the lab.

As they walk out to the main area of the building, Deacon turns, seeing you walking towards him, a tupperware container in your hand.

“Hey, you said you might have to work late tonight, so I brought you some dinner just in case,” you explain, leaning into his embrace as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing your forehead quickly before you back up.

You’re met with a chorus of hellos from the squad. You smile, waving at them all, saying a quick hi back.

“Hey, I heard about your book, congrats! When do we get to read it?” Luca says, taking a few steps towards you, wrapping you in a tight hug. Your eyes widen as he says this, hugging him back stiffly, giving Deacon a glare over Luca’s shoulder.

Deacon smiles nervously at you, before looking down, fingers moving to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, Street saw it in my bag, so he had to tell everyone.” he explains, looking back up at you sheepishly, before glaring at Luca as he lets you go.

“Was I not supposed to say anything? I thought you were excited?” Luca says, a confused expression making its way onto his face, his smile slowly disappearing as he looks between the two of you.

“Yeah, I guess you missed that part of the conversation,” Deacon says to Luca. “I’m sorry, I’m just proud of you, I wish you’d let me tell people,” Deacon says, turning to you. Your eyes soften as you smile softly, your face getting hot. 

“He’s right. You should’ve seen his face; he just wants to praise his girl.” Hondo jokes, putting an arm around you, giving you a tight side hug. “If it makes you feel better, we’re proud of you too. We’d love to read it. Someday,” he says, giving you a wink as the rest of the team hums in agreement.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll let you read it. But don’t expect me to give you a free copy,” you tease, biting the inside of your lip as you fight back a smile.

The team laughs, Street rolling his eyes, teasing you. “Of course. Wouldn’t expect a friends or family discount or anything,” he says, Chris punching his arm, shaking her head, smiling.

You laugh, looking down, feeling your chest swell with pride and excitement. You didn’t know they would want to read your book that bad. You look at Deacon as he smiles at you proudly, arms crossed across his chest, standing tall. He nods his head, a hopeful expression on his face. 

“We’re not done with this though. We’re talking about why you had a copy of my book here when you know how Street is,” you tease, pointing a finger at Deacon’s chest as Street scoffs, feigning offense.

Deacon laughs, pulling you into his chest again, hugging you tightly. You put your head on his chest, letting out a long exhale, your smile growing. 

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” He whispers in your ear, loud enough for Hondo to hear from beside you.

“We all are. You’ve got yourself a talented woman there, Deac.” he says, looking at Deacon, a smirk on his face.

“I know,” he says, kissing the top of your head, “I know.” he says quieter, loosening his grip on you, looking down at you with his eyes full of admiration.

“Hondo just has to show us something in forensics and then I’ll be ready to go. Do you wanna wait and we can go out and properly celebrate your book?” Deacon asks you. You nod, smiling softly.

“Fine,” you say, faking annoyance, leaning up to kiss him softly. “I’m gonna go say hi to Cortez quickly. Come get me when you’re done.” You tell Deacon, turning to walk to her office as Deacon watches you walk away.

“You did good, Deac.” Tan says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they begin walking to the lab.

“Yeah. She doesn’t happen to have a sister or anything, does she?” Street teases, which earns him a shoulder check from Deacon as the rest of the team laughs.

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