AJBONE 30DAVID

The first time I saw Deacon Kay properly, he was bleeding out on cracked concrete with a bullet lodged somewhere far too close to his heart.

Not exactly the meet-cute you’d imagine.

The operation had already gone sideways by the time I took the shot that saved him. I was positioned three buildings away, wind cutting across the rooftop and slicing through my gloves, the scope pressed firmly to my eye. I’d been contracted for overwatch high-profile, high-risk, high-deniability. The usual.

I knew who he was, of course.

Decorated. Tactical genius. Divorced. Father of three. The sort of man who wore exhaustion like armour and grief like a shadow.

I wasn’t meant to care about any of that.

I was just meant to keep him alive.

The ambush came fast almost too fast for the rest of his team to reposition. I watched through the scope as three hostiles flanked left. Deacon dropped one. The second went down after a brutal hand-to-hand exchange. The third aimed straight for him while he was distracted.

I exhaled.

Steady.

The world narrowed to breath and trigger pressure.

The rifle kicked back against my shoulder, and the hostile collapsed before he could fire.

Deacon staggered backwards regardless, blood blooming through his shirt from an earlier shot I hadn’t been able to prevent.

“Move, Kay,” I muttered under my breath, though he couldn’t hear me. “Don’t you dare die.”

He didn’t.

He crawled behind cover, jaw clenched, fury blazing in his eyes even as he pressed a hand to his side.

I eliminated the remaining threats in less than thirty seconds.

And just like that, the mission was technically a success.

I met him properly three days later.

Safehouse. Industrial outskirts. Rain hammering against grimy windows.

He was upright, which impressed me. Pale, stitched, but upright.

When I walked in, he was leaning against a steel table, arms folded, studying me like I was a new weapon he hadn’t decided whether to trust.

“You’re the sniper,” he said.

His voice was lower than I’d expected. Rougher.

“Yes.”

“That your whole personality?”

I arched a brow. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

A flicker of something amusement, perhaps crossed his face.

“Didn’t say I wasn’t grateful.”

“You didn’t say you were.”

Silence stretched between us, charged but not hostile. Measuring.

“I owe you my life,” he said eventually.

“No,” I replied calmly. “You owe me a clean mission report and better situational awareness next time.”

That made him huff a quiet laugh.

And that was the first crack in his armour.

I didn’t expect to see him again.

I was wrong.

Two weeks later, I was assigned to another operation. Different objective. Same ground team leader.

Deacon Kay.

When I arrived at briefing, he looked as unimpressed as I felt.

“You following me now?” he asked.

“You wish,” I said dryly. “Apparently command thinks you need supervision.”

He smirked.

The mission went smoother this time. No bullets near his heart. No dramatic rescues.

But something shifted.

He trusted my calls quicker. Moved when I told him to move. Paused when I told him to hold.

After extraction, instead of leaving immediately like I usually did, I stayed.

It was subtle at first conversations that weren’t strictly tactical.

“You always work alone?” he asked one evening while we cleaned weapons.

“Yes.”

“By choice?”

“Yes.”

He studied me, like he was trying to read what I wasn’t saying.

“Divorce makes you reassess things,” he said quietly. “What you thought was solid. What wasn’t.”

I didn’t respond.

I wasn’t good at personal. I was good at precise.

“I’ve got three kids,” he added after a moment.

There it was. The reason behind the exhaustion in his eyes.

“That’s… complicated,” I said carefully.

He gave me a sideways look. “That your way of saying I have baggage?”

“No,” I replied evenly. “That’s my way of saying children deserve stability.”

“And you don’t?”

His question caught me off guard.

No one ever asked that.

I shrugged it off. “I’m not built for stability.”

“You’re wrong.”

He said it so simply. No drama. No argument.

Just certainty.

It unsettled me more than any gunfight.

I met his children by accident.

I’d dropped by to deliver intel before deployment, expecting him to be alone.

Instead, I walked into chaos.

A half-assembled science project on the dining table. Cartoon playing loudly in the background. A little boy racing through the hallway with mismatched socks.

And Deacon barefoot, sleeves rolled up, laughing.

Laughing.

He froze when he saw me at the door.

“Y/n,” he said, clearing his throat. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“Clearly.”

Three small pairs of eyes locked onto me.

“Who’s she?” Lila asked suspiciously.

Deacon hesitated.

I stepped forward first.

“I’m the person who stops your dad doing reckless things.”

Matthew gasped. “Is that even possible?”

I bit back a smile. “I’m very talented.”

Victoria studied me carefully. Intelligent. Observant.

“You’re the one who saved him,” she said.

My gaze flicked to Deacon.

He’d told them.

“Yes,” I admitted.

She walked closer, small but fearless.

“Thank you,” she said simply.

Something in my chest shifted.

I wasn’t used to gratitude that wasn’t transactional.

Matthew tugged on my sleeve. “Are you like… super secret?”

“Very,” I whispered.

His eyes widened in awe.

Deacon watched the interaction like he was witnessing something fragile and unexpected.

He put the kids to bed and then he walked me to the door.

“You didn’t have to be so good with them,” he said quietly.

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

“That’s why it worked.”

The porch light cast warm shadows across his face.

“You told them,” I said.

“They deserve to know who keeps their dad alive.”

The air between us thickened.

“Don’t,” I murmured.

“Don’t what?”

“Make me something I’m not.”

“And what’s that?”

“Permanent.”

He stepped closer.

“I’m not asking for permanent,” he said softly. “I’m asking for honest.”

I didn’t have an answer to that.

The third time I saved his life wasn’t dramatic.

No rooftop. No cinematic shot.

Just a split-second decision inside a warehouse when a hidden assailant moved behind him.

I fired from ground level this time.

Too close.

The ringing in my ears lasted hours.

Afterwards, adrenaline fading, he grabbed my arm.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Choosing me.”

It wasn’t accusation.

It was wonder.

I pulled my arm free gently. “You’re the mission lead.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I knew.

That was the problem.

We didn’t fall into love.

We edged into it.

Slowly.

Cautiously.

He’d invite me to stay for dinner after briefings. I’d refuse twice. Accept the third time.

I learned Victoria loved astronomy and wanted to build rockets. Matthew wanted to be “whatever Dad is but cooler”.

I helped with Lila's maths homework one evening and found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor, explaining trajectories using toy cars.

“You’d make a good mum,” Matthew said absentmindedly.

The room went silent.

Deacon stilled in the doorway.

I swallowed. “I’m not...”

“You don’t have to be,” Victoria interrupted gently. “You’re already… here.”

Children have a way of cutting through defences with terrifying precision.

Later that night, as I stood in the kitchen washing dishes I hadn’t meant to touch, Deacon came up behind me.

“You don’t scare easy,” he murmured.

“No.”

“But that did.”

“Yes.”

His hand brushed mine tentative, giving me space to pull away.

I didn’t.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I admitted quietly. “I know how to calculate wind speed at eight hundred metres. I know how to dismantle a rifle in under thirty seconds. I don’t know how to be… this.”

“You don’t need to know,” he said. “You just need to stay.”

It sounded so simple.

It wasn’t.

My life had always been temporary. Contracts. Targets. Exit strategies.

But every time I considered walking away, I’d remember Victoria's quiet thank you. Matthew’s wide-eyed grin. The way Deacon looked at me like I wasn’t just a weapon.

I was something worth keeping.

The turning point came unexpectedly.

School presentation day.

Victoria had asked if I could attend.

“I’ll be in the back,” I’d warned.

She’d nodded seriously. “That’s fine.”

I stood near the wall of the crowded hall, uncomfortable in civilian clothes, scanning exits out of habit.

Victoria's project was on orbital mechanics.

When she finished, she gestured towards the audience.

“And I’d like to thank Y/n,” she said clearly, “for teaching me about angles and wind and how precision matters.”

Parents turned to look.

Heat crept up my neck.

Afterwards, she ran to me.

“You came,” she breathed.

“Of course I did.”

Behind her, Deacon watched us.

There was something in his eyes I’d never seen directed at me before.

Not gratitude.

Not admiration.

Love.

Unfiltered.

Certain.

That night, after the children were asleep, we stood on the porch again.

Full circle.

“You’re already part of this family,” he said.

“I’m dangerous.”

“So am I.”

“I leave.”

“Then don’t.”

The simplicity of it undid me.

“I don’t know how to stay,” I whispered.

He stepped closer, resting his forehead lightly against mine.

“Then learn.”

His hands framed my face like I was something precious rather than lethal.

“I don’t need perfect,” he murmured. “I don’t need safe. I need you.”

For once, I didn’t calculate risks.

I didn’t plan exits.

I just chose.

“I’m not promising forever,” I said.

He smiled faintly. “I’ll take today.”

So I kissed him.

Soft at first. Careful.

Then certain.

Not a spark of chaos.

Not a reckless collision.

A decision.

Months passed.

Fewer solo contracts. More coordinated missions.

Dinners became routine. Movie nights. Science fairs. Quiet mornings with coffee and sunlight spilling across the kitchen table.

Matthew started calling me when he couldn’t find his trainers.

Lila asked my opinion before cutting her hair.

Deacon would watch it all with that same quiet wonder, like he still couldn’t believe I was there.

One evening, after the children were in bed, he pulled me into the garden.

“You know they see it, don’t you?”

“See what?”

“How you look at me.”

I raised a brow. “How do I look at you?”

“Like you’re lining up a shot.”

I laughed softly. “Old habits.”

He sobered.

“They see that you’d choose me. Every time.”

He was right.

I would.

Not because he was the mission.

Not because I owed him.

But because somewhere along the way, saving his life had turned into sharing it.

I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm beneath.

“I don’t feel temporary anymore,” I admitted.

His arms tightened around me.

“Good,” he whispered into my hair. “Because we’re not.”

For the first time in my life, I believed it.

I’d spent years calculating distance.

Now I measured something else entirely.

The space between his heartbeat and mine.

Deacon POV-

I knew I was in trouble the moment I started paying attention to the sound of her laugh.

Not the polite one she used with civilians or higher-ups. The real one. The one that slipped out when Luca said something ridiculous or when Street tripped over his own boots. The one that hit me square in the chest every single time.

Y/N.

Twenty-eight. Smart. Capable. Too good for this job most days, and far too good for me all the time.

The squad knew it before I admitted it to myself. Hell, they knew it before I even realised it was happening.

I’d been in law enforcement long enough to recognise patterns. Behaviour. Tells.

Apparently, I was terrible at hiding mine.

It started small. Conversations that lasted a beat too long. Shared looks across the room. The way my body automatically shifted closer to hers without me even thinking about it.

She fit into the team like she’d always been there. Didn’t try to prove herself. Didn’t need to be loud to be respected. Just steady, calm, competent.

And when things went sideways she was solid. Reliable. Brave in a way that didn’t need recognition.

I admired her.

That was the problem.

Admiration turned into concern. Concern turned into protectiveness. And protectiveness turned into something that kept me awake at night, staring at the ceiling and thinking thoughts I had no business thinking.

Because I was fifty-two.

And she was twenty-eight.

Old enough to be my daughter, if life had taken a different turn.

That fact sat heavy in my chest every time she smiled at me.

The squad clocked it immediately.

Luca was the first to say something.

“You know we all see it, right?” he said one afternoon, leaning against the armoured vehicle with that infuriating grin of his.

“See what?” I asked, already knowing exactly what he meant.

“You and Y/N,” he said. “It’s like watching a slow-motion car crash. Romantic, but painful.”

“Knock it off,” I muttered.

Tan was subtler. He always was.

“You’re different around her,” he said once, quietly, when we were alone. “Happier. Lighter.”

“That’s not...”

“It’s not a bad thing,” he added. “Unless you make it one.”

Even Hondo noticed. And Hondo never commented on personal matters unless they were bleeding into the job.

“You’re distracted,” he told me bluntly. “Figure it out before it costs someone.”

So I did what I always did when things got complicated.

I shut it down.

I started pulling back.

No more lingering conversations. No more shared coffees. No more walking her to her car after late shifts.

Professional distance. That was the excuse I gave myself.

She noticed, of course.

She always did.

“You alright?” she asked one evening, falling into step beside me as we headed out of HQ.

“Fine,” I said, a little too quickly. “Busy.”

She nodded, but her eyes searched my face like she was trying to read something I wasn’t letting her see.

The guilt nearly broke me.

But guilt was easier to live with than regret.

Or so I thought.

The moment I really hurt her came on a call.

Nothing dramatic. No bullets flying. Just tension and adrenaline and a decision that needed to be made quickly.

She made the right call.

I knew she did.

But I snapped anyway.

“Stay in your lane,” I barked in front of everyone. “That wasn’t your call to make.”

The words tasted wrong the second they left my mouth.

The room went silent.

Her face fell not dramatically but I saw it. The way her shoulders stiffened. The way she nodded once, sharp and controlled.

“Understood,” she said quietly.

She didn’t look at me again for the rest of the day.

By the end of shift, the atmosphere was thick enough to choke on.

Luca slammed his locker shut and rounded on me.

“What the hell was that?”

“Drop it,” I said.

“No,” he snapped. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. Not when she did exactly what she was trained to do.”

“It was a tactical call,” I said, defensive.

“It was personal,” Street cut in.

Tan nodded. “You were angry before the call even started.”

Hondo said nothing at first. Just watched me with that calm, disappointed look that somehow hit harder than shouting.

“She’s hurt,” he said finally. “And you know it.”

I swallowed. “I was protecting her.”

“From what?” Luca shot back. “Your feelings?”

That one landed.

Hard.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Not because of the job. Not because of the call.

Because I kept replaying the look on her face.

Because I knew exactly why I’d done it.

Because pushing her away felt safer than wanting her.

The next day, she didn’t speak to me unless absolutely necessary.

No easy smiles. No warmth. Just professional efficiency.

It was worse than anger.

It felt like losing her.

By lunchtime, the squad had had enough.

Hondo closed the door to the briefing room and folded his arms.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re dealing with this.”

“With what?” I asked.

“With you being an idiot,” Luca said flatly.

Tan sighed. “You’re not protecting her, Deacon. You’re punishing her.”

Street leaned forward. “She looks at you like you’re her safe place. And you just ripped that out from under her.”

I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m too old for her.”

The words finally out in the open felt heavy and ugly.

“She deserves someone who can give her a future,” I continued. “Someone her age. Someone without this much baggage.”

Hondo’s voice was calm, but firm.

“That’s not your decision to make for her.”

Silence followed.

“And whether you think you deserve her or not,” he added, “doesn’t change what she is to you.”

My throat tightened.

“What’s that?” I asked quietly.

He met my gaze. “The woman you love.”

I found her that evening on the rooftop.

She liked it up there. Said it helped her breathe after long days.

She was leaning against the railing, arms crossed, city lights stretched out behind her.

“I owe you an apology,” I said.

She didn’t turn around. “You owe me respect.”

Fair.

“I was wrong,” I said. “On the call. And after.”

Still nothing.

“I hurt you,” I continued. “And I did it because I was scared.”

She finally looked at me then. Her eyes were tired. Guarded.

“Scared of what?” she asked.

“Of wanting you,” I said simply.

The truth landed between us, raw and exposed.

“I’m fifty-two,” I went on. “I’ve lived a whole life already. I’ve got scars and responsibilities and regrets that don’t go away just because I feel something.”

She stepped closer. “And I’m twenty-eight. I'm not a child. Not naïve. And perfectly capable of deciding who I care about.”

“I don’t want to hold you back,” I said.

She shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

I exhaled, the weight in my chest finally shifting.

“I love you,” I said quietly. “And I’ve been trying to pretend I don’t because it felt safer than risking this.”

Her expression softened.

“You don’t get to push me away and call it protection,” she said gently. “Not when all I’ve ever wanted was to stand beside you.”

I reached for her hand, tentative.

She let me.

“I’m still scared,” I admitted.

She smiled sadly. “Me too.”

“But I don’t want to lose you,” I said.

“Then don’t,” she replied.

When we walked back inside, the squad pretended very badly not to notice the way our hands were still linked.

Luca grinned.

Tan relaxed.

It started so quietly you almost didn’t notice. You chalked the first wave of exhaustion up to the long week: late nights, early mornings, too much coffee and not enough actual food. But then the mornings felt heavier, your legs carrying the same ache you usually only felt after a full day on your feet.

One afternoon, you found yourself halfway through a grilled cheese when Luca appeared in the kitchen doorway, watching you with an amused tilt to his head.

“Didn’t you just have lunch?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

“Yeah,” you mumbled around another bite. “But this one was calling my name.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and went back to tinkering with whatever project had him in the garage. But later that night, when you sank into the couch and pulled the blanket around you at barely eight o’clock, he settled in beside you without turning on the TV.

“You’ve been tired a lot lately,” he said gently. Not probing, just stating a fact. “Everything okay?”

You shrugged, not ready to voice the suspicion already curling at the edges of your thoughts. “Probably just need a weekend to catch up on sleep.”

But Luca wasn’t one to miss patterns. Over the next few days, his eyes lingered a little longer on you when you pushed your half-finished coffee aside, when you ordered extra fries without thinking, when you held a hand low over your stomach like it might steady you.

The missed period was what made you pause, calendar in hand. Your thumb traced the blank square where a mark should’ve been and you felt your heart give a small, startled kick.

That evening, as Luca slid into bed beside you, his arm coming around your waist automatically, you felt the question sitting in both your chests, unspoken but alive. Neither of you said it out loud, not yet, but it was there, warm and electric in the space between his heartbeat and yours.

The test sat on the edge of the sink, face down as if it were a loaded weapon you weren’t quite ready to look at. You’d woken before sunrise, restless, the quiet of the house too loud in your head. Luca had slipped out for his run just after six, kissing your hair and promising coffee when he got back.

You’d been waiting for this morning; half dreading it, half aching for it. The small white box in the cabinet had felt like it weighed ten pounds all week. Your hands shook as you unwrapped it, heart pounding so loud you were sure the neighbors could hear.

The minutes crawled. You sat on the cool tile, knees pulled up, trying to distract yourself with the faint drip of the showerhead, the hum of the fridge in the next room. But when the timer on your phone buzzed, it was like the air shifted; sharp and charged.

Two pink lines, clear and unmistakable. You laughed before you realized you were laughing; half-sob, half-breathless disbelieving sound. The tears came quickly after, the mix of joy and fear and something bigger than both of them pooling in your chest until you felt weightless.

You were still sitting there, legs numb, when you heard the front door open. His voice floated down the hall.

“Babe? You up? I got your latte from...” He stopped when he reached the bathroom door, taking in the sight of you on the floor, flushed and teary-eyed. “Hey, what happened? Are you...”

You held up the test, just that and no words.

For a moment, he didn’t move. His eyes dropped to it, registered what it meant, then flicked back to you, wide and shining. “No way,” he breathed, voice cracking on the last word. And then he was kneeling, pulling you up into his arms, holding you so tightly you could feel his pulse pounding against yours. His laugh was unsteady, more like a gasp. “We’re... we’re doing this? We’re really doing this?”

You nodded into his shoulder and he leaned back just enough to press a kiss to your temple, your cheek, your lips. Then he bent, one hand still cradling the back of your head, the other sliding over your belly like it was already something precious.

“Hey, little one,” he said softly, his voice dropping into that warm, coaxing tone you’d only ever heard him use with children or frightened animals. “It’s your dad. We can’t wait to meet you.”

Something about hearing him say it, your dad, made the reality sink in, as sure and permanent as the lines on that tiny strip of plastic.

Luca rested his forehead against yours, smiling through damp eyes. “Guess we just hit the biggest milestone yet.”

And for the first time all morning, the rush of nerves settled into something steady, something safe because whatever came next, you’d be facing it with him.

The gel was still cold on your stomach when you left the clinic, the sound of the baby’s heartbeat still echoing in your ears like it had etched itself into your memory forever. You’d stared at the grainy black-and-white shape on the screen until the nurse laughed softly and said, “You can take a picture, you know.”

Luca had already done it, three, actually, and one video, the kind where his voice in the background gave away that his eyes were just as wet as yours.

“You know we can’t sit on this,” he said as you walked to the truck. “Annie’s gonna kill me if she finds out we waited to tell her.”

“She’ll kill me if she hears it from you first,” you countered, slipping into the passenger seat.

He grinned. “Fine, we tell them together.”

The Kay household smelled like dinner already, warm and homey, when you arrived that evening. Annie opened the door before you could knock, eyes flicking from your face to Luca’s, instantly suspicious.

“What are you hiding?” she demanded, narrowing her gaze.

Luca exchanged a glance with you, lips twitching. “We brought dessert?”

Annie folded her arms. “That’s a lie. You’ve never brought dessert in your life.”

Deacon appeared behind her, holding a wooden spoon like a weapon. “What’s going on?”

You didn’t even get the words out before Luca blurted, “We’re having a baby!”

Annie’s gasp was immediate and high-pitched, her hands flying to her mouth. Then she was hugging you, squeezing like she could fuse the news right into her own heartbeat. “Oh my god! You guys! I knew something was different! You’ve been glowing!”

“Glowing?” Luca repeated, clearly filing that word away for later teasing.

Deacon clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him forward. “Man, that’s incredible. You’re in for it now, buddy.”

Over tea, because Annie insisted tea was non-negotiable for big announcements, Deacon turned into a human encyclopedia. “Alright, first thing: cribs. Don’t get the cheap kind, trust me. And diapers don’t fall for the marketing. You want the ones that don’t leak on your soul.”

Luca was actually taking notes on his phone. “Okay, brand name?”

“Two brands. I’ll send you the list.”

Annie swatted her husband. “They’re not going to remember a single thing you say tonight. They’re still in the oh my god there’s a baby phase.” She turned back to you, her hand warm on yours. “You’re gonna be amazing. And you’ve got us for anything: midnight runs for pickles, nursery painting or baby-proofing the entire world.”

Luca reached under the table for your hand, squeezing. “See? We’re already surrounded.”

Deacon nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you’ve got backup and trust me; you’ll need it the first time the kid projectile vomits in your hair.”

Annie groaned. “Deacon!”

He just shrugged, grinning. “It’s better they’re prepared.”

And somehow, between the laughter, the ridiculous advice, and Annie’s fussing over whether you’d eaten enough, the enormity of the day settled into something softer. Not smaller, never smaller, but cushioned by the warmth of people who were ready to love this baby almost as much as you already did.

By the eighth week, mornings had turned into small battles; sometimes you won, sometimes the nausea did. The kitchen became a place of unpredictable alliances; coffee, once your morning ritual, now made you gag, while oddly enough, sour gummy worms were suddenly acceptable breakfast fare.

Luca never teased you about it. He’d just hand you the bag on his way out the door, kiss the top of your head and pretend like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Your clothes began to betray you next. The first pair of jeans that refused to button left you sitting on the bed, staring at them like they’d committed treason. Luca, passing by with a basket of laundry, stopped mid-step.

“What’s wrong?”

“They don’t fit,” you muttered, already frustrated.

He set the basket down, plucked the jeans from your hands, and tossed them onto a chair. “Then we get ones that do. Problem solved.”

And just like that, it was solved because he didn’t make it about numbers or sizes or how your body was changing. He made it about comfort, about moving forward without turning it into a crisis.

He started cooking more, too, not in grand, romantic gestures, but in the quiet, everyday way that said he was paying attention. If you’d had a rough morning, he’d make dinner before you could even think about what to eat. If you were craving something oddly specific, he’d find a way to make it appear, even if it meant driving across town.

On one particularly bad day, you were sitting on the couch, head in your hands, trying to will the nausea away, when Luca appeared with a pair of sneakers in his hands.

“C’mon,” he said, crouching in front of you. “We’re going for a walk. Fresh air might help.”

“I don’t think I can even bend down to...”

He didn’t let you finish, just gently took your foot and started tying the laces for you. “Yeah, I got it. That’s my job now.”

And maybe that’s what struck you most: how seamlessly he stepped into these little roles, not because you couldn’t, but because he wanted to lighten the weight where he could. He never made it about helping you; it was just something you did together now, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It was love without speeches or declarations; love in grocery bags carried, in shoelaces tied, in the hand he kept on the small of your back whenever you walked beside him.

The spare room had been a storage catch-all for years: boxes from moves long past, a treadmill that had only ever been used as a coat rack and an old recliner you couldn’t quite remember buying. But now, it was ground zero for Luca’s newest mission: Operation Baby Room.

Deacon showed up on a Saturday morning armed with a power drill and the confidence of a man who’d assembled more cribs than he cared to count.

“You’re sure about the pale green?” Deacon asked, holding up a paint swatch against the wall. “It’s calm, but not boring. I can work with that.”

Luca crossed his arms. “It’s perfect. Gender neutral, soothing; Annie said green’s good for a baby’s brain.”

“Annie also says prune juice is good for digestion. It doesn’t mean I’m drinking it.”

You sat in the doorway with your tea, grinning into the rim of your mug as the two men circled the room like generals in a war room.

“Crib goes here,” Luca decided, pointing to the wall across from the window.

“Nope,” Deacon shot back. “By the window, it gives you more space for the changing table.”

“That’s a draft risk, man. You want the baby to get cold?”

Deacon sighed dramatically. “Do you plan to argue with every piece of advice I give you?”

“Only the bad ones,” Luca deadpanned, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing outright.

Hours passed in a symphony of drilling, muttered swearing when parts didn’t fit and Deacon accusing Luca of not reading the instructions.

“They’re just suggestions,” Luca insisted, tightening a bolt.

“That’s what you said about Annie’s meatloaf recipe and you almost burned down my kitchen,” Deacon replied, shaking his head.

But in the quieter moments, when Deacon stepped out to take a call, you’d catch Luca leaning on the half-assembled crib, running his hand along the smooth wood like it was already holding your baby.

He caught you watching once. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“More than okay,” you said. “You?”

He hesitated, the usual grin slipping for just a moment. “I keep thinking about... how small they’re gonna be. How I’m gonna have to figure this all out without messing up too bad.”

“Luca.” You put your mug down, standing to walk over. “You’re already figuring it out every day.”

Deacon’s voice boomed from the hallway before he could respond. “Hey! Are we building this thing or having a therapy session?”

“Both,” Luca called back, the grin returning.

By evening, the room was painted, the crib stood sturdy against the far wall (Luca’s wall, naturally), and tiny pieces of furniture were beginning to take their places. You stayed in the doorway, watching as Luca leaned against the crib one last time, sweat on his brow, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen.

“Feels real now,” he said, almost to himself.

And in that moment, with the scent of fresh paint and sawdust in the air, you knew it was.

The day had been slow and warm, sunlight lingering in every corner of the house like it had nowhere else to be. By the time evening settled, the cicadas outside were buzzing in lazy waves, and the air through the open windows carried that faint scent of cut grass and summer dust.

You were curled sideways on the couch, your legs draped over Luca’s lap, his palm splayed across the curve of your belly. He wasn’t just resting it there, he was waiting. When the first kick came, his eyes lit up like someone had just handed him the winning ticket to the universe.

“There,” he whispered, grinning. “Did you feel that? That was a solid one.”

You laughed softly. “I’ve been feeling them for weeks, Luca.”

“Yeah, but now I get to.” He pressed his hand a little firmer, patient for the next movement. “That’s my kid in there, our kid.”

The next kick came quick, and he let out a breathless laugh. “They’ve got a good leg on ‘em. I’m gonna teach them how to ride a bike first, no training wheels too long, they’ll learn balance early.”

You rested your head back, letting his words fill the room.

“And pancakes,” he continued, like he’d been keeping a list for months. “We’ll make Saturday morning pancakes. I’ll do the flipping, they can do the chocolate chips. And...” He paused, pretending to think hard. “I’ll teach them about cars. Not just how to drive, how to take care of one. Oil changes, the works. I don’t care if they never use it. They’ll know.”

You traced lazy circles on his arm. “And what about all the important life lessons?”

He leaned down to kiss your temple. “That’s your department. You’re the smart one.”

The baby kicked again, harder this time, and his smile softened into something quieter, almost reverent. He didn’t say anything for a while after that, just kept his hand there, like he could hold the connection between the three of you in place forever.

Somewhere outside, the last of the sunlight slipped away, but inside, it felt like the day had saved its best light for this: Luca’s laugh, the small thump beneath his hand, and the certainty blooming in your chest that every choice, every turn, every milestone had led you here. Exactly here.

It was one of those swollen August afternoons where the air felt too heavy to breathe. The house was quiet, Luca had gone out for groceries, and you were pacing the living room, restless in your own skin.

Your hands kept finding your belly, like you were checking to make sure the baby was still there. Of course they were; the little kicks and rolls were proof enough. But the thoughts wouldn’t stop spiraling.

What if you weren’t ready? What if you froze when they cried? What if you didn’t know what to do?

You didn’t realize you were standing still, gripping the back of the couch, until a knock sounded at the door. You half-expected Luca, but when you opened it, Deacon stood there with two iced teas in hand.

“Luca said you’ve been feeling cooped up,” he said simply, stepping in without waiting for permission. He glanced at you, your flushed cheeks, your shallow breathing and set the drinks down. “Okay. Sit.”

“I’m fine,” you started, but your voice cracked halfway.

Deacon just raised an eyebrow, the same look he probably gave rookies on their first day. “You’re not fine, you’re panicking.”

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out jagged. “What if I mess this up, Deac? What if I can’t do it right?”

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “You’ve already been doing it right. You’re growing a human, you’ve been showing up every day, even when you feel awful. And you’re still worrying more about the baby than about yourself. That’s not someone who’s gonna mess up.”

You shook your head. “But it’s different when they’re here. I’m not... I’m not like Annie, I don’t have that natural thing.”

Deacon’s gaze softened. “You don’t see it, but you’ve got something else. You’ve got this way of making people feel safe without even trying. I’ve seen it with Luca, with the team, with me. That kid’s gonna feel it from day one.”

Your throat tightened. “You really think so?”

“I don’t think,” he said, pushing one of the iced teas toward you. “I know.”

You sat, the first deep breath of the day settling into your chest. The panic didn’t vanish entirely, but it loosened its grip, replaced by the quiet weight of his words.

By the time Luca came home, arms full of groceries, you were laughing at something Deacon had said. And though he didn’t ask, you caught the look he gave Deacon, gratitude without a single word spoken.

She feels the stretch of the familiar yoga pose, her forearms and both feet grounding her on the floor. Like a wheel y/n bends her body in the Chakrasana pose with closed eyes and a steady calm breathing. To most people her position on the yoga mat is looking more than awkward and painful, but for her it's the best way to start into her stressful day. Even if that means she has to be there early, before everyone else is strolling into the bullpen and ready to hit the gym. In the still very masculine world of SWAT and the police force in general y/n doesn't want to stand out more than she already does, so she is almost every morning the first person in the gym doing her daily yoga training before the teams are training their combat techniques or doing some weight training. Y/n stays some more minutes in the Chakrasana pose until she feels like someone is watching her morning routine. She slowly opens her eyes taking in another deep but slow breath and is met with two sets of curious eyes. "I told you she is a ninja with tiny spider sensors." Rocker chuckles at the other man's words but can't deny the truth behind them. Slowly y/n presses her feet into the floor to give her legs a push and folds herself out of her position first into the lotus pose in headstand and finally into a kneeling position, eyeing the two LAPD SWAT Sergeants. "Hey, good morning." Y/n greets in a soft tone, clearly relaxed after her yoga session in the calm gym. "I can't understand how you can fold your body like this and be utterly relaxed afterwards." Deacon reaches out his hand to help y/n off the floor. "I hope we didn't interrupt you in the middle of your session but," he looks on his wrist reading the time from his Submariner, "it's already time for our sparring and you, my dear, are late today." "Thanks, Daniel." Y/n says in her sweet voice when she takes Deacon's offered hand to stand up from her yoga mat. The younger woman saying his name always makes the grown man, the SWAT Sergeant who can take down a criminal in less than two seconds, getting weak in the knees. "And you two could never disturb my yoga session. I mean it's the SWAT's gym after all and I for my part am just a guest here, lending two square meters every morning." Y/n blushes lightly when her eyes wander from one well-built Sergeant to the other. Fortunately for her neither of them is bare chested today. But the stretched material of their LAPD shirts around their broad chests and muscular arms is enough to make her even shyer. A strong arm is finding its way around y/n's smaller shoulders pulling her gently into a much bigger body.

"Y/n, how many time do we have to repeat ourselves. You are a very important part of the team. Hell the most important part if you ask me and DAVID." Rocker says squeezing the woman into his body in a lovely way. Y/n doesn't miss Rocker's small jab against her using Deacon's first name like she always does.

---

Typing away what feels like more than hundred words per minute y/n sits in the tech room looking for blueprints of an abandoned warehouse and other important information she can pass to Hondo and the team. "Hondo, I've got something for you guys." The young woman speaks into the headset in hope she is not too late with her newest insights. "We can hear you, y/n." Hondo answers in great need of some more insight to end the ongoing raid successfully. "I did some magic and now have some eyes inside the second warehouse. Three people are hiding there with what looks like a great amount of cash. I can't tell if it's the guy you're looking for because the cam I hacked into is very basic, but they're clearly hiding something and themselves there. I send you the blueprints of the second building and the possible escape routes." "Thank you. The first building was empty so the second you found should do the trick."

"Tell me if you guys need anything more and stay safe."

---

A knock on the door of the spacious tech room brings y/n out of her thoughts. She closes her eyes for a small moment when the bright light which filters through the now open door stings in her tired eyes. "Don, hey. The raid was successful? Everyone's fine?" With a slight chuckle the tall SWAT Sergeant who is standing right before the smaller woman shakes his head. "Of course sweetheart. Everyone's fine except for the three idiots who couldn't hide from SWAT. Thanks by the way. With your intel we were able to get not only the guy we were looking for but also his two stupid goons." Y/n blushes because of Rocker's designated pet name for her. Even if she should be accustomed by now she can't help herself or stop the familiar warm feeling spreading from her cheeks all the way up her neck whenever one of her favorite SWAT members using a little nickname. Rocker steps into the dimly lit room which is full of computers and other tech equipment he gladly doesn't have to use thanks to his female colleague and places his tall figure on the side of her desk. He likes to study the younger woman's face, likes the way she blushes or shies away whenever he or Deacon gives her a compliment or calling her by a cute nickname. He likes her happy features, the way she talks and her positivity she always has no matter how stressful the situation is or how tense the whole team is. She always has the ability to keep them calm and collected. Since she joined the team two years ago they all made huge changes, but in a good way. She was exactly what they needed. Someone with a positive vibe, with a big heart and extraordinary skills. "What are you up to?" The man asks looking curiously on the iPad in front of y/n. "Oh just apartment hunting. I have two potential apartments and one small house…" but she can't continue with her rambling when Rocker snatches the iPad out of her hands, studying the three accommodations before taking a deep breath. "Jesus Christ y/n. Okay, let me get that straight. The first is a rat hole. Haven't you seen the small windows, it's like a cellar. No, it's more a torture dungeon. And what is this?" The older man swipes and looks at the second apartment y/n has in her short list, "Did you even check the neighborhood of this one?" Donavan shakes his head. "It's the shadiest street in the whole city." He says with a huff, a shocked expression on his face. Y/n lets out a loud laugh. Of course he would say so. She knew it. That is why she is apartment hunting in the safe space of her bureau away from the prying eyes of Don and Deac, well or so she thought. "Don, that's ridiculous. It's not that bad." "Y/n, do I have to get Deacon to confirm this? We had a call there just one street away from this apartment and I know this neighborhood from being a cop years ago. No way! Okay let's look at the last one." He swipes one last time, looking at a cute one story house, with a small garden. It doesn't look as bad as he likes it to be. But here it is, thank God, the dealbreaker. "Yepp, cute little house. Nice for one small person like you, " he looks up from the iPad directly into y/n's eyes, "but, it's at the other end of the city. You are going to spend many hours in your car in the morning AND on your way home." With one tap he closes the app on the tablet and softly stores it behind him out of y/n's reach. "And most important: why do you want to leave us?" He asks with puppy eyes. As if on cue another SWAT Sergeant stops at the open door. "You want to leave?" Deacon asks concerned entering the tech room and closing the door behind him. Y/n takes a deep breath "Just what I needed…" She mumbles to herself.

"What did you say, sweetheart?" Rocker chuckles as she tries to hide her blushing face from the two Sergeants.

A little over six month ago y/n moved into Deac's and Rocker's spacious house more out of an emergency and great need rather than her very own choice. There was a huge fire in her apartment building. Extinguishing water and smoke destroyed most of the apartments which were spared of the flames itself. Luckily no one died in the fire, it was in the early morning hours when the blaring of the fire alarm rudely awakened the residents who didn't have to get up before dawn. Weeks later the fire department would declare that it was an electric fire which broke out two floors under y/n's apartment. Y/n got away with smoke inhalation like many of her neighbors. But her apartment, her home she furnished and styled just the way she loved, is still unhabitable six month ago and there is no prospect of positive news from the owner of the building. From one of her former neighbors she heard that his insurance doesn't want to pay for the whole maintenance of the building. Deacon and Rocker can still fell the bubbling panic in their chests they felt the moment they heard of the fire in y/n's apartment. The younger colleague called Hondo when she arrived at the hospital, which she tried to refused but the fire fighters and paramedics made it clear that she needed to be checked out after being exposed to the smoke when she and her neighbors fled from the flames.

If the situation wouldn't have been that serious it would have been funny to watch both Deacon and Rocker fidgeting nervously around the bullpen until Hondo finally had the mercy and sent both Sergeants to the hospital to see their female friend and colleague.

Flashback

Y/n barely remembered running down the stairs only the sound of alarms screaming, the hallway thick and black and she remembered the way every breath felt heavier than the last. Someone had wrapped an arm around her waist. A neighbor? A firefighter? She couldn't tell, everything blurred together. All she knew was that she couldn't breathe. By the time the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance, her vision swam and her chest ached like it was being crushed from the inside. With the oxygen mask on her face, cool air was rushing into her lungs, but it still felt like her lungs were full of ash. "It's okay, miss. Stay with me." a voice said gently. Y/n tried to nod but her body trembled instead. Too bright. Her throat burned every time she coughed. Her chest tight and painful. Her body felt weak, heavy, like she was sinking into the uncomfortable ER gurney. Her thoughts started to wander when the commotion in the ER cubicle suddenly changed into a cold loneliness. She knew the feeling of being alone with her pain, so nothing new for the young woman. With a cold hand she brushed the small tear, which made its' way down her pale cheeks, away. "Y/n?" She knew that voice. Her eyes fluttered open. Deacon stood at her bedside, eyes full of fear. Uncommon for the always collected grey haired man. But he wasn't even trying to hide it. Rocker was right behind him, hands clenched into fists like he was holding himself together by pure will. "Thank God, you're awake…alive. You scared the hell out of us." Rocker said softly, his voice rough. "I'm sorry," she rasped, holding down the tears that threatened to fall. The other SWAT Sergeant reached for her hand carefully, like she might break. "No. Don't apologize. We've got you." The doctors explained she'd be okay, severe smoke inhalation, irritated lungs, exhaustion, but no permanent damaged if she rested properly. In the few other she had to stay in the cold and uncomfortable ER cubicle for observation both men never left her side. When the finally wanted to discharge her, it hit her like a brick: her apartment was gone. Well, fortunately not burned down, the fire broke out in another unit, but she was not allowed to go back to the building which wasn't safe. No one was allowed back inside. "You ready to flee out of this place, sweetheart?" Rocker asked to lighten the mood. But y/n just looked at her lap, playing with the hem of the scratchy blanket they gave her in the hospital. "I… I don't know what to do… the building… I can't go back. At least not yet. Who knows how long it will take to…" she admitted quietly. "You're coming with us. No room for discussion," Rocker said in his most imperious tone which only used in an interrogation or negotiation. "You're going to stay at our place, as long as you need. We have another bedroom which is not used, anyway." "I don't want to be a burden…" "Y/n," Deacon said firmly but kindly. "You're not a burden. You're our friend… you're family."

The parking garage of the hospital smelled faintly of oil and rain. Deacon slowly drove his truck out of the garage. Rocker sat in the backseat beside y/n, one arm stretched carefully behind her shoulders to keep her steady as the car rolled through the busy streets of LA. She was quiet at first, too quite if you asked both observant police Sergeants. The kind of quite that made both men tense instantly. "You okay there, sweetheart?" Rocker asked softly. She swallowed. "My head, it hurts really bad." Deacon's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Any dizziness?" She nodded slowly, instantly regretted the motion with a wince. "My chest is still burning too," she whispered. Rocker leaned closer immediately. "Hey easy. Slow breaths, remember." He said gently, "In through your nose. Out through your mouth." She tried. Y/n really tried. But the pain, the emotions and the memories of the day were overwhelming her. Her body trembled. "I…feel like I'm gonna pass out." Black spots appeared in her vision. "Hey, you're not. I've got you," Rocker said calmly, though his heart was pounding. He wrapped his arm more securely around her shaking frame as her head tipped towards her shoulder. Deacon glanced in the mirror every few seconds, a silent conversation with his friend. "If it gets words, we turn around. No arguments." He said. " 'm 'kay. Just tired." Y/n whispered weakly, seeking the comfort of Rocker's body heat. Rocker brushed his thumb gently along her sleeve. "You almost died today. You're allowed to feel like crap." A tiny breath of laugh escaped her, then turned into a painful dry cough. Rocker was instantly reaching for the water bottle. Y/n's hands shook as she drank. The mood in the car was thick. Deacon's jaw clenched harder. He'd never driven so carefully in his life.

By the time they reached the house, y/n looked pale. Her eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, breathing shallow. Both men were relieved when the car finally came to a halt on the driveway of their shared house. Rocker carefully helped her out of the car. The second her feet hit the floor, the world tilted. "Oh…" her knees buckled. Fortunately Rocker caught her immediately. Her head fell against his chest. "I'm sorry, I'm trying." She whispered weakly. "Stop apologizing, you're doing great." The other man said firmly as he hurried over. They half-walked, half-carried her inside. The house lights were warm and soft, a sharp contrast to the sterile hospital glow. As soon as they got her to the couch, y/n pressed a hand to her chest. Every breath hurt her. Rocker knelt in front of her. "Your chest? Is it burning or tight?" "Both…" Deacon was already grabbing pillows, propping her up like the nurse had shown them. After some minutes to regain more control over her breaths she looks up at both her friends. "I feel like such a burden, It's pathetic…" "Listen to me, darling. Taking care of you is a privilege. You're family, it's what we do." Deacon explained in his calm voice, she loved so much. Despite the efforts of the two SWAT Sergeants y/n didn't seem to get settled on their spacious couch. Deacon was the first one to notice her violently shivering under the soft throw blanket. He'd been sitting beside the couch, pretending to watch whatever was on TV while actually watching his friend. Her breaths were quicker now. Shallow. And her skin was flushed, cheeks pink but her lips an unhealthy pale with a bluish tint. "Rocker," the grey haired man whispered. The younger man looked up from his laptop. "She is burning up." After Deacon's words Don crossed the room fast and gently pressed the back of his hand to y/n's forehead. "Damn," he muttered softly. Y/n shifted weakly, a soft whimper leaving her lips. "Doni?" she whispered slightly confused. Rocker was on his knees immediately, her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "My head hurts so bad and my chest feels tight…" Rocker's jaw clenched, worried for his friend and angry that of all people SHE had to endure such a traumatic event, now injured and in pain. "Hey sweetheart, we're here. We've got you." She tried to sit up but swayed from the dizziness which hit her like a ton of bricks.

"Easy there," Deacon steadied the young woman and kept her from falling over, head first into the coffee table. "How about we get you settled in the guest room and then doin' something for that fever of yours."

The guest room feels warm and quiet, not the sterile quiet of the hospital but the lived-in silence of a home that held laughter in its walls. Y/n swayed on her feet on the short way from the couch to the guest room at the end of the hallway. The lights in the hallway glowed soft amber, casting long shadows across framed photos. Old team pictures, candid moments of the three of them laughing on the couch, a snapshot from a barbecue where y/n had flour on her cheek and hadn't noticed. Deacon gently guided her down the hallway. "Guest room is ready," he said softly. "Same one you always steal after movie nights." She managed a faint smile. "The good mattress," she whispered quietly. Speaking loudly too painful for her poor throat. Rocker snorted quietly. "You mean the one you refuse to leave in the morning." The guest room, or in fact y/n's room whenever she liked to stay at her friends' house and not feeling lonely and unsafe in her own apartment, was just as cozy as it ever was. It's not like she lived in a dangerous part of the city but with Deacon and Rocker she always felt save. A feeling she never experienced before in her life. Warm fairy lights strung along the headboard. A thick comforter folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Throw pillows she had once helped Rocker pick out because "they looked less like bachelor furniture". A small lamp glowed on the nightstand beside a stack of novels y/n loved. It didn't feel like a guest room. It felt like hers. They helped her sit carefully on the edge of the bed. The moment her weight settled, a sharp wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the mattress. "Oh… I don't feel good." Deacon was instantly in front of her. "Talk to me, what's wrong?" Rocker touched her forehead. Still warm. Too warm. He folded the blanket around her shoulders when they finally managed her to settled her down. As minutes passed, her breathing grew shallow again. She shifted restlessly against the blanket. Her cheeks flushed deeper. "I'm really cold…" "I know, sweetheart. But you have a high fever." The whole night both men kept turns in checking their friend's temperature, made her drink enough water and hold her when she whimpered from pain and exhaustion. Time slowed. The room filled with quiet care.

---

"Well I guess I finally overstayed your welcome. It's been six month after all and I feel like I need to leave you two to your bachelor lifestyles." Y/n explains her decision for her apartment hunting. After she was discharged from the hospital the two Sergeants nearly forced her to stay at their house rather than looking for a hotel near the SWAT station. "Bachelor lifestyle? What bachelor lifestyle? We didn't bring any women home…" Deacon tries to defend him and his friend. "…and we're super clean. Deacon is a real neat freak and I'm the best grocery shopper in the whole city." Rocker rises to speak. A cute soft chuckle can be heard out of y/n's mouth. "Yeah, I know I know. You're the best roommates I've ever had. But that's exactly the problem." Deacon and Rocker both look dumfounded. Y/n has a problem with living with them? "You two pass on having lady visitors. I can't stick to the cleaning roster because one of you is always a step ahead of me. The fridge is always filled with my stuff Rocker buys for me. I feel like a burden. I don't want to…I don't know impose on you with my presence any longer…" Y/n finishes her speech and takes a deep breath. She feared this conversation for some time now and her heart feels more heavy than ever. Of course she doesn't want to move out. She loves living with her two colleagues, with her two friends. But she is afraid that their hospitality is going to be soon consumed and she fears that this will ruin their bond. On the other hand she can't help herself but wonder how these two Sergeants wormed their way straight into her heart in such a short time, especially after the horrible time she had in the last precinct she worked for and the severe betrayal of trust from her colleagues when everything went south. Being a woman in the police force is always touch and go. The fear of not being taken seriously, of being seen as weak. But what y/n experienced was a lot of more than just being seen as the weak woman in the team. It started with verbal harassment and ended in a catastrophic event which probably never will let her go. Fortunately a senior officer, an old friend of Commander Hicks, helped her to get out of the toxic workspace environment and got her a spot with LAPD SWAT, far enough away from the still hurting events of her former precinct.

Except for Hicks nobody from her new team knows the cruel details of her past, her file is confidential, which y/n is more than happy about. Hopefully she can now leave the past finally behind her with her colleagues and her new found friends.

You were being a brat the entire morning and by now Hondo had, had enough of you rolling your eyes, talking back or simply disobeying his orders. When no one was looking Hondo pulled you into the bathrooms, he was glaring at you the entire time and ignoring your protests and questions.

When you felt Hondo unbuckle your belt and pull down your tactical pants and underwear, you let out a small squeak of surprise while glaring at him confused. Hondo paid your protests no mind. He began fingering you and teasing your clit, still not saying anything.

"You wanted to be a brat? Now you get to face the consequences Darlin'" Hondo whispered into your ear. When Hondo curled his fingers slightly, you let out a small mewl immediately covering your mouth with your hand.

Hondo pulled away your hand, with a smirk. "Nope. None of that. You're gonna have to stay veeery quiet sweetheart if you don't want us to get caught." He said with an amused sparkle in his eyes. Biting your lip, you tried not to whine as Hondo curled his fingers again. "You're- you're evil." You managed to whimper while glaring at him.

Hondo just chuckled as he pulled his fingers out, leaving you feeling empty. Then he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his pants. Spitting onto his hand Hondo pumped his cock a few times, before pushing your legs furthers apart with his knee.

He then pushed inside– no warning or anything. Biting your lip you tried not to moan as he began to move. You had barely any prep and Hondo was massive. "Act like a brat get treated like one." Hondo muttered into your hair while kissing your forehead gently. "Fuck you look so pretty right now… All fucked out and gorgeous and all mine." Hondo whispered into your ear. All you could do was whine in response as you wrapped your arms around his neck, digging your nails into his back.

Teasing your clit Hondo pressed kisses all over your face and neck, relishing in the feeling of your pussy squeezing him so tightly. "'M close–" You whimpered as you pulled him even closer, digging your nails into his back to the point where it must've hurt, but Hondo didn't complain.

Hondo pulled you into a kiss, muffling your moans as you both came. Hondo didn't pull out and just came inside with a small groan. "You didn't pull out." You mumbled confused while staring at Hondo with hazy eyes. "Mhm. That's your punishment honey– you get to feel me alllll day." Hondo smirked while pulling something out of his pocket, after he pulled out, Hondo reached a hand between your legs.

Whining you tried to push him away but Hondo just tutted amused while pushing your legs further apart again. The damn bastard had a small vibrator– and he just shoved it into your very overstimulated pussy. "Hondo–" You whined again, looking at him confused. "You're gonna keep that inside of you for the rest of shift. I won't turn it on unless you misbehave 'kay?" Hondo said while pulling up your underwear and pants, buckling your tactical belt before kissing your forehead.