#david kay

For the past few weeks, you have been trying to solve a murder case that your boss assigned you to. The case was that the body of a young woman was found in the area where the abandoned Los Angeles Zoo was located. So far, there hasn't been any witness who ties to this case. You did find that suspicious though since people always visit Griffith Park. No matter what time it is. So, why has no one come forward to say anything?

“This case is gonna be the death of me,” you groaned as you gently tossed the pictures that forensics took of the woman back on your work desk. You put your face into your hands. You wanted to solve this case already. While you had your face in your hands, the phone on your desk started to ring, “Detective Kay,” you answered.

The phone call was from Nell from dispatch to inform you that another body was found. This time the body was found near the Merry-Go-Round. That was walking distance from where the last body was found. The killer must have some sort of connection to Griffith Park. You just had to figure out why though.

“What do we have?” you asked as you approached one of your co-workers, Debra. You and Debra have worked on many cases together. You two consider each other close friends outside of work.

"The victim's name is Sarah Parker, she’s twenty-nine. She was attending UCLA to get her master's degree in Early Childhood Education,” she explained to you.

“Any witness?” you asked Debra. You were hoping that maybe someone saw something this time. You don’t want this case to end up having a serial killer targeting young women in their twenties.

“No,” she shook her head.

“Shit,” you whispered your breath.

“Is she from the area at least? Or maybe she has a roommate in the dorms back at campus?” you asked as you placed your hands on your hips.

Debra took a look at her notebook. Even though Debra has worked on the force for eleven years now, she always writes down all of the important information from each case that she works on. “Yes,” she nodded her head. “She’s from Costa Mesa, and she was actually living in the dorms with a roommate.

“What’s the roommate's name?” you asked.

“Madison Davis,” Debra answered.

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “I’ll have someone go talk to her. Maybe she can point us in the right direction to her roommate’s murderer.”

———

One of the other detectives ended up visiting Madison. Unfortunately, she couldn't give that much information. Just like Madison herself, Sarah kept to herself. She didn’t go out that much. Her and Madison were usually together most of the time since they considered each other close friends, and because they had two classes with each other too.

“Anything?” you asked Hailey, the detective who went to talk to Madison.

“No,” she shook her head. “Sarah was just a regular girl in her late twenties who was just trying to get her Master's Degree,” she said as she sat down at her desk that was across from yours.

Hailey could tell that you were frustrated by her answer. She knew that you were frustrated that you didn’t have any leads nor witnesses, or suspects for the case. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up over this. You’re gonna solve this case one way or another,” she promised.

“I really hope so,” you said. “The last thing I want is this case to either go cold, or end up having a serial killer here in Los Angeles.”

Right after you said that last part, Hailey’s phone on her desk rang. “Anderson.”

You were wondering what the phone call that Hailey received was about. You were wondering if it could be about your case, or maybe someone came forward, and contacted dispatch who then contacted any detective that works in Homicide.

“Okay, thank you. We will be right there,” Hailey said to whoever she was talking to on the other line, and hung up.

“What was that about?” you asked.

Hailey sighed, "Unfortunately, we got another body.”

“So, now I have a serial killer on my hands.”

———

You and Hailey arrived at the crime scene. This time the crime scene took place right off to the side of the Museum of the West where some picnic tables were. Whoever was behind these killings definitely has to have some sort of special connection to Griffith Park. You just had to find out what though.

“Who’s the victim?” you asked Debra. She was the one who arrived first on the scene.

“Vanessa Thomas. She's twenty-five, from Anaheim, and she was attending USC, studying Real Estate,” she said.

You sighed. You couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the victim and for the other two. You have dealt with many homicides before, but this case was different from the others.

“Any witness?” you asked. A part of you felt dumb asking that question since you haven't had the greatest luck with having witnesses to any of the crimes.

“No,” Debra shook her head. “But there’s a camera right over there in the parking lot. We could contact someone who can look into the footage to see if the camera caught anything,” Debra explained.

When Debra explained that, you immediately knew who you could call to check the camera footage for you. You could call your husband Deacon. Granted, it wasn’t his case or anything like that, but he can still help you with it. “I know the right person to call,” you chirped.

Debra and Hailey both just nodded their heads. They both had a feeling who you were referring to.

You grabbed your phone from your back pocket and walked a few feet away from Debra and Hailey. You opened up your phone to Deacon’s contact and pressed his number to call him. You heard ringing when you put your phone to your ear, so you knew that his phone was on, and you were hoping that he wasn’t on a call, so then he could answer you.

“Sergeant Kay,” he answered on the fourth ring.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said into the phone. “Are you busy?”

“No, I’m not. What do you need?” Deacon’s voice went into a softer tone when he realized that it was you calling him, and not one of his colleagues.

“So, the murder case that I told you about a few weeks ago,” you started to explain to Deacon over the phone. “Well, I most likely have a serial killer on my hands since this case has three bodies instead of one now. And so far, there haven’t been any witnesses or any street cameras that could have caught anything, but the third victim was found off to the side where the Museum of the West is, and luckily, there’s a camera in the parking lot a few feet away, so I’m wondering if the camera caught something.”

“What’s the address and the parking lot number?” Deacon asked. On the other side of the phone, Deacon made his way over to the computer room.

“3500 Crystal Springs Dr, Parking Lot 5.”

Deacon was in the computer room at SWAT HQ and he typed in the address and the parking lot number. When he typed it in, he got lucky. He was able to find camera footage.

“What time did the murder occur?” Deacon asked you.

“Well, depending on the temperature of her body. We think roughly around 4am,” you said. “Also we are ninety-nine percent sure that the suspect is killing somewhere else, and then dropping the bodies here in Griffith Park,” you explained.

“Got it.”

Deacon fast-forwarded the footage to that time. When he did, he was looking for anything that looked out of the ordinary. Anything that could help you solve this case, or point you in the right direction so then you can solve it.

“See anything?” you asked. You were just waiting patiently now. You were waiting to see if your husband was able to find anything on the footage.

“Not really,” he said. “Just some wildlife just roaming around the parking lot,” Deacon said to lighten up the mood. Even though you and Deacon haven't seen each other since you two left this morning for work, he knew that you were most likely in an overwhelming mood due to this case. So, of course, Deacon is going to try to say something funny or cute to lighten up your mood.

“Funny,” you smiled lightly.

“I know.”

After Deacon went through the parts of the footage where there were just wildlife animals roaming around, he got to around the 4:40am mark, and that’s when something caught his eye. By the looks of it, it seemed like a mini SUV drove into the parking lot at that time. Deacon carefully watched whoever was driving the car, park, and get out of the driver's side. The person made their way to the trunk of their car and opened it. The person who appeared to be male, grabbed a woman who was unconscious and threw her off his shoulder.

“Y/N,” Deacon said to get your attention from the other side of the phone. He rarely calls you by your first name. He tends to say it whenever something serious is going on, and of course, this situation was.

“Yeah?” you asked Deacon.

“I think I found something,” he said.

“What is it?” you asked.

Deacon took a deep breath, “The camera caught your suspect taking your victim out of his car and throwing her over his shoulder and walking off to leave her body at the picnic area that’s next to the museum,” he explained.

“Can you get a good look at his face?”

Deacon didn’t even answer your question. He immediately started to go through face recognition to see who the guy might be. Deacon was holding out hope for you. He was hoping that he could give you an answer on who your suspect is.

Deacon got lucky. Face recognition did recognize your suspect.

“Your suspect is Shawn Campbell. He’s thirty-two, and he's a resident of Los Feliz,” Deacon said.

You can’t believe it. You can’t believe this is finally coming to an end. You’re gonna be able to put the man who killed three innocent women behind bars for the rest of his life. The victim's families are gonna be able to feel at ease that you’re bringing justice for their loved ones.

“What’s the address?"

“5473 Los Feliz Boulevard,” Deacon said.

“Okay,” you nodded your head. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” he said. “Just be careful when arresting this guy. If it gets out of hand, I’ll be happy to assist you.”

It melted your heart that Deacon would be willing to do that if that happens. You were very grateful to call him your husband. “I will.”

You ended your phone call with Deacon and walked back to Hailey and Debra.

“Anything?” Debra asked.

“His name is Shawn Campbell. He’s thirty-two, and his address is 5473 Los Feliz Boulevard," you informed them both.

“Oh shit,” Hailey was shocked. She couldn’t believe what she just heard from you.

“Let’s go get this guy then,” Debra said.

———

You arrived first at the suspect’s house. You know that you should wait for Debra and Hailey to arrive, but you just couldn’t. You needed to immediately arrest the suspect. Before he kills another innocent woman who didn’t deserve to die.

You got out of your unmarked car, and walked up the pathway of the property, up to the door. There was a car in the driveway, so someone had to be home. The car was most likely the same car that the suspect stored his victims in when he drove to the destinations to drop them off at. You rang the doorbell. You stood there patiently, waiting for someone to answer the door. While you were waiting, you ended up hearing some sort of noise that came from the side of the house. Without any hesitation, you immediately pulled your gun out of your holster and walked over to the side gate of the property.

You opened the gate with one hand and made your way into the backyard. When you approached the backyard, it seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. You were wondering what the noise could actually be. You then made your way to the back patio to see if maybe the doors would be unlocked, but then you heard someone say something right behind you, so you turned around, and that was it. Your body hit the pavement.

———

You woke up at least two hours later. You woke up in what appears to be some gym. You quickly noticed that it was run down and abandoned. You noticed that you had to be near a busy street or the freeway since you could hear cars driving.

“What were you thinking?” you asked yourself. “You should have waited for backup,” you shook your head. “You’re so stupid,” you started to beat yourself up. You looked down at yourself and realized that your hands were tied and your feet too, and that your gun was missing from your holster too. You have no way to defend yourself if you somehow find a way to free yourself from the ropes.

———

It’s been three hours since Deacon had the phone call with you. He was starting to worry. He thought that by now, you would have arrested the suspect and processed him, so that he could go to the local county jail.

“You okay, Deac?” Hondo asked him when he walked into the locker room. Deacon just got done doing a workout, so he was changing back into his uniform.

“No,” he shook his head.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“So,” Deacon sighed. “This might sound out of this world, but I have a bad feeling that something happened to Y/N. I can’t explain what could happen to her, but I just know that it isn’t good.”

“What makes you say that?” Hondo asked. He was even starting to get worried about your whereabouts. You were close to everyone on 20-squad. You considered them as your second family.

“Well, earlier today, she called me since she needed a favor,” Deacon started to explain. “The favor was that she wanted me to look at some camera footage from a parking lot that was right near a case that she’s working on at the moment. So, I did,” he said. “And I got lucky and was able to find something useful in the footage, and that ended up being the suspect being caught on surveillance. So, I put it through our face recognition, and was able to get the name and address of the suspect to give to her. Then once I did, we ended our call since she was planning to go to the suspect's house to arrest him.”

“And you think that maybe when she went to the suspect’s house that something must have happened to her?” Hondo asked. Hondo started to feel bad for Deacon.

“Yeah,” Deacon nodded his head.

“Does she perhaps have her location on? Maybe that’s how you can ping her location to tell if she’s safe or in trouble, and needs help.”

Deacon didn’t even think of that. He didn't even consider seeing if your phone could ping your last location. He was hoping that he would get lucky and see where you could be.

Deacon headed out of the locker room, Hondo following behind him. The two of them entered the computer room and Deacon went to one of the computers and typed in your phone number. When Deacon did, he ended up getting lucky. Your phone did ping a location.

“Her phone says that she’s in some building, but it looks like it’s not the station, so where else could she be because that doesn't look like the Los Feliz area at all. That looks like it’s near the freeway,” Deacon said.

“Zoom in. Maybe we will be able to see what type of building it is,” Hondo said.

Deacon zoomed in, so that him and Hondo could get a better look at the building. They could tell it was also in an industrial area. There weren’t any shopping centers, homes, or schools near it.

Deacon stopped zooming in, and asked, “Is it me or does that look like the abandoned Lincoln Heights Jail?”

“No, it definitely does,” Hondo agreed. “Let the rest of the team know what’s going on then after we are rolling out.”

“Got it,” Deacon nodded.

———

You weren’t sure where the suspect was. You weren't sure if he was somewhere in the building. Or if he left the building and went somewhere. You were wondering if any of your coworkers knew that you were missing, or even your own husband.

“I need to get out of here,” you said to yourself. You weren't exactly sure how you would get out, but you knew that you needed to.

“You weren't going anywhere, Detective,” Shawn, the suspect, walked into the gymnasium. He was holding a gun, your department-issued gun. He must have picked it up after you hit the pavement back at his house. "You're gonna be my next victim," he crouched down next to her and pointed your gun at the temple of your head.

It felt like your world just stopped. Your heart rate started to go up and you started to shake. You didn’t want this to be the last moments of your life. This wasn't the way you wanted to die. You didn’t want to die at the hands of a murderer. You then heard the safety turn off from your gun, but before the suspect could put his finger on the trigger. You heard the words that you were hoping to hear.

“LAPD SWAT,” Hondo yelled when he and Deacon entered the gymnasium. Their lights from their guns were shining on you and Shawn who still had your gun pressed to your temple.

“Put the gun down or we will shoot,” Deacon demanded. He just wanted to have this situation end safely and not in a bad way.

Surprisingly, the suspect did listen. He lowered your gun from your temple, placed it next to him, and raised his hands in the air. Hondo kicked the gun away, so then the suspect wouldn't try any move and try to reach for it. Hondo was the one who went ahead and arrested the suspect and took him downstairs.

Deacon helped you get united from the ropes. He helped you stand back up on your two feet, and the second that you were back up on your feet, you wrapped your arms around Deacon and started crying into his chest.

“Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here,” Deacon comforted you. Deacon planted a kiss on the top of your head. You two just stood there for a little bit. You didn’t want to leave your husband's arms. You felt so safe in his arms. “We should get you checked out by the paramedics,” he said.

You nodded your head. You unwrapped your arms from Deacon and he led the two of you out of the building.

———

“The only thing you have is a slight concussion and a sprained wrist. Other than that, you are free to go, but if anything pops up, or your headache starts to get worse, head over to the hospital. Got it?” The paramedic, Stella said.

“Got it,” you nodded your head.

“Thanks,” Deacon gave Stella a light smile, then she walked over and back to the ambulance to head back to the station where she works.

“Thank you for saving me,” you thanked Deacon when he took a seat next to you on the tailgate of Black Betty.

“Of course,” he smiled at you. “I’m always here for you.”

taglist: @auroralightsthesky @sunflowerleii @spnshortcake

The divorce left Deacon reeling for a while, so when he met you, it was like a tether back to Earth. Your easy smile, loud laughter, and dedication to everything you cared about had his knees weak and head fuzzy.

He took it slow, wanting to make sure this was something you really wanted: an older guy with a dangerous job and kids (he already knew he wanted you).

When he realized you were as committed as he was, his whole world lit up. He was head over heels.

The physical aspect of it is what gave him nerves. He hadn't been with anyone in bed since Annie, hadn't touched anyone but her for years.

When he finally had you there, laid out in bed all undressed, he froze. He felt like such a fucking fool, but there nerves, the anxiety, had him stuck. Luckily, you understood, and guided the way.

You pulled him down into a kiss, taking his hands and gently guiding them to your chest, to your hips and thighs, letting out soft moans as he took the hint and touched you.

You could feel his hands trembling as he cupped and kneaded your breasts, fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples and reveling in your moans.

His hands roamed over your stomach and hips, squeezing the soft flesh, so different from Annie's slimmer build. The way you arched into him, like you were craving him, made his skin warm and his cock harden.

His mind was spinning. Your scent in his nose, the soft warmth of your body beneath him. There was so much he wanted to do, so many things he wanted to try. He was always in charge, always knew what to do, but he couldn't fucking decide.

You looked up into his eyes, seeing the conflicting thoughts behind them and smiled, cupping his cheek and whispering. "I want you in me, Deac. We have all the time in the world to try things together."

His brain seemed to slow, the thoughts narrowing to you, underneath him. He cracked a smile and pressed his lips to yours, humming as you took his calloused hand and slid it between your thighs.

Oh, holy shit.

You were so wet, absolutely drenched, just from him. His forehead rested against yours, eyes closed and lips parted as he breathed heavily and eased a finger into you. You were so tight, so willing and you were all his.

Your eager moans had him slipping a second finger in, eyes fluttering open to watch the expression on your face as he prepped you. And you were praising him.

"Fuck, Deac-.. Just like that, oh my gosh.."

He couldn't take it. He slipped out of you and gripped his cock, tip slitted right against your entrance. But he still hesitated. Your hands cupped his cheeks and he looked at you, looked at the excitement in your eyes. And you were asking for him, asking for him to take you.

"Please, Deacon, I want this. I want you."

He thrust into you slow and steady, trying to stop and let you adjust but you were so hungry for him. Legs around his waist, hands clawing at his back, practically begging.

"Oh- yes, yes, please-"

He let you guide him, his head empty of everything except for you. Your walls around him, clenching tight, your thighs locked around his hips. Your nails digging into his back and clawing, your whines and whimpers and pleas for him go harder, faster, deeper.

“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.

Taglist:

In your bakery’s kitchen, you sit and press the back of your hand against your mouth. The last week or so, you have been nauseous, and emotional, and the smells you once found mouthwateringly amazing are now causing your stomach to churn.

“What are you making, boss?” your employee Tristan asks. “Smells amazing.”

You increase the pressure of your hand against your mouth while fighting the urge to throw up. It hits you then: you might be pregnant. What other explanation exists for a sudden sensitivity to certain smells and tastes, plus the morning sickness that has been pulling you out of bed even before Deacon wakes?

“Tristan, I need you to take over,” you say quickly. “I have a quick errand to run, and it may turn into a personal day.”

“Sure thing. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. There’s lemon snaps in the oven and cheesecake filling setting in the fridge. Schedule’s on the board, call if you need anything.”

“Of course. Don’t worry about anything, just take care of you.”

You nod in thanks, then hang your apron on its designated hook before gathering your things. There’s a pharmacy just a few blocks away, but you want to take the tests at home rather than in a public restroom.

In less than an hour, you have five tests waiting on your bathroom sink as you sit on the edge of the tub and watch your leg bounce with the timer on your phone. When it dings, you exhale before you stand. You don’t have time to wonder how you’ll feel if they’re negative before you see two pink lines. Then, a plus sign. And a digital message reading ‘Pregnant 3+.’ Every test is positive.

You smile as you gather the tests and place them in a box below the sink. Telling Deacon has to be special, but you don’t want to wait. A baker joke, you think as you prepare to return to the bakery. It will be perfect.

Your stop at the bakery is quick; you ensure Tristan and the rest of your staff are doing well, then gather an assortment of treats. You ensure that Deacon and his team’s known favorites are included before you leave for HQ.  Since marrying Deacon, you’ve been welcomed into their station more times than you can count, and they’re family to you.

“Wait,” Deacon says, dropping his guard.

“For what?” Street asks as he steps back.

“See how he perked up like a dog?” Luca points out.

“Uh, yeah.”

Hondo interrupts to explain, “That means his wife is incoming. I’d say in about, three… two…”

“Mrs. Kay!” Rocker yells around the corner.

“I’m getting pretty good at that, Deac!” Hondo brags. “Watch your back, my man.”

“Hi, guys!” you greet as you round the corner.

Rocker is carrying the boxes for you now, and Deacon’s team can’t decide whether to look at you or the baked goods you brought them.

“Dig in, they’re still warm,” you say.

Luca, Hondo, and Street tap your arm gently in thanks as they follow Rocker to a nearby table. Deacon smiles as he exits the ring and walks to your side.

“I missed you,” you murmur as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Missed you too,” Deacon agrees. “I didn’t get to see you for long this morning. Are you feeling better?”

You nod, remembering that a few hours ago, you were sick but didn’t know why. Now, you press your hand against your thigh to keep it from resting on your nonexistent baby bump.

“I brought your favorite again,” you tell Deacon. “I’ve been thinking that I could use that flavor in some other kind of recipe, maybe make it a bit savory somehow.”

“Anything you make will be amazing.”

“Like you?” you ask, smiling as you lean against his side.

“Like you.” Deacon keeps his arm around your waist and drops his chin to kiss you quickly. He looks at the open boxes and says, “You brought more today.”

“I made a ton,” you agree. Then, you smile as you add, “Plus, there’s a bun in the oven.”

Deacon’s brows furrow, but his smile never drops as he asks, “Just one? That’s a terrible business plan.”

You laugh, caught off guard by how easily your pregnancy announcement went over his head. Deacon has been incredibly attuned to you and your needs since long before you were married. Yet, when you tell him you’re pregnant, he thinks you’re talking about your bakery.

“I’m going to go get some before it’s all gone,” Deacon whispers, carefully removing his arm from around you.

“Enjoy,” you murmur, shaking your head in amusement.

“The weekly visits may have been a terrible idea,” Deacon announces when he returns home after his shift. “It’s just enough time to make me want you around more.”

“I’m sure Hondo feels the same,” you agree.

“What are you up to?”

Deacon wraps his arms around your waist and drops his chin to your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your neck. You lean against him and set your pen aside, the beginnings of a new recipe jotted down in your favorite recipe binder.

“I started baking a new recipe,” you begin carefully, “but it won’t be ready for 8 months, give or take.”

Deacon hums, then asks, “How do you get your recipes so perfect? Besides being brilliant and all the time you put in?”

You close your eyes, smile, and drop your head against his shoulder. Deacon is smart, but it seems he’s entirely oblivious when it comes to a baby.

“Mostly time, trial and error,” you answer. “Which hopefully only applies to baking and not making other things.”

“Are you going to work tomorrow?” Deacon asks.

“No. Why? Did you get called in?”

“You’re stuck with me.”

You hum and decide to try a more direct approach. “I promise that if I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom to be sick, it’s not because of you,” you joke. “The bun in my oven just doesn’t seem to like mornings.”

Deacon nods against you before he steps back and offers to make dinner. You consider showing him the positive tests, but now you want to see how long it will take for Deacon to realize what you’ve been trying to tell him all day.

Forty-eight hours after learning that you are expecting a baby with your husband, Deacon, he has yet to catch on to a single one of your hints. You’ve tried every version of the ‘bun in the oven’ line, mentioned that you shouldn’t have rum cake, made jokes about your morning sickness, and even pointed out that being a baker is the perfect occupation to make it easier to eat for two. Deacon Kay is oblivious, you’ve discovered.

So, to get your mind off the dilemma of how to tell your husband without just blurting out I’m pregnant, you’ve taken to experimenting in the kitchen. When the third batch of your sweet and savory cookie crisps is finished, you carry the tray around the bakery and ask for your employees’ opinions. After six of them give you a thumbs up and one admits that she doesn’t like crunchy cookies, you package the new item and wave goodbye to your kitchen assistant.

You’re going over your weekly visit to SWAT HQ, but you don’t care. As you walk in, you hear Deacon talking.

“Hello, beautiful,” Hondo calls. “I finally beat Deacon to you.”

“Not by much,” Deacon points out as he walks to your side. “Whoa, what are those?”

“They don’t have a name yet,” you answer, passing the box to him. “They’re a twist on a savory chocolate chip cookie crisp.”

“I’m sorry,” Hondo tells you, laying his hand on your shoulder. “Your husband was distracted by the cookies. How are you feeling?”

Deacon rolls his eyes and passes the box of cookies to Street.

“How did you come up with this recipe?” Luca inquires.

You decide that now, surrounded by your friends, is as good a time as any to try one more time.

“I think the bun in the oven is making me a better baker,” you admit.

The men around you freeze, and everything is silent for several seconds.

“Congratulations!” Luca exclaims, hugging you tightly.

Hondo points at you with a bright smile and says, “You can’t give me that look when I call you Mama now!”

“Oh my gosh,” Street murmurs, reaching toward your stomach. “Can we call them Cookie?”

You laugh and say, “Sounds like I’m bloated, but sure.”

“What?” Deacon asks slowly. When you look back at him, his eyes are wide, and his brows are raised high on his forehead. “What?” he repeats.

“I’ve been telling you for two days, Deacon!”

“No, you haven’t!”

You smile and take Deacon’s hand. “You’re way too pretty to be this oblivious.”

“Hey, if pretty’s all you’re after,” Hondo interjects, shrugging as he raises a cookie toward his mouth.

“Back off,” Deacon chides playfully. He looks at you and asks, “You’re pregnant?”

You smile and nod as you raise your hands to his shoulders. “You’re going to be a dad, Sergeant Kay.”

Deacon’s eyes brighten as he smiles. Then, his smile drops long enough for him to mumble, “Oh.”

“You just caught on to everything I’ve been saying,” you accuse.

Deacon kisses you rather than admitting you’re right but pulls back quickly when Street asks, “Hey, can I be the godfather?”

“Over my dead body,” Hondo answers lowly.

“I feel like we’re interrupting something,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I love you,” Deacon replies.

“I love you, too. And if this baby is anywhere near as sweet as you, everyone here is going to love them, too.”

This wasn’t love... just a passing fling.

At least, that’s what Deacon Kay told himself as he gripped the wheel of the sports car she’d lent him. He wasn’t even sure who it belonged to—hers, an ex’s, or maybe her brother’s—but honestly, he didn’t care. He was too busy basking in the thrill of whatever they’d shared, too caught up in the rush that came from the way she made him feel.

He hadn’t planned on it. He didn’t plan on her. She was an enigma, a spark in the dark, pulling him in despite everything he knew better than to ignore. They’d met at a friend’s party, the kind of gathering where people gathered just to say they’d gone. She was the niece of one of his S.W.A.T. teammates. Twenty-two, fresh out of college, with a tenacity and a passion that rivaled anyone he’d ever known. And that smile of hers—carefree, wild, like the world had no limits—had drawn him in immediately.

When she walked into that room, all eyes turned toward her. The kind of woman who didn’t need to demand attention because she had it effortlessly. He found himself watching her as she chatted with everyone in that easy, unpretentious way, her laughter cutting through the buzz of the conversation.

She caught him staring once, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“What?” she asked, teasing, but he could see the curiosity there, like she was daring him to answer.

And answer, he did. “Nothing,” he muttered, trying to shift his gaze.

“Uh-huh.” She smiled knowingly and didn’t let it go. She knew he was intrigued. And the thing was, Deacon had never been one to fall for a dare. But with her, it was different.

She wasn’t like the women he usually dated, polished and composed in a way that kept him at arm’s length. No, she was real, raw, and spontaneous. And maybe that was the problem. He hadn’t been prepared for someone like her. Someone who didn’t care about rules.

She didn’t chase perfection—she embraced the chaos. And for once, Deacon liked that. Hell, maybe he needed it.

So, they spent a night talking, laughing, and dancing around unspoken words. He didn’t kiss her that night, but the way she kept inching closer told him she wanted to. She didn’t need to say it out loud, but he could feel it in every glance. Every touch of her hand brushing against his. It was the kind of thing that could spiral out of control if given the chance.

But when the night ended, she handed him the keys to the red sports car and just smiled. “Take it for a spin. I’m not really attached to it anyway.”

The words were casual. No strings attached. And Deacon, thinking it would be a quick escape from the weight of his responsibilities, accepted without a second thought.

What he didn’t expect was how quickly she’d make him crave something more.

He found himself, standing frozen in front of her doorstep, a storm of conflicting thoughts swirling in his mind. The cool evening air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the tension gnawing at his chest. He lifted his hand, fingers hovering just above the door as his mind raced.

What was he doing here? He should’ve let it go. He should’ve left things as they were—quiet, unresolved, and safe. But the weight of the words he never said, the space between them that felt too wide to bridge, had haunted him for days.

He hadn't expected her to walk away like that. But it was the one thing he was certain of now—she wouldn’t have left if he hadn’t held back. If he hadn’t kept her at arm's length, just like he’d always done with everything else in his life.

His hand wavered in mid-air, and for a moment, he considered turning around. Walking away and never looking back, telling himself he was just fine without closure.

But it wasn’t that simple.

He could almost hear her voice, that laugh that never failed to get under his skin, that challenge in her eyes whenever she told him he was too serious, too careful, too much of everything that kept him safe.

The truth settled heavily in his gut. The truth he’d refused to face.

He wasn’t safe. He was just hiding.

With a deep breath, he let his hand fall to the door. He knocked.

The sound echoed through the quiet night, and for the first time in weeks, he felt something close to hope stir inside him.

The door swings open, and her face lights up the moment she sees him. "Hi, David!"

He shouldn't feel this good, hearing his name—well, his first name—fall from her lips. The way she says it, soft and sultry, like it’s something meant only for him, twists something deep inside of him. He clears his throat, fighting the instinct to smile. “Hey,” he mutters, his voice rougher than he intends.

For a split second, he wonders if she notices. But then her eyes lock onto his, and the air between them shifts—charged, familiar, and a little dangerous. He knows this feeling too well, knows how quickly it can slip into something he can’t control.

She takes a step forward, her body language easy and confident. But there’s something in the way she holds herself—something a little softer, more vulnerable. Maybe it’s the way her hand brushes against her hair, or the way her lips linger just a little longer than necessary when she speaks.

“How’ve you been?” she asks, her voice warm, pulling him in like a magnet.

He inhales sharply, trying to keep the tension from curling in his chest. "Same old," he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but he knows he’s failing. His pulse quickens just a little, and it pisses him off that one simple greeting can make him feel this way.

Her eyes flicker, searching his face like she’s trying to decipher him, figure him out. She knows him too well for that—always did.

He takes a step back, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossing over his chest instinctively. “You know,” he starts, his voice steadying, “I shouldn’t even be here.”

Her lips curl into a playful smile, but there’s a hint of something more—something like regret. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He shakes his head, as if trying to push the thoughts out of his mind. "Because I told you once... I don't do feelings."

Her smile falters for a second, but she quickly recovers. "We both know that’s a lie, David."

For a moment, he just stands there, the silence between them thickening. She's always been able to read him like an open book, always known exactly what to say to get under his skin. He wants to argue, to tell her she’s wrong. But the truth is... she’s not.

His heart beats a little too fast, and he curses the way her voice still manages to slip into his veins, just like it always has. She’s dangerous, and he knows it.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not done chasing the danger.

She pulls him in and the air grows hotter by the minute, she whispers, "You and me are more alike than you think ... stop trying to fight it, just let it go."

He inhaled a deep breath, weighing the pros and cons of what he was about to do. At fifty-three, he was far beyond the point of being carefree. She, on the other hand, was twenty-two—an age gap too significant to ignore. If his friends ever caught wind of this, he couldn't even imagine how damaged his reputation would be. They’d think he was reckless.

They’d think he was selfish. But as his gaze locked with hers, and he saw the fiery desire flicker between them, he couldn’t deny the pull. Every rational thought was drowned out by the heat in her eyes, the way her lips parted just slightly as if inviting him into a world he’d long kept locked away. In that moment, every ounce of hesitation melted away. He didn’t want to fight it anymore. He didn’t want to walk away from this—whatever "this" was.

As he stood there, his eyes locked onto hers, the world around them melted away. The only sound was the soft hum of the crickets and the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees. Deacon's chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. He could feel the tension between them, a palpable force that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

She took another step closer, her eyes never leaving his. Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke, "You and me, we're not so different, David. We both like to live on the edge, to push the limits and see how far we can go." Her words were like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a flame that seemed to burn brighter with each passing moment.

Deacon's arms uncrossed, his hands falling to his sides as he felt himself being drawn to her. He could feel the heat emanating from her body, a warmth that seemed to seep into his pores and spread through his veins like wildfire. His eyes never left hers, his gaze drinking in the sight of her, the way her hair fell in loose waves down her back, the way her lips curled into a sultry smile.

"I'm not sure I can do this," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat.

She took another step closer, her body inches from his. "You're not sure you can do what?" she asked, her voice low and husky, her breath whispering against his skin.

Deacon's eyes closed, his head tilting back as he felt her lips brush against his ear. "I'm not sure I can walk away from you," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

Her arms slid around his waist, her body pressing against his. "I don't want you to walk away," she whispered, her lips tracing a path along his jawline. "I want you to stay, to see where this goes."

Deacon's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto hers. He could see the desire burning in her eyes, a flame that seemed to match the one burning in his own chest. He knew he should walk away, that he should leave her alone and forget about the way she made him feel. But he couldn't, not now, not when she was standing in front of him, her body pressed against his, her lips inches from his.

With a groan, Deacon gave in, his lips crashing down onto hers. The kiss was like a storm, a wild and reckless thing that seemed to sweep them both up in its wake. Their lips moved in perfect sync, their tongues tangling as they devoured each other. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the heat of the moment.

As they broke apart for air, Deacon's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with desire. "I want you," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I want you too," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their own ragged breathing.

With a growl, Deacon swept her up into his arms, his lips crashing down onto hers once again. He knew he was playing with fire, that he was risking everything for a chance at something real. But he didn't care, not now, not when she was in his arms, her body pressed against his, her lips burning with desire.

As they stumbled into the bedroom, their bodies entwined, Deacon knew he was in trouble. He was falling, hard and fast, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to catch himself again. But for now, he didn't care, not when she was by his side, her body wrapped around his, her lips burning with desire.

As they shed their clothes, the room seemed to grow hotter, the air thickening with anticipation. The soft rustle of their skin as they moved against each other was like music, a sensual melody that built in intensity with each passing moment. Deacon's hands roamed her body, tracing a path along her curves, his fingers dipping into the softness of her skin, leaving a trail of sparks in their wake.

His hands found her breasts, cupping them tenderly, his thumbs brushing against her nipples, sending shivers down her spine. She moaned, her body arching against his, her lips tracing a path along his jawline, her tongue darting out to taste the skin on his neck. Deacon's eyes closed, his head tilting back as he felt her lips brush against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

"I want you," she whispered, her voice low and husky, her breath whispering against his skin, sending a wave of desire crashing over him. Deacon's eyes snapped open, his gaze locking onto hers, seeing the desire burning in her eyes, a flame that seemed to match the one burning in his own chest. With a groan, he gave in, his body surging forward as he buried himself deep inside her, feeling her warmth envelop him like a glove.

The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the heat of the moment. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, their skin sliding against each other as they devoured each other, the tension building with each passing moment. Deacon's hands roamed her body, tracing a path along her curves, his fingers dipping into the softness of her skin, sending sparks flying as they moved together.

As they reached the peak, their bodies locked together, their lips burning with desire, Deacon felt like he was drowning in her eyes, losing himself in the depths of her passion. "I'm falling," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their own ragged breathing, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her lips curling up into a sultry smile. "I'm falling too," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of their own ragged breathing, her body trembling with pleasure.

As they came crashing down, their bodies spent, their hearts still racing with desire, Deacon knew he was in trouble, that he was falling, hard and fast, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to catch himself again. But for now, he didn't care, not when she was by his side, her body wrapped around his, her lips burning with desire. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, feeling her heart beating against his chest, and knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

As they lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, Deacon couldn't help but think about the way she made him feel, like he was home, like he was exactly where he was meant to be. He thought about the way her skin felt against his, like silk, like fire, like the only thing that mattered in the world. He thought about the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, the way her lips curled up into a sultry smile, and he knew that he was hooked, that he was falling, and he didn't want to be caught.

Their bodies still trembled with pleasure, their hearts still racing with desire, Deacon knew that this was just the beginning, that this was just the start of something amazing, something that would change his life forever. And as he looked into her eyes, he knew that he was ready, ready to fall, ready to lose himself in her, ready to give himself to her, body and soul.

Yet nothing, truly ever lasts.

════════════════════════════════════════════

It was a whirlwind—six months of pure, reckless passion, a secret entanglement neither one of them wanted to end. She had never experienced anything like it before. Every touch, every stolen moment, was a blur of heat and quiet yearning, a world built just for them. For the first time in her life, she felt loved, cared for, and safe. Safe in his arms, safe in his silence. Deacon didn’t say much, but in his presence, she never needed words. He was her calm in the chaos. His steady gaze was her anchor. With him, she could breathe easier, as if everything was finally where it should be. But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

And deep down, she knew that.

The moment the clock struck midnight, it was as if they’d both lived in a dream for far too long. She had loved him quietly—without expectations, without asking for anything more. She let herself fall, let him catch her. But he always held her at arm’s length. He’d never say it, but she knew. He was holding back. The age difference, the responsibilities, the rules they both kept breaking—it was always looming over them. And she tried to convince herself that she was fine with it, that she was enough for those stolen nights and fleeting kisses. But deep down, the loneliness started creeping in, even when he was right next to her.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that one day, it would all come crashing down. She’d be left in the wake of a man who couldn’t give her what she wanted.

And then one day, it happened.

He pushed her away. Quietly. Gently.

No loud confrontations, no fights. Just a calm, empty space between them, one that grew wider by the day. She watched as he started pulling away, emotionally, physically—like he was afraid to let her in. Like he was afraid of the very thing he had given her: trust.

The text came a week later. “You deserve someone who can give you more. I can’t do this.”

She couldn’t breathe when she read it. All those nights, all those stolen moments, had meant nothing more than a fleeting distraction to him. She wasn’t enough. Not now, not ever. Her chest tightened, the weight of his words sinking in deeper than she could’ve imagined. Six months, gone in the blink of an eye. He’d been so careful with her, like a dream just out of reach, and now it was shattered. She couldn't even feel the tears until they were already streaming down her face.

She slammed the door of her red sports car, the same one she’d lent him, and drove. The engine roared under her, matching the storm in her chest. The car felt like a part of her now, just like the memory of them had been—something she could hold on to before it slipped away. She drove straight to his place, fists gripping the wheel, vision blurry with rage and hurt.

When he answered the door, his face unreadable, she didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped inside like she owned the space, the room suddenly feeling too small, the silence too loud.

With her hands trembling, she wiped the wetness from her cheeks, but it didn’t stop. The tears kept coming, unbidden, raw. Her voice cracked as she asked the only question that had been screaming in her head: “Why?”

His gaze faltered, and he sighed deeply, like he’d been carrying this weight longer than she had. His words came slowly, each one like a knife: "I... I don't know. You're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you. Your uncle is my teammate—I'm not gonna do this to him."

Her stomach churned, and before she could stop herself, the words burst out, full of fire and pain. "Are you fucking kidding me?" she half-yelled, her voice trembling with both fury and heartbreak. "Six months… we spent six months together, and this is what I get? I thought what we had was real!"

The silence that followed was suffocating. His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to meet hers. He wasn’t angry—just defeated. And it hit her harder than she ever expected. She was nothing more than a moment, a fleeting distraction for him. And for her? He’d been everything.

"So this is it, huh?" she said shakily, her voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through him like a blade. "I was just a way for you to feel something—anything—to forget the weight of your job, to pretend that you're still alive for a while."

Her words were like knives, each one piercing deeper, twisting with every breath she took. They struck at the rawest parts of him, the places he had spent years burying beneath layers of control.

"Sweetheart," he whispered hoarsely, his throat tight with the sting of regret. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, but it felt like there was nothing left to say. Nothing could undo the damage.

"No!" she growled, her voice thick with tears, her hands trembling at her sides. The fury in her eyes was like a storm about to consume them both. "No! I don’t deserve this... I don’t deserve you," she spat, her chest heaving as the anger gave way to heartbreak. "Go to hell, Deacon."

It wasn’t David this time—her ex, her past. No, it was him. Just Deacon. And the finality in her words hit him harder than anything he'd ever faced in his years on the force. As she turned to leave, her footsteps echoing in the silence of their broken world, he felt the weight of her departure in the pit of his stomach.

She walked away, and with every step, the truth settled in. She was gone for good. She wasn’t coming back. And no matter how many times he replayed that moment in his mind, he couldn’t rewrite it. She had shattered his heart into pieces he knew would never truly heal. The damage was done. And no matter how many miles she put between them, no matter how far she ran in that red sports car of hers, her words would follow him forever—knives in his chest, twisting, reminding him of what he had lost.

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: