Six days after someone tried to put a blade between your ribs, the High Council gathered beneath the emerald banners of House Avelor to decide whether your greatest danger was the assassin, the dragon, or the fact that you remained unmarried.

The council chamber had been built to impress visiting kings.

It succeeded.

Sunlight poured through the tall arched windows in clean, silver sheets, catching on the polished stone floor and the banners hung between pillars carved with dragon wings. Beyond the glass, Crownreach Palace dropped in pale terraces toward the Silvermere, where the lake flashed bright enough to make grief look holy.

You did not look at the reeds.

You kept your hands folded on the council table instead, one thumb resting lightly over the other. The movement pulled at the healing cut beneath your ribs, a thin line of pain sharp enough to remind you that the assassin’s blade had missed your lung by less than two fingers. The gown chosen for you was Avelor emerald, the neckline stitched with silver thread fine enough to look like frost. Crown colors. Heir colors. A reminder and an argument.

Beside your place at the table, your brother’s chair sat empty. No one had removed it. No one knew how.

Across the chamber, High Chancellor Oren Veyre inclined his silver-gray head with all the grace of a man placing a knife exactly where he wanted it.

“No one questions Her Highness’s claim,” Oren said.

That was the trouble with Oren Veyre. He never lied when a careful truth would do more damage. King Aldren sat at the head of the table, one hand resting against the carved arm of his chair. He looked thinner in the morning light than you liked. Grief had not weakened your father so much as narrowed him, carving quiet hollows beneath his eyes.

Oren continued, “We question only the wisdom of leaving her unsupported.”

There it was. Unsupported. You let the word pass over your face without touching it. Unsupported meant unmarried. Unmarried meant uncertain. Uncertain meant vulnerable. Vulnerable meant manageable. And manageable, in the mouths of men like Oren Veyre, meant Cassius.

Vaela’s attention stirred beneath your ribs. Not words. Never words. A heat instead. A pressure. A deep, ancient irritation blooming through the fresh bond as if the dragon had turned one gold eye toward the council chamber from the eastern terraces and found every man inside it wanting.

You breathed in slowly.

Calm, you pressed back, though you were still learning the shape of sending anything through the bond without feeling foolish for trying. Somewhere beyond the high windows, stone scraped under talons. Several councilmen went still. Oren did not so much as blink.

“Six months is not long enough to settle a realm shaken by old magic,” Lord Alaric of the western holdings said, his gaze flicking toward the windows before returning to the king. “The Crownfire’s appearance has inspired awe, yes, but awe is not the same as confidence.”

You wondered how many times a man could call you a blessing before he admitted he meant a problem.

“My daughter is not old magic’s inconvenience,” Aldren said.

The room quieted at once. He had not raised his voice. He never needed to. Even grief-thinned, even tired, Aldren Avelor was still king. He looked down the length of the table, silvering hair catching the light. “The princess is my heir by royal decree. Every man in this chamber witnessed the oath.”

Oren bowed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Law is not in dispute.”

You almost smiled. Beside you, Queen Isolde did not move. Your mother sat with the kind of stillness people mistook for peace if they had never known a woman who survived by mastering every inch of herself. Isolde wore dark green silk, nearly black where the shadows touched it, her hair twisted into a severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes gave nothing away.

Oren lifted his gaze again. “Confidence is.”

Aldren’s jaw tightened.

At Oren’s right, Cassius Veyre shifted as if the conversation had only now become worthy of him. He was beautiful in the way court liked men to be beautiful: tall, lean, and polished into something almost decorative. His light brown hair had been combed back from a face too symmetrical to be trusted, and his hazel eyes held the soft gleam of a man who had never entered a room without knowing how it should receive him. Wine-red velvet framed his shoulders. Gold thread glinted at his cuffs. The Veyre signet sat heavy on one elegant hand.

A portrait of reassurance. A cage dressed for a wedding.

“Her Highness has carried an impossible burden with admirable grace,” Cassius said.

His voice was warm enough to sound kind if one did not listen closely. You listened closely. Cassius looked at you then, and the corner of his mouth softened by a practiced degree. “But the realm does not need only a crowned heir. It needs the reassurance of unity.”

“Unity,” you repeated.

Cassius dipped his chin. “Between crown and council. Between old blood and present need. Between houses strong enough to hold Eldara steady.”

Beside him, Oren let the silence breathe. Then Lord Alaric said what everyone had been herded toward saying.

“A marriage alliance between House Avelor and House Veyre would quite much of the uncertainty.”

There it was at last, placed gently on the table like a gift. You looked at Cassius. He did not look triumphant. That would have been too honest. He looked patient. That was worse. You unfolded your hands. Across the chamber, a councilman inhaled as if even the movement of your fingers required interpretation.

“And after the wedding, Lord Veyre,” you asked, “which of my duties would you expect me to keep?”

The room went very still. Aldren’s eyes flicked to you, and something in them warmed with the briefest spark of pride. Isolde’s face did not change. Cassius smiled. Not widely. Not enough for anyone to call it condescension. Just enough for you to hate him.

“All of them, Your Highness,” he said. “I would only hope to make them easier to bear.”

Your mouth curved, though nothing in you softened. “How generous.”

Cassius’s smile held. “I would call it loyal.”

You let your gaze drop briefly to the Veyre signet on his hand. “I’m sure you would.”

A faint shift moved through the council. A few men glanced down at their papers. One cleared his throat and thought better of speaking. Cassius’s smile held. Then he leaned forward, just slightly. “You need not stand alone in this.”

And then he said your name. Not your title. Your name. In the High Council chamber, with your father’s crown at the head of the table and your brother’s empty chair still close enough to haunt the room. The sound of it landed like a hand set at the small of your back without permission. Aldren’s fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. Isolde’s gaze sharpened.

You did not look away from Cassius. “In this room, Lord Veyre,” you said, “I am Your Highness.”

For one breath, the polish cracked. Only a little. Enough. Cassius inclined his head. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Vaela’s satisfaction moved through you like a low curl of smoke. You nearly laughed. You did not. 

Oren spoke before the silence could favor you. “No one here means disrespect. But a realm is not steadied by pride alone.”

“No,” you said. “It is steadied by roads that remain open, grain that reaches the villages before frost, and lords who do not dress their own interests as public concern.”

Another silence. This one had teeth.

Lord Alaric’s expression tightened. “Your Highness, those matters are being handled.”

You arched a brow, “Are they?”

Oren watched you carefully. You turned to Alaric. “The lower road through Wrenford has been washed out since spring. The temporary crossing cannot hold more than one grain cart at a time, and the river has already risen twice this month. If northern stores are sent that way, half the wagons will be waiting at the ford when the first snow hits.”

Alaric’s mouth opened. You did not give him space to use it. “The eastern toll road would be faster,” you continued. “But Graymere Post sits close enough to Veyre-held routes that any delay there becomes less a problem of weather and more a problem of permission.”

Cassius’s expression did not change. Oren’s did not either. That was how you knew you had touched the right nerve. You looked from one Veyre to the other. “If grain is delayed at Graymere, the lower settlements will not care which lord’s ledger slowed it. They will only know their children are hungry while the capital debates whether I require a husband to read a map.”

Aldren’s gaze stayed fixed on you. Queen Isolde’s hands rested motionless in her lap, but one finger pressed into the other hard.

Lord Alaric cleared his throat. “No one suggests Her Highness is incapable of understanding the realm’s needs.”

“How strange,” you said. “When I know too little, I am unprepared. When I know too much, I am overburdened.”

Cassius exhaled softly, almost like regret. Almost. “No one doubts your mind, Your Highness,” he said. “We only question how long one person can bear so much without breaking.”

Vaela’s heat flashed beneath your ribs. Sharp. Immediate. Threat. Outside, talons dragged hard against stone. Every man in the room heard it. This time, even Cassius’s eyes flicked toward the windows. 

You breathed through Vaela’s anger. Calm, you pressed. The dragon did not understand tables. Or councils. Or the delicate art of letting men talk long enough to reveal where they were weakest. Vaela understood threats. She did not understand letting them finish speaking.

Oren turned fear into opportunity before it had finished crossing the room. “This is precisely the concern, Your Majesty,” he said. “The Crownfire is magnificent. No loyal servant of Eldara would claim otherwise. But magnificence unsettles men who must sleep beneath its shadow.”

Aldren’s voice cooled. “Careful, Chancellor.”

Oren bowed his head. “Always.”

No, you thought. Never.

“There are practical measures to consider,” Lord Alaric said, with the eager caution of a man stepping onto a bridge someone else had built. “Temporary measures. Until the realm steadies.”

You looked at him. “Temporary.”

“Your Highness’s movements,” Alaric said. “Her public appearances. Her flights.”

The chamber seemed to narrow around that last word. Vaela went still inside you. Not calm. Still. There was a difference.

Cassius folded his hands on the table. “No one would dream of severing Her Highness from the Crownfire.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself. Coldly. “No,” you said. “I imagine you would prefer a prettier word than severing.” 

Cassius’s mouth tightened. Oren’s eyes sharpened. Lord Alaric pressed forward. “No one is suggesting harm to the bond. Only that Vaela’s flights be limited to ceremonial appearances and crown-approved routes until the investigation into the attempt on your life is complete.”

Your healing wound pulled as you sat straighter. “Vaela is not a carriage to be scheduled.”

“No,” Oren said smoothly. “She is a dragon powerful enough to unsettle an entire kingdom.”

“She is bonded to me.” You said. 

“And that,” Oren said, “is exactly why your safety is not merely personal.”

The room settled around the sentence. There it was. The shape of it. Your body was not your body. Your grief was not your grief. Your dragon was not your dragon. Your life was not your life. You were the last heir of House Avelor. Therefore, everyone in the room believed they had a claim to the space around your ribs. You laid one hand flat against the council table. “There is no version of my bond that belongs to this council.”

Vaela’s presence opened beneath the words. Heat. Gold. Ancient, pleased fury. Outside, stone cracked. A line of pale dust sifted from the edge of the nearest window arch. No one moved.

Queen Isolde spoke into the stillness. “A measured response is not surrender.”

You turned to your mother. The words had been offered calmly. Carefully. With no direct support of Veyre, no plain betrayal to name. That almost made it worse.

“And how measured must I become,” you asked, “before I disappear entirely?”

Something moved behind Isolde’s eyes. Fear, perhaps. Or grief. Then it was gone, folded back beneath the queen’s perfect composure.

 Aldren rose. Every chair in the room shifted back at once. “The matter of my daughter’s hand will not be decided by fear, rumor, or trade pressure.” His gaze moved from Oren to Cassius and then over every councilman seated before him. “Nor will her bond be made subject to men who speak of dragons as if they are troublesome horses.”

No one spoke. Not even Oren. Aldren placed one hand flat on the table. “As for her safety, I have not left the protection of my only living child to this council’s appetite for caution.”

Your eyes went to him. Aldren did not look away from you, and that was how you knew. Whatever he had done, he had already done it. Something tight and cold moved beneath your breastbone. Not Vaela.

You.

“Captain Marek will retain command of Crown Patrol and the outer rider rotations,” Aldren said. “He will continue to answer to the crown.”

At the far side of the room, Marek’s jaw shifted once. He stood near the eastern wall, crown leathers dark against the pale stone, his hands clasped behind his back. He had said little all morning, which was one of the things you trusted about him. Marek did not waste words where action would do. Now, however, even he looked as though he had only recently been told the next sentence.

Aldren continued, “But the princess’s personal guard has been reassigned.”

Your fingers curled once against the table before you stilled them. Isolde’s eyes lowered. She had known.

Oren Veyre’s brows lifted with careful interest. “Your Majesty?”

“The attempt on my daughter’s life proved there are weaknesses in this palace that cannot be mended by adding more men to the same doors.” Aldren looked toward the chamber entrance. “So I have recalled a man who knows the difference between a locked room and a defended one.”

The council chamber doors opened. The man who entered wore no court velvet. Dark riding leathers. Weathered steel. A sword at his hip. Broad shoulders dusted faintly with ash, as if he had come from the dragon terraces instead of the palace corridors. Silver threaded the hair at his temples, catching briefly in the morning light before he stepped beyond it. He moved like someone who had long ago stopped asking rooms for permission to occupy them. Not hurried. Not arrogant.

Certain.

The chamber shifted around him. Marek straightened against the wall. Tovan had once told you that old war dragons did not need to bare their teeth to make lesser creatures remember their own throats. You understood him better now.

The man stopped before the king and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

His voice was low, roughened by smoke and command. Then, after one measured breath, he turned. He bowed to you. Not as deeply as he had bowed to the king.

Deeper.

“Your Highness,” he said.

Vaela went very still beneath your ribs. You hated, immediately, that you noticed.

“Sir Jack Abbot,” Oren Veyre said.

He spoke the name as if it had entered the room armed. Perhaps it had. Jack did not look at the chancellor. Not at first. His gaze remained on you for one measured breath after he bowed, steady and dark and unreadable. Close enough now, you could see the faint scar cutting through one eyebrow, the smoke-darkened edge of his riding coat, the silver at his temples catching in the chamber light like steel beneath water. Then Jack straightened and turned to the king.

“Your Majesty,” Jack said.

Aldren inclined his head. “Sir Jack.”

The room adjusted itself around him. You saw it in the councilmen first. Small things. Spines lengthening. Hands settling. Eyes measuring the distance between Jack and the nearest door, Jack and the windows, Jack and the table where the king sat with his only living child beside him. Marek remained near the eastern wall, but something in his posture had changed. Not deference, exactly. Recognition.

You knew of Jack Abbot. Everyone did. Former commander of the Ashwing Riders. Siege-breaker of Valen’s Pass. The man who had flown through black stormfire over the northern border and came back with half his unit, a dead enemy prince, and a dragon so scarred that stablehands still spoke of Bramor in lowered voices.

Then, three years ago, Jack Abbot had stepped away from command. Not retired. Men like him did not retire. They simply stopped offering kingdoms convenient access to their violence. He had been training riders at the western aerie ever since, until now.

Vaela’s attention moved through you with a cool, sharp focus. Not approval. Not threat. Observation.

Oren folded his hands before him. “Your Majesty has chosen a formidable answer to a delicate concern.”

Jack looked at him then. Nothing in his expression changed, and still the air seemed to tighten. “An assassin coming within arm’s reach of the heir is not a delicate concern,” Jack said.

The room went still. You felt the words land beneath your own skin. Assassin. Not an incident. Not an attempt. Not unrest. Not a concern. Assassin. You had heard the softer versions for six days. The careful versions. The court versions that rounded the blade until people could pretend it had not been meant for your body.

Jack Abbot did not round it.

Oren’s smile remained smooth. “No one intends to diminish the severity of what occurred.”

Jack held his gaze. “Good. Then we may stop speaking as if severity is the same as surprise.”

Lord Alaric’s brows drew together. “Sir Jack?”

Jack’s gaze moved once around the council chamber. Windows. Doors. Servant entrance. Guard placements. Balcony access. Then, finally, Jack looked back at the table. “Her Highness was not attacked because she lacked guards,” Jack said. “She was attacked because too many people knew where the guards would be.”

Marek’s mouth tightened. Not with offense, you thought. With agreement. Aldren’s face had gone very still.

Oren’s fingers rested lightly against the table. “That is a grave accusation.”

Jack did not blink. “It is an assessment.”

Oren tilted his head. “Of the palace guard?”

Jack’s voice stayed even. “Of the palace.”

Another silence followed. This one was colder. Jack did not seem to mind. “The royal wing has four servant corridors, two old guard passages, balcony access from the eastern terraces, and inherited rotations that have not changed meaningfully in eight years,” Jack said. “Her Highness’s appearances are announced before breakfast. Her chapel hours are known by every maid who carries linen through the west hall. Her route to council has been the same since she was sixteen.”

Your fingers stilled against the table. Since she was sixteen. Not since you became heir. Not since the assassin. Not since Vaela chose you. Since you were sixteen. Jack had been in the palace for less than an hour, and he had already learned how long you had been predictable. The thought should have irritated you. It did. It also unsettled you.

Alaric cleared his throat. “Then you agree Her Highness’s movements must be limited.”

Jack turned his head toward him. “Changed.”

Alaric paused. “Changed?”

Jack’s eyes did not leave him. “Not limited.”

Your gaze lifted to Jack. He did not look at you. Oren did. The chancellor’s voice softened. “And Vaela?”

Jack’s gaze moved toward the windows. Beyond the glass and the carved stone arches, somewhere on the eastern terrace, your dragon waited. You felt the shape of her attention turn toward the room like sunlight catching on a blade.

Jack was quiet for half a breath. Then he said, “Grounding Vaela would be a mistake.”

The chamber seemed to inhale. You did not. You were afraid that if you did, someone would hear how much those words had shifted inside you.

Alaric leaned forward. “Sir Jack, surely until the threat is known—”

Jack cut him off. “The threat is known.”

Oren’s eyes sharpened. “Is it?”

Jack looked back at the chancellor. “Yes. Someone wants the princess dead and has had enough access to nearly manage it. That is the threat. The name can come later.”

Cassius, who had been silent since Jack entered, leaned back slightly in his chair. “A practical man.” Jack’s gaze moved to him. Cassius smiled. “I mean that as a compliment.”

Jack’s expression did not change. “I did not ask.”

The corner of Aldren’s mouth moved. Only slightly. You looked down at your hands before anyone could see your own reaction. Vaela’s satisfaction curled through the bond, warm and dark. Jack continued before Cassius could decide whether offense would serve him. “If the assassin has access to the palace, then stone is not safety. Familiar corridors are not safety. Locked doors are not safety. The air may be the only route Her Highness has that has not already been mapped by whoever wants her dead.”

You looked at him then. Really looked. Jack was not watching your father. Not Oren. Not Cassius. He was watching the room, as if every man in it was both a person and a possible opening for a knife. You had spent six days hearing people discuss whether you should be kept from Vaela for your own protection. Jack Abbot had been in the chamber less than ten minutes and had understood that taking Vaela from you would not make you safer. It would make it easier to trap you. Vaela’s attention pressed beneath your breastbone. A cool, ancient flicker moved through the bond. Not trust. Not approval. But the first sharp edge of interest.  Jack’s eyes moved to you at once. You stilled. His gaze dropped, only briefly, to your mouth. Then away. So fast you might have imagined it. You did not think you had.

Jack turned back to the council. “Captain Marek will retain command of Crown Patrol and the outer rider rotations. He will answer to the crown as he has always done. On matters concerning Her Highness’s personal protection, he will answer to me.”

Marek gave one short nod from the wall. No hesitation. No surprise. So he had known. Jack continued, “Kael Ardent and Liora Venn will be reassigned to the inner watch. No other rider approaches Her Highness’s chambers, Vaela’s saddle, her feed, or her flight routes without my approval.”

Alaric’s brows rose. “Her feed?”

Jack looked at him. “Tack can be cut. Buckles can be weakened. Feed can be poisoned. Fire glands can be irritated. A dragon does not need to be killed to make her rider vulnerable.”

The words struck harder than you expected. Not because you had not known them. Because you had. Because some part of you had been trying not to.

Jack looked toward the eastern wall. “Tovan remains in charge of Vaela’s terrace stores and saddle checks.”

Marek nodded once. “He has already been informed.”

You turned slightly. “Has he?”

Marek met your eyes with the grim steadiness of a man who knew there would be consequences and had chosen them anyway. “Yes, Your Highness.”

You looked back at your father. Aldren held your gaze. No apology. Not yet. That stung more than if he had looked away.

Jack’s voice drew you back. “Your private chambers will be re-secured by sundown. The old guard passage between the captain’s room and the princess’s suite will be reopened.”

Your attention snapped to him. “The captain’s room,” you said.

Jack faced you fully. “Yes, Your Highness.”

You kept your voice even. “And who, exactly, will be occupying it?”

Jack answered without hesitation. “I will.”

The chamber went quiet in a different way. Not political. Personal. Your mother’s stillness sharpened. Cassius’s eyes flicked between you and Jack, something almost amused touching his mouth. You hated him for seeing anything at all. You kept your gaze on Jack. “You intend to sleep beside my rooms?”

Jack’s voice remained steady. “Near them.”

Your brows lifted. “That is not much better.”

Jack held your gaze. “It is faster.”

The answer was so blunt that, for one dangerous second, you had no reply. Jack did not look pleased with himself. He did not look embarrassed either. He looked like a man who had given you the relevant fact and did not understand why the room had tried to make something else of it. Or perhaps he understood perfectly and refused to help them. You had not decided which possibility was more irritating.

Jack looked back at the council. “At night, watch will rotate between Marek, Kael, and Liora. No one else.”

Alaric shifted in his chair. “Surely the existing palace guard—”

Jack turned to him. “No.”

The single word cut cleanly through the chamber. Jack kept his gaze on Alaric. “Until I know where the breach came from, I trust the existing palace guard to remain exactly where I can see them.”

A muscle feathered in Alaric’s jaw.

Oren leaned back slightly. “And during the day?”

Jack’s answer came without pause. “I remain with Her Highness from the moment she leaves her chambers until she retires.”

Your pulse moved once, hard. All day. Every day. You thought of council chambers and corridors. Of Vaela’s terrace. Of the library steps where you read reports, no one knew you had requested. Of the chapel alcove where Elias’s memorial candle burned low in blue glass. Of the bathing chamber door, the private sitting room, the balcony where you stood when the palace became too small to breathe inside. You thought of this man in every doorway. This voice behind you. Those eyes watching.

You forced your hands to remain still. “And was I meant to be consulted before my life was rearranged, Sir Jack?”

The title came out cool. Sharper than courtesy. Jack accepted it without flinching. “I was summoned to keep you alive, Your Highness. Not comfortable.”

Aldren’s eyes cut to him. Marek went very still. Your eyebrows lifted. Jack held your gaze. The room waited for you to take offense. You did.

Then Jack added, quieter, “When I can give you both, I will.”

Something in your chest shifted. Not softened. Shifted. You looked at him for a long moment.

“How generous,” you said.

Jack’s expression did not change. “No. Necessary.”

Infuriating man.

Oren’s voice slid in before the silence could become anything with a shape. “As Your Highness can see, Sir Jack understands the difficulties involved in protecting such a valuable life.”

Jack turned his head. “No.”

Oren paused. “No?”

Jack’s gaze did not move from him. “Her Highness will be briefed on every change to her guard. She will know the names of the men and women outside her doors. She will know every route I close and why I close it.”

Your anger, which had been moving cleanly through you a moment before, faltered.

Jack continued, “A protected ruler who does not understand her own cage has not been protected. She has been contained.”

The word moved through the chamber like a struck bell. Cage. You felt your mother look at you. You did not look back. Vaela’s presence opened under your ribs, slow and watchful. Not pleased. Not yet. But listening.

Oren’s mouth had gone flat. “An interesting philosophy for a guard.”

Jack’s eyes hardened. “I am not a guard.”

The room chilled. Jack stepped forward once. “I was commander of the Ashwing Riders for twelve years,” Jack said. “I have taken orders from kings, fools, dying boys with better instincts than their generals, and dragons who knew a storm was coming before any man looked up.”

His voice stayed even.

“I know the difference between protection and possession,” Jack said.

Your breath caught before you could stop it. Jack did not look at you. Somehow, that made it worse. Aldren rose from his chair. Every man in the chamber straightened.

“Then make the oath,” Aldren said.

Jack turned back to the king and bowed his head once. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

He removed his right glove. The motion should not have mattered. It did. His hands were broad and scarred, the knuckles marked pale in places where old wounds had healed badly. Not court hands. Not soft hands. Hands that had held reins in war winds, blades in blood, a dragon’s saddle straps through smoke and stormfire. You noticed.

Gods help you, you noticed.

Jack stepped toward you. For the first time that morning, the council table felt like too little space between your body and anything else. He stopped three paces away. Then he lowered himself to one knee. Not before Aldren.

Before you.

The entire chamber seemed to hold its breath. Jack laid his bare hand over the hilt of his sword. His head bowed, but not enough to hide his face from you. Not enough to turn the oath into performance.

When he spoke, his voice was low. “I swear my blade, my wings, and my life to your protection,” Jack said.

The words settled over the room.

Jack’s eyes lifted to yours. “I will guard your body, honor your command, and abide your will until death releases me from service.”

Vaela went utterly still. You did too. Jack looked up at you. Dark. Steady. Unsoftened by ceremony.

Then he said, “If you will have me, Your Highness.”

No one moved. Not your father. Not your mother. Not Oren, whose silence had gone sharp enough to draw blood. The choice was not real. You knew that. Jack knew that. Every person in the room knew the king had already summoned him, already arranged the passage beside your chambers, already spoken to Marek and Tovan and whatever trusted riders Jack had brought back with him from the edges of war.

And yet Jack waited.

On one knee. In front of the entire High Council. As if your answer mattered.

Your throat tightened once. You hated that too. “You may rise, Sir Jack,” you said.

Something unreadable moved through his eyes. Jack stood. The motion was smooth, controlled, and too close to graceful for a man built like a fortress wall. 

You tipped your chin up, refusing to step back. “And do not mistake my acceptance for obedience.”

For the first time, his mouth almost changed. Almost. Not a smile. Not quite.

“I would not dare,” Jack said.

Vaela’s attention sharpened inside you. Heat bloomed beneath your ribs before you could catch it. Jack’s eyes flicked, just once, to the windows as if he felt the dragon stir. As if he knew. Then his gaze returned to yours, and whatever had almost been in his expression vanished behind discipline.

Aldren’s hand settled against the arm of his chair. “The council is dismissed.”

Chairs scraped at once. Papers were gathered. Men stood too quickly or too slowly, depending on what they wished to prove. Alaric bowed first to the king, then to your mother, then to you. Oren Veyre moved with more care, his expression returned to its usual polished calm. Cassius lingered. He approached with the softness of a man who knew how to make intrusion look like concern.

“Your Highness,” Cassius said. Perfectly correct. Perfectly performed.

You held his gaze. “Lord Veyre.”

Cassius’s eyes moved briefly to Jack, who had stepped back to your right, not close enough to crowd you, not far enough to be ignored. Cassius looked back at you. “How fortunate that the crown has found a man so eager to stand at your side.”

Jack said nothing. You did not look at him. You smiled at Cassius with every lesson your mother had ever taught you sharpened behind your teeth. “Yes. Fortunate men are so rare.”

Cassius’s smile held. Barely. He bowed. Beautifully. Like a man who believed time itself had been raised to favor him. Then Cassius turned and followed Oren from the chamber. 

Outside, Vaela’s claws dragged once against stone. Slow. Deliberate. Every man leaving the room pretended not to hear it. When the doors closed behind the last of them, the chamber felt larger and more dangerous for being nearly empty. Your mother remained seated. Your father stood at the head of the table. Marek waited by the wall. Jack stood beside you, silent as a drawn blade.

You looked at Aldren first. “You should have told me.”

The words were quiet. They landed anyway. Your father’s expression did not soften. That would have been easier to resent.

“Yes,” Aldren said. “I should have.”

The honesty hurt more than an excuse.

Isolde rose then, dark skirts whispering against stone. “Your father did what was necessary.”

You looked at her. “Everyone is very fond of that word today.”

Her mouth tightened. Jack did not speak. You noticed that too.

Aldren’s gaze moved between you and the man he had placed in your shadow. “Sir Jack will inspect your chambers and the eastern approaches before the next bell.”

You turned toward your father. “Now?”

Jack answered before Aldren could. “Yes, Your Highness.”

You turned to him. His face gave nothing away. Of course, it did not.

“You have only just arrived,” you said.

Jack met your eyes. “Yes.”

You narrowed yours. “And you intend to begin by entering my rooms.”

Jack’s jaw shifted once. Marek looked down. Aldren closed his eyes briefly, as if asking patience from every god who had ever ignored him.

Jack said, very evenly, “I intend to begin by inspecting your exits.”

Something about the correction should not have warmed your face. It did. You hated him for that, too.

“How reassuring,” you said.

Jack inclined his head. “It is meant to be.”

You studied him. The broad set of his shoulders. The ash still clinging to one sleeve. The scar through his brow. The silver in his hair. The bare hand still ungloved at his side, fingers relaxed now, but ready. Always ready, you thought.

Vaela shifted somewhere outside. You felt the faintest pulse of interest through the bond. Not warmth. Not welcome. Assessment. As if the ancient thing bound to your soul had finally found one man in the chamber worth watching.

You drew a slow breath. “Very well,” you said. “Inspect my exits, Sir Jack.”

Jack bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

You turned toward the council chamber doors. For most of your life, guards had followed you through Crownreach Palace. Their boots had sounded behind you in corridors, outside chapels, across terraces, beside gardens where you had not been alone since childhood. You knew the weight of being watched. You knew the shape of being protected. But when Jack Abbot fell into step behind you, not too close, not too far, something in the air changed. Not because he crowded you. 

Because somehow, he knew exactly how far away to stay.

The corridor outside the High Council chamber was colder than it had any right to be. Crownreach Palace had always held its chill well. Stone kept memory better than warmth, and this wing of the palace had been built from pale northern marble veined with silver. Sunlight spilled through the arched windows, bright across the floor, but it did little to soften the air. You walked through it anyway, spine straight, hands loose at your sides, every inch of you arranged into the shape of a princess who had not just had her life rearranged in front of half the realm’s most dangerous men. Behind you, Jack Abbot followed. Not too close. Never too far.

That irritated you more than it should have.

You had expected him to crowd you. To loom. To make his new authority known with the weight of his boots and the angle of his shoulders. Instead, he moved like a shadow that understood doors. At your chambers, the guards outside straightened.

Jack looked at the first one. “Name.”

The guard swallowed. “Brennan, sir.”

Jack’s gaze moved over him once. “Rotation?”

Brennan clasped his hands behind his back. “Second bell to fourth, sir.”

Jack glanced toward the second guard. “Who relieves him?”

The woman lifted her chin. “Darron and me, sir. Elise.”

Jack nodded once. “You and Brennan remain until Marek sends replacements. No one enters without Her Highness’s leave or mine.”

Elise bowed. “Yes, sir.”

You glanced at Jack. “Mine or yours?”

Jack opened the door and stepped aside. “Yours first.”

That should not have pleased you. You entered your sitting room before your face could betray you. Inside, Minka stood near the hearth with a tray of untouched tea. Her eyes widened the moment she saw Jack behind you. Then her cheeks went pink. Nessa, who usually managed your bath linens and riding leathers, paused beside the inner door with a stack of fresh cloth folded over one arm. Her gaze moved from Jack to Minka, and her mouth curved before she politely pressed it flat again. Elowen, older than your other attendants and far better at hiding what she noticed, stood near the writing desk with a folded shawl in her hands.

You looked at them, and the tightness in your chest eased by a fraction. “Elowen. Minka. Nessa.”

Elowen’s gaze moved once to Jack before returning to you. “Your Highness.”

Minka dipped into a quick curtsy. “Your Highness.” Her voice came out softer than usual.

Nessa lowered her head. “Your Highness.”

Jack’s attention sharpened at the names. You felt it. 

You looked at him. “Is knowing the names of the women who dress me also a security concern?”

Jack’s eyes remained on the room. “It is useful.”

Elowen’s brows lifted slightly. Minka looked at the floor as if it had become deeply interesting. Nessa looked at Minka as if the floor had not been interesting at all until Jack entered the room.

You folded your arms. “Useful.”

Jack looked at Elowen first. “How long have you served Her Highness?”

Elowen’s spine straightened. “Since she was eleven, sir.”

Jack nodded once, then looked toward Minka. “And you?”

Minka lifted her eyes too quickly. Jack’s expression softened by the smallest degree. Not a smile, exactly. Close enough to make Minka’s blush deepen.

Minka swallowed. “Two years, sir.”

Jack inclined his head. “Thank you, Minka.”

Minka nearly forgot the tea tray in her hands. Nessa’s mouth twitched. You looked at Jack. Jack looked back at you with perfect innocence. Infuriating man.

Jack turned to Nessa. “And you?”

Nessa adjusted the linens in her arms. “Four years, sir. I attend Her Highness’s baths and riding changes.”

Jack’s gaze did not flicker at the word baths. “No one outside these rooms is to enter with garments, linens, water, food, or correspondence until I have reviewed the access list.”

Elowen’s mouth tightened. “Sir Jack, Her Highness’s household has its own order.”

Jack looked back at her. “Good. Write it down for me.”

You blinked. Elowen did too.

Jack continued, “Names. Duties. Hours. Who enters which rooms and why. I will not replace women Her Highness trusts unless I am given cause.”

Something in Elowen’s expression shifted. Not approval. But consideration. You hated that Jack had earned even that much.

You turned away from him. “You may go for now. All of you.”

Elowen looked to you, not Jack. “Your Highness?”

You softened your voice. “I am all right.”

Minka’s gaze flicked toward the bandage hidden beneath your gown. “Should I bring fresh tea later, Your Highness?”

You nodded. “Please. And eat something before you do. You look pale.”

Nessa murmured, “She has been pale since Sir Jack entered, Your Highness.”

Minka’s eyes went wide. “Nessa.”

Elowen gave Nessa a look. “Enough.”

Nessa lowered her eyes with entirely false innocence. “Yes, Elowen.”

Jack turned his face toward the balcony doors. It was the closest thing to mercy he had offered anyone since entering your chambers. You stared at Nessa until her mouth stopped twitching.

Then you looked back at Minka. “Eat something.”

Minka’s cheeks remained bright. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Nessa looked toward the bathing chamber, then back to you. “Should I prepare the afternoon bath?”

You glanced at Jack before you could stop yourself. Jack continued studying the balcony doors as if they had become the only thing in the room worth knowing.

You faced Nessa again. “Not yet.”

Nessa curtsied. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Elowen guided the younger women toward the door with a small motion of her hand. Before she left, she looked at Jack. Elowen’s voice stayed perfectly even. “Sir Jack.”

Jack inclined his head. “Elowen.”

Minka curtsied again, far too quickly. “Sir Jack.”

Jack’s voice was gentle. “Minka.”

Minka fled. Nessa followed her with a look of profound entertainment. Elowen paused at the door and gave you the smallest look. These young women, it seemed to say. Then her gaze flicked once toward Jack. You narrowed your eyes at her. Elowen’s expression did not change.

The door closed behind them.

Your private chambers seemed to grow quieter at once. Jack did not move for a moment. Then his gaze went to the balcony doors, the servant entrance, the inner bedchamber, the bathing chamber, and finally the folded maps half-hidden beneath a book of trade law on your desk. He saw all of it.

You folded your arms. “Do you intend to interrogate my curtains?”

Jack checked the balcony latch. “If they begin letting assassins through, yes.”

You hated the laugh that tried to rise in your throat. You swallowed it.

Jack tested the frame. “This lock is decorative.”

You watched his hands on the latch. “It locks.”

Jack looked at the metal. “It suggests locking.”

You narrowed your eyes at his back. “You have a gift for comfort.”

Jack kept his attention on the balcony. “No. I have a gift for noticing how people die.”

The air changed. You looked away first.

Jack moved to the servant's entrance. “Who uses this?”

You kept your voice even. “Elowen, Minka, Nessa, and occasionally Tovan when Vaela’s saddle needs adjusting from the terrace side.”

Jack turned his head. “Tovan enters your private chambers?”

You gave him a look. “Only as far as the terrace doors, and only because Vaela dislikes waiting.”

Jack absorbed that. “Vaela seems to dislike many things.”

You felt the faintest pulse beneath your ribs. Warm. Dry. Anciently offended.

You almost smiled. “Yes. She does.”

Jack looked back toward the bathing chamber door. Your skin warmed before he said a word. Jack’s expression did not change. “Who has access when you bathe?”

You lifted your chin. “Nessa and Elowen. Minka, if I need something fetched. Two water carriers bring the filled pails to the outer door and leave them there.”

Jack kept his gaze on the latch. “Always the same carriers?”

You stared at him. “You intend to inspect my bathwater now?”

Jack did not look at you. “I intend to know who can reach you when you have no blade within arm’s length.”

The answer landed too cleanly to argue with. That irritated you, too. Vaela stirred beneath your ribs. Not angry now. Attentive.

Jack moved toward the tapestry along the far wall. “This covers the old guard passage?”

You looked at the embroidered scene: the first Avelor king kneeling beside the Silvermere, one hand lifted toward a dragon made of gold thread. “It has not been used in years.”

Jack pulled the tapestry aside. “That is rarely the same as unusable.”

Behind the fabric, a narrow door sat half-hidden in the stone. Jack tested the handle. It opened with a groan of old iron and colder air. You stepped closer despite yourself. Beyond the door, a dim passage stretched between the walls, narrow enough that Jack’s shoulders nearly brushed both sides when he leaned in.

He looked back at you. “This leads to the captain’s room.”

You held his gaze. “You truly mean to sleep there.”

Jack answered quietly. “Yes.”

You folded your hands together before they could betray you. “Lightly, I assume.”

Jack’s mouth almost moved. “Very.”

You exhaled once. “That was not the reassurance you think it was.”

Jack released the door. “It was not meant to reassure you. It was meant to tell you the truth.”

You studied him in the pale light. “That is your habit, then?”

Jack’s gaze held yours. “When I can afford it.”

Your voice lowered. “And when you cannot?”

Jack did not look away. “I try to make the lie useful.”

That should have sounded worse than it did. You stepped away from the passage. “I have been watched my entire life, Sir Jack. I also know the difference between protection and possession.”

Jack let the tapestry fall back into place. “Good.”

Your brows lifted. “Good?”

Jack faced you. “Then you’ll know if I cross the line.”

You held his stare. “And if you do?”

Jack’s answer came without hesitation. “Tell me.”

You laughed softly, without humor. “And you’ll listen?”

Jack’s gaze did not move from yours. “I swore to abide you.”

You tipped your chin up. “Men swear many things in public.”

Something in his expression stilled.

Then Jack said, low and even, “Then test me in private.”

The room went quiet. Not empty, quiet. Not safe, quiet. The kind of quiet that had a pulse. Vaela’s attention sharpened beneath your ribs, a sudden gold-edged pressure that made your next breath feel too warm. Jack seemed to realize the shape his words had taken a moment after they left his mouth. His jaw tightened. Yours did too. You looked away first, furious that you had to. Jack turned toward your desk as if the maps had personally saved him.

His gaze caught on the folded reports. “Graymere.”

You followed his eyes. “Yes.”

Jack stepped closer to the desk but did not touch the papers. “Wrenford crossing. Western stores. Veyre toll routes.”

You looked at the reports. “You read quickly.”

Jack kept his attention on the map. “I recognize roads.”

You glanced at him. “Most men in that council recognize borders. They still manage to forget the people living inside them.”

Jack looked at you then. For once, he had no immediate answer. You lifted one shoulder, and the healing cut beneath your ribs pulled hard enough to make your breath catch. Jack noticed. His eyes dropped to your side.

You straightened before he could speak. “Do not.”

Jack’s gaze returned to your face. “I wasn’t going to.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You were.”

Jack held your stare. “I was going to ask how deep the wound was.”

You gave him a flat look. “That is not better.”

Jack’s voice stayed calm. “No. But it is relevant.”

You held his stare. He did not soften. He did not look away either.

Finally, Jack turned back to the maps. “These should be copied and kept somewhere secure.”

You blinked. “You are not going to tell me I should not have them?”

Jack looked at the notes again. “No.”

You waited. “Why?”

Jack’s fingers rested near the edge of the desk, close to your ink-stained notes but not touching them. “Because ignorance is not safer.”

Something in your chest shifted again. You were beginning to dislike that feeling.

Jack looked from the maps to you. “Lock the drawer.”

You stared at him. That was all. Not a warning. Not a lecture. Not a demand that you hand over your reports and let wiser men decide what you were allowed to know. Lock the drawer.

“I want to see Vaela,” you said.

Jack’s gaze moved from the closed door to you. “Then we go to Vaela.”

You hated the steadiness of that answer. You hated more that some part of you had expected resistance.

You crossed the room toward the terrace doors. “You are not going to tell me I should rest?”

Jack followed at a careful distance. “Should you?”

You set your hand on the latch and looked back at him. “That is not an answer.”

Jack’s mouth did not move, but something in his eyes almost did. “It is if you already know yours.”

You opened the doors before he could say anything else. The afternoon air met you at once, cool from Silvermere and sharp with the mineral scent of sun-warmed stone. It carried ash, leather, lake wind, and the faint copper-sweet trace of dragonfire. The tightness beneath your ribs eased before you meant to let it.

Jack noticed. He said nothing.

That, somehow, made it worse. The eastern terrace stretched wide beyond your chambers, built into the palace’s outer face with enough space for a Crownfire dragon to land, turn, and launch without scraping the carved balustrades. Beyond it, Crownreach fell away in green terraces and silver roofs until the city met the lake.

Vaela waited near the far edge. She was not pacing. She never paced. Your dragon stood as if the terrace had been built for the sole purpose of holding her, dark emerald scales catching the afternoon light in shifting flashes of green and black. Her horns swept back from her head like a crown grown from shadowed bone, and her gold eyes fixed on you the moment you stepped outside.

The bond opened. Heat moved under your breastbone. Recognition. Possession. Relief, though Vaela would have turned the palace to glass before admitting anything so vulnerable. You crossed the terrace before you remembered Jack was behind you. Vaela lowered her head, not in submission. She lowered it because she allowed you near. You pressed your palm to the smooth plane between her eye and jaw, and the breath you had been holding since the council chamber finally left you.

“There you are,” you murmured.

Vaela exhaled through her nose, warm enough to stir your hair back from your face. The bond pressed close around you. Gold heat. Old anger. The remembered flash of council voices, Cassius’s polished smile, Oren Veyre’s careful hands folded on the table.

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

Vaela’s talons shifted against the stone.

You opened your eyes again. “No burning anyone today.”

Behind you, Jack went very still.

You looked over your shoulder. “That was not for you.”

Jack’s gaze remained on Vaela. “Comforting.”

You almost smiled. Almost. Vaela’s attention moved past you and settled on him. The change in the bond was immediate. Cooler. Sharper. Assessing.

Jack stopped several paces away without being asked. He did not reach for his sword. He did not bow too deeply. He did not do what most men did with Vaela, which was either step back in fear or step forward with the arrogant hope that old magic could be impressed by posture.

He simply stood still and let her look at him.

Vaela lowered her head another fraction, bringing one molten-gold eye level with his face. Jack held her gaze. The air tightened. You felt Vaela’s judgment move through you with the slow patience of a blade deciding whether it needed to be drawn. Not welcome. Not threat.

Evaluation.

You watched Jack’s hands. They remained open at his sides. Vaela breathed once. Smoke curled thin and dark from her nostrils, drifting across the stones between them. Jack did not move. Something in the bond shifted. Not approval. Not yet. But you felt, with sudden and inconvenient certainty, that Vaela had expected to dislike him more.

Jack glanced at you. “Something amusing, Your Highness?”

You faced Vaela again before your mouth could betray you. “No.”

Jack’s voice stayed even. “No?”

You stroked your thumb along one emerald scale. “She is only deciding whether you are tolerable.”

Jack looked back at Vaela. “And?”

Vaela’s eye narrowed. You pressed your lips together. “Unclear.”

A sound came from near the covered archway leading to the lower aerie steps. It might have been a cough. It was not a cough. Tovan stood beside a low stone table with a basket hooked over one arm and amusement tucked very poorly behind his eyes.

“Tovan,” you said, grateful for the interruption.

Tovan bowed his head. “Your Highness.”

Jack inclined his head once. “Tovan.”

Tovan looked from Jack to Vaela, then back again. “Sir Jack.”

You looked between them. “You know each other.”

Tovan set the basket on the stone table. “Most men who command dragons learn who keeps them fed, saddled, and less inclined to eat the wrong person.”

Jack’s gaze moved briefly to the basket. “A lesson too few men retain.”

Tovan’s mouth twitched. “He remembers me fondly.”

Jack looked at him. “Bramor remembers your left sleeve.”

Tovan lifted his left arm, where the cuff sat shorter than fashion required. “A misunderstanding.”

You turned toward Jack. “Your dragon ate his sleeve?”

Jack’s face remained unreadable. “He disliked the stitching.”

Tovan nodded solemnly. “A known critic of embroidery.”

Vaela’s attention flicked toward Tovan with clear impatience.

Tovan lifted both hands. “Yes, yes. I brought them.”

He reached into the basket and drew out a strip of ironroot, dark red and fibrous, cut into neat lengths the way Vaela preferred. Your chest softened.

“You remembered,” you said.

Tovan gave you a look as if the idea of forgetting offended him. “You give her one after council sessions.”

Jack’s attention moved to you. You felt it like a touch. You ignored him and held out the ironroot. Vaela accepted it from your palm with imperial delicacy, crushing it once between her teeth before swallowing. 

Tovan watched her with satisfaction. “Her stores were checked this morning. No rot in the western sacks, no damp in the inner bins.”

Jack looked at Tovan. “Who has access?”

“Myself,” Tovan said. “Two senior handlers, four lower aerie hands, the feed clerk, and whoever I assign to water and ash sweep under watch. Kael and Liora check saddle security when Her Highness flies, but they are riders, not stable hands.” 

Jack’s expression sharpened. “Names.”

Tovan reached into his tunic and produced a folded scrap of parchment. “Already written.”

Jack looked at him.

Tovan’s expression did not change. “You were always going to ask.”

Jack took the parchment. “Good.”

Tovan glanced at you. “He says that when he means thank you.”

Jack did not look up. “I say thank you when I mean thank you.”

Tovan’s brows lifted. “There. Growth.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

Jack folded the parchment and tucked it away. “Where is Bramor?”

Tovan nodded toward the far end of the terrace. You followed the motion. At first, you thought the shadow beneath the eastern arch belonged to the palace itself.

Then the shadow breathed.

A black-bronze dragon lay stretched along the sun-warmed stones, massive enough that the terrace seemed suddenly smaller for having to hold him. Scars broke the dark plates of his hide in pale, jagged seams. One horn bore an old crack near its base. His wings were folded tight, but even folded, they looked like things made to blot out fields.

Bramor.

War dragon. Siege-breaker. The kind of creature soldiers lowered their voices to discuss because speaking too boldly of death felt like inviting it to turn its head. He turned his head now. One ember-dark eye opened and fixed on you. Vaela did not move. That was what you noticed first. Your dragon did not bristle. She did not step between you and him. She watched Bramor with cool familiarity, as though the ancient war beast was an unfortunate but tolerated fixture of the stonework. Jack, however, shifted half a step closer to you. Not enough to block you. Enough to reach you. You noticed. So did Vaela. So did Bramor.

You looked at Jack. “May I greet him?”

Jack did not answer at once. His gaze moved to Bramor, and something wordless passed between rider and dragon, too old and private for anyone else to read. Bramor watched you. Still, Alert. 

Jack’s shoulders eased by a fraction. “You may.”

You stepped forward slowly. Jack moved with you, close enough to intervene and far enough not to insult either dragon. You stopped several paces from Bramor and lowered your hand at your side, palm visible but not offered.

“I will not touch him unless he permits it,” you said.

Jack’s gaze flicked to you. Something in his expression changed. Not softness. Not surprise, exactly. Recognition, perhaps. Bramor’s enormous head lowered. The motion was slow enough to make the terrace feel silent around it. You held still. Warm breath rolled over your hand, dry and faintly smoky.

“Hello, Bramor,” you said.

The dragon’s eye narrowed. Not in threat. In focus. Jack felt the bond shift. You saw it in the sudden stillness of his face, though you did not know what Bramor had given him. Bramor lowered his head another inch. You lifted your hand only when his snout came close enough to invite it, and you rested your fingertips against the hard ridge above his nostril. His scales were warmer than Vaela’s. Rougher. Scarred in places where old wounds had healed thick and uneven. You touched him carefully. Not like a weapon. Not like a monster. Like something alive.

Bramor exhaled.

The sound rolled low through the terrace stones. Tovan went very quiet. Jack stared at his dragon.

You glanced back at him. “Is this all right?”

Jack’s eyes remained on Bramor. “Apparently.”

You looked at Bramor again. “Apparently?”

Jack’s mouth flattened. “He has opinions.”

Tovan murmured, “Usually louder ones.”

Bramor’s eye shifted toward Tovan.

Tovan immediately looked into the basket. “Ironroot, Your Highness?”

You withdrew your hand from Bramor slowly and returned to Vaela’s side. Bramor’s attention followed the basket. The movement was slight. You noticed it anyway. Jack noticed you noticing.

You lifted your brows. “May I give him one?”

Jack hesitated. It was the first true hesitation you had seen from him. Not uncertainty in the face of council politics. Not discomfort in your chambers. This was practical. Immediate. Born from knowing exactly what Bramor was.

Jack looked from the ironroot to your hand. “People have lost fingers offering Bramor less.”

Tovan’s head tilted. “Only once.”

Jack did not look at him. “Twice.”

Tovan considered that. “The second man was warned.”

You kept the ironroot in your palm. “Is that a no?”

Jack’s gaze returned to Bramor. Bramor stared at the ironroot with an intensity that did very little for his dignity.

Jack said, “That is a warning.”

You looked at the black-bronze dragon, then back at Jack. “Then warn me properly.”

Jack stepped closer. Not close enough to touch you. Close enough that his voice dropped between you like something meant only for your ears.

“Flat palm,” Jack said. “Fingers together. Do not curl them. Do not pull back when he lowers his head.”

You followed each instruction exactly. Jack’s attention moved over your hand, checking. Then his eyes lifted to your face. You hated that your pulse noticed.

You held your palm steady. “Like this?”

Jack’s voice lowered. “Yes.”

Bramor moved. Jack’s hand flexed once at his side. Steel would have done nothing if Bramor truly meant harm, but the instinct was there anyway. Protect. Intervene. Put himself between teeth and skin. Bramor lowered his scarred head to your palm. His mouth opened. His teeth closed around the strip of ironroot. Delicately. Absurdly delicately. He did not so much as brush your skin. The ironroot vanished between his teeth with a sharp crack. Jack went still.

You looked up at him. “Was that acceptable?”

Bramor chewed once. Then his massive head lowered again, and he nudged your palm with the blunt ridge of his snout. Not hard. Not demanding. Almost careful.

Your surprise softened into delight before you could stop it. “Oh.”

Jack stared at his dragon. Bramor nudged your hand again. Through the bond came something Jack did not expect. Not hunger. Not warning. Not the iron-hard focus Bramor carried into battle. Warmth struck behind Jack’s ribs with enough force to steal half a breath. Satisfaction. The memory of your hand, steady and gentle. The shape of your voice around Bramor’s name.

A deep, ancient certainty that had nothing to do with ironroot at all.

Jack’s fingers flexed again. Bramor did not know court law. He did not care for vows spoken under painted ceilings, bloodlines recorded by trembling scribes, or the fine architecture of restraint. Bramor knew fire. Fear. Loyalty. The difference between a hand that took and a hand that offered. And apparently, with the full force of his inconvenient soul, Bramor knew you. Jack looked at his dragon as if Bramor had just betrayed twelve years of military discipline for a strip of ironroot and a kind voice.

“Bramor,” Jack said, low.

Bramor ignored him. That was also new.

You glanced at Jack. “Is he asking for more?”

Jack looked at the ancient war dragon who had once torn the roof from a siege tower and was now presenting his scarred jaw to you like a cat in the sun.

“No,” Jack said.

Bramor rumbled.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “He is asking for that.”

You followed Jack’s gaze to the place beneath Bramor’s jaw, where scarred scales overlapped in rough bronze-black ridges.

You smiled. “May I?”

Jack should have said no. He knew that. He had no reason to know it, but he knew it anyway.

Instead, he said, “Carefully.”

You lifted your hand beneath Bramor’s jaw and scratched along the rough edge of a scarred scale. Bramor’s eyes slid half-closed. The rumble that moved through him shook dust from the terrace stones. Tovan made another sound that was absolutely not a cough. Vaela’s attention brushed through you, cool and gold-edged. Judgment. Satisfaction. Perhaps, if a dragon could be smug, that too.

You looked toward Vaela. “Do not be rude.”

Jack’s eyes moved to you. “Was that to me?”

You kept scratching beneath Bramor’s jaw. “No.”

Bramor leaned into your hand. Jack stared.

“He does not do this,” Jack said.

You looked down at the enormous head resting close enough to your hand to ask without words. “He seems to.”

Tovan folded his arms. “I have never seen him do this.”

Jack’s gaze cut to him. “Helpful.”

Tovan’s expression remained bland. “I thought so.”

Bramor nudged your hand again. You laughed softly and gave him another careful scratch. The sound of it moved across the terrace, small and unguarded. Jack looked at you before he could stop himself. The sun had caught in your hair. Your wound still troubled the line of your breathing, and your face was too pale from council rooms and blood loss and stubbornness, but your hand was gentle beneath a war dragon’s jaw. Gentle, not foolish. Kind, not weak.

Bramor felt it too.

The bond surged again. Warm. Certain. Fierce enough now that Jack almost stepped back from it. Not command. Not request. Recognition. A claim older than language and more dangerous than either of you understood.

Jack swallowed once.

 Vaela watched him over your shoulder. Her golden eyes were steady. Assessing. The cool pressure of her attention seemed to say she had seen exactly where his gaze had gone and had not yet decided what to do about it. Jack looked away from you and back to Bramor. The traitorous beast looked blissful.

“Enough,” Jack said.

Bramor’s eyes did not open.

You looked at Jack. “Is that for him or for you?”

Tovan turned away sharply. Jack’s gaze returned to you. For one breath, the terrace seemed to narrow around the space between you.

Jack answered, “Him.”

Your mouth curved as if you did not believe him. Vaela exhaled smoke. Bramor rumbled again, lower this time, pleased past all dignity. Jack closed his eyes for half a second. When he opened them, he found Bramor still leaning into your hand. Still sending warmth through the bond. Still certain.

Jack had known Bramor’s loyalty in battle. He had known his rage, his discipline, his grief, his stubborn refusal to fall from the sky even when stormfire burned black across his wings. He had never known this. He had never stood on a royal terrace and watched his war dragon choose softness. You scratched once more beneath Bramor’s jaw, then slowly lowered your hand.

Bramor followed it.

Jack stared at him. “You are not helping.”

You glanced up. “Was that to me?”

Jack held Bramor’s gaze. “No.”

Your smile widened.

Tovan reached into the basket and held out another strip of ironroot toward you. “For Vaela, Your Highness.”

You took it from him. “Thank you, Tovan.”

Tovan’s eyes flicked toward Bramor. “I will bring something else next time.”

Jack turned his head slowly. “Next time?”

Tovan looked perfectly innocent. “Ironroot is Vaela’s preference. Bramor has his own.”

Bramor’s eyes opened. Jack felt the interest flare through the bond. Immediate. Shameless.

You looked at Bramor, then at Tovan. “He does?”

Tovan nodded. “He does.”

Jack said, “Tovan.”

Tovan ignored him with the ease of long practice. “I will see that it is prepared.”

You gave Vaela her ironroot, but your eyes flicked once more to Bramor. “Then I will thank him properly when I know what he likes best.”

Bramor’s rumble deepened. Jack looked at his dragon. Bramor looked back with no remorse at all. 

Vaela’s attention warmed behind your ribs. Not laughter. Not quite. But something old and satisfied, watching two armed men, one ancient war dragon, and one princess all pretend something important had not just happened.

Jack’s voice came dry and low. “This has become a very poorly disciplined terrace.”

Tovan nodded. “Dragons are known for respecting rules.”

Jack looked at Bramor, who was still angled toward your hand as if waiting for the universe to correct itself and return your touch to him. Vaela’s tail curved along the stone behind you, elegant and possessive. Bramor lowered his massive head near your feet, not touching, only near. Jack watched him. Then he watched you. For the first time since he had entered the council chamber, Sir Jack Abbot looked as if he did not know what came next.

Jack walked you back through the terrace doors in silence. Not the same silence as before. Before, he had been unreadable because he meant to be. Controlled. Measuring exits, locks, servants’ doors, and weak points as if every room had already confessed its failures to him. Now, he was quiet because Bramor had unsettled him. You should not have enjoyed that. You did anyway.

Behind you, Vaela settled along the terrace stones with a slow scrape of talons and scale, her satisfaction moving through the bond like a curl of gold smoke. You did not look back at her. You did not need to. She was pleased with herself. That was rarely good for anyone.

Bramor rumbled once more before the doors closed, low and deep enough that the glass trembled faintly in its frame. Jack’s jaw tightened.

You glanced at him. “He is very expressive.”

Jack shut the terrace doors with more care than necessary. “He is usually more disciplined.”

You moved farther into the sitting room, fighting the urge to smile. “Perhaps he was bribed.”

Jack turned the latch and tested it once. “With ironroot?”

You looked back at him. “And manners, apparently.”

Jack’s eyes lifted to yours. For one breath, his expression shifted. Not a smile. Not quite. But something close enough to make your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the wound beneath your ribs. Then he looked away first. You hated that you noticed. You hated that you liked noticing.

Jack crossed to the balcony-side window and checked the latch again. “Tovan will need to revise the feed access list.”

You folded your arms. “Because your dragon has developed a preference for being hand-fed by princesses?”

Jack glanced at you. “Because Bramor’s attention has changed.”

Your amusement faded by a fraction. “Changed how?”

Jack did not answer immediately. He looked toward the terrace as if the door were not thick enough to keep the dragon’s certainty from reaching him.

“Clearly,” Jack said at last.

You studied the side of his face. “That is not an answer.”

Jack’s mouth flattened. “No.”

You waited. Jack turned from the window. “Bramor does not offer softness to strangers.”

The words landed more carefully than you expected. You looked down at your hand, the same hand that had rested beneath Bramor’s scarred jaw. You could still feel the rough warmth of his scales against your palm.

“He did not feel like a stranger,” you said.

Jack went still. You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. Not because they were untrue. Because they were.

Jack’s gaze stayed on you, steady and intent. “No?”

You closed your fingers against your palm. “No.”

The sitting room felt too quiet. Too small after the open terrace. Too full of things neither of you had permission to say.

Jack looked away again, this time toward the inner door. “Then he knew something before I did.”

You searched his face. “What does that mean?”

Jack’s attention returned to you. For a moment, you thought he might answer plainly. Then his shoulders settled back into discipline.

“It means,” Jack said, “that I will account for it.”

You let out a quiet breath. “Of course you will.”

Jack’s brows drew faintly. “That displeases you?”

You looked toward the writing desk, where Elowen’s shawl still lay neatly folded. “Everything becomes a security concern with you.”

Jack’s voice stayed even. “Not everything.”

You looked back at him. “No?”

Jack’s eyes held yours. “Some things are only important.”

Something warm and dangerous moved beneath your ribs. Vaela stirred through the bond, sharp and interested. You ignored her. You did not do so successfully. Jack’s gaze flicked toward the terrace doors, as if he could somehow feel the dragon’s attention through the stone and glass. Perhaps he could.

You cleared your throat. “Were you frightened of her?”

Jack looked at you. “Vaela?”

You nodded once. “Most men are.”

Jack’s answer came without hesitation. “No.”

You studied him. He did not sound proud of it. He did not sound like a man making himself larger for the sake of being believed. He sounded as if he had simply been asked whether the sky was blue and saw no use in dressing the truth.

You asked, “Why not?”

Jack looked toward the terrace again. “She did not threaten me.”

You almost laughed. “She considered it.”

Jack’s mouth moved by a fraction. “I noticed.”

You stepped closer without meaning to. “And that did not frighten you?”

Jack’s gaze returned to yours. “It made me respectful.”

The answer was so simple that it stripped something raw inside you. Respectful. Not afraid. Not enthralled. Not suspicious. Respectful.

You looked toward the terrace doors, where Vaela’s dark green shape moved faintly beyond the glass. “Most men call that fear.”

Jack’s voice softened by the smallest degree. “Most men need better words.”

You did not know what to do with him when he said things like that. It would have been easier if he had been arrogant. It would have been easier if he had treated Vaela as a threat to manage or a weapon to wield or a crown symbol to display under prettier lighting. It would have been easier if he had looked at your dragon and seen only danger. Instead, he stood still and let her judge him. Instead, he had waited. Instead, he had not reached for his sword. You hated the gratitude that tried to rise in you. You hated more that it felt deserved.

“You understand bonds,” you said.

Jack’s expression changed again. A shuttered thing. Old, perhaps. Or wounded. “I understand mine,” Jack said.

You tilted your head. “Only yours?”

Jack’s eyes moved briefly to the bandage hidden beneath your gown, then back to your face. “Enough to know yours is not ornamental.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it. The words struck too close to council chambers. To polished men and careful arguments. To all the ways they had spoken of Vaela as if she were a problem of optics, succession, and public confidence. You turned away first. Jack did not follow. That was what undid you a little. He did not step closer when you needed space. He did not fill the silence because it made him uncomfortable. He simply let you stand inside your own chambers and decide whether to speak.

You touched the back of the nearest chair. “The council thinks she unsettles people.”

Jack said, “She does.”

You looked back sharply.

Jack held your gaze. “That does not make them right.”

Your fingers tightened on the chair.

Jack continued, “Power unsettles people most when they cannot control it.”

The words moved through you with a strange, aching precision. You wondered if he knew how cleanly he had cut. You wondered if he had meant to. You suspected he had.

You turned back toward the room. “And you?”

Jack’s eyes did not leave you. “Me?”

You kept your voice steady. “Do I unsettle you, Sir Jack?”

Silence followed. Not empty. Not safe. Jack looked at you as if every answer available to him was dangerous. Then he said, “Yes.”

Your pulse jumped. Jack’s jaw tightened, as if he had not meant to give you the word so plainly. You should have left it there. You did not.

You lifted your chin. “Because of Vaela?”

Jack’s gaze held yours. “No,” he said.

The room changed. Or perhaps you did. For a moment, there was no council. No assassination attempt. No old guard passage behind the wall. No Crownfire dragon beyond the terrace doors, watching through gold patience. There was only Jack Abbot standing in your sitting room, sworn to your protection, far too close and nowhere near close enough. Vaela pressed through the bond. Cool. Interested. Judgemental.

You swallowed once. “That sounds like the sort of thing a man says before remembering himself.”

Jack’s expression closed by degrees. Slowly. Deliberately.

“Yes,” Jack said.

The honesty should have made it easier. It did not.

You looked away. “Then perhaps you should.”

Jack inclined his head. “Your Highness.”

There it was again. Distance restored with two words and a title. You should have been relieved. You were not.

Jack turned toward the writing desk, where he had left the list Elowen would complete by morning. “I will have Marek place the first watch outside the outer corridor before sunset.”

You let him change the subject for now. “And the old guard passage?” you asked.

Jack looked toward the hidden panel. “I will inspect it myself before nightfall.”

You folded your arms. “Alone?”

Jack’s gaze returned to you. “With Tovan, if the lower hinge route is still open.”

You frowned. “Tovan knows the old passage?”

Jack said, “Tovan knows most things that are inconvenient for other people to forget.”

You could not argue with that. Jack moved toward the inner door, then stopped before opening it.

He looked back at you. “I will send Elowen back first.”

You lifted your brows. “You are announcing my own attendants to me now?”

Jack’s face remained composed. “I am asking whether you want them.”

That quieted you. He was not ordering. He was not assuming. He was asking. You looked at the empty room, at the tea tray Minka had nearly forgotten, at the bath linens Nessa had abandoned, at Elowen’s folded shawl on the desk. You were suddenly tired. Not weak. Not fragile.

Tired.

Your wound ached beneath your ribs. Your head felt full of council voices and dragonfire and the low, impossible rumble Bramor had made beneath your hand.

“Yes,” you said. “Elowen first.”

Jack nodded once. “Then Elowen first.”

You watched him reach for the door. A thought caught in your chest before he could open it.

“Sir Jack.”

He stopped immediately. “Your Highness?”

You drew yourself straighter. “If I object to one of your changes, what happens?”

Jack turned fully back to you. “You tell me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And then?”

Jack said, “Then we discuss it.”

You stared at him. The answer was too clean. Too simple. Too unlike the men downstairs who wrapped cages in velvet and called them policy.

“You make that sound easy,” you said.

Jack’s eyes did not soften, but his voice did. “It rarely is.”

You studied him. The dark riding leathers. The silver at his temples. The scarred hands held still at his sides. The sword he had not touched when Vaela judged him. The man who had knelt before you in a council chamber and sworn to abide you until death released him from service.

“And if discussion does not change your mind?” you asked.

Jack answered, “Then I'll tell you why.”

You lifted your chin. “And if it does change your mind?”

Jack held your gaze. “Then I change it.”

You did not speak. Jack did not look away.

Your voice came quieter when you found it. “Because you swore to abide me?”

Jack’s answer was immediate. “Because I meant it.”

The words settled between you. No flourish. No performance. No velvet. You could distrust a speech. You knew how. You had been raised inside speeches. You did not know what to do with a man who made his vow sound like a fact.

Jack opened the door. Elowen stood beyond it, one hand lifted as if she had been about to knock. Minka hovered several steps behind her with fresh tea and cheeks that pinked the moment she saw Jack. Nessa leaned against the corridor wall with her arms full of folded linen and an expression that said she had already guessed more than anyone had told her.

Jack stepped aside at once. “Elowen.”

Elowen’s gaze moved from Jack to you. “Your Highness?”

You nodded. “Come in.”

Elowen entered first. Minka followed, clutching the tea tray with both hands. Jack’s eyes flicked to the tray, then to Minka’s pale face.

His voice gentled. “Careful with the step.”

Minka looked down at the perfectly flat threshold as if it had personally betrayed her. “Yes, sir.”

Nessa made a small sound behind her. Elowen gave Nessa one look. Nessa immediately became very interested in the linens. You looked at Jack. Jack looked back at you with that same infuriating innocence he had worn earlier. You should not have found it charming. You absolutely did.

Jack inclined his head. “Rest, Your Highness.”

It was almost an order. Almost. But then he stepped back, leaving the choice in your hands. That was the trouble with Sir Jack Abbot, you were beginning to realize. He looked like every man sent to stand between you and your own life.

And yet, so far, he kept leaving doors open.

It was nothing short of humiliating turning up at the base of the House of Wind almost two months after that—now infamous—night you brought the Shadowsinger back to your apartment under the dark of night to have your ways with one another.

In your shaking hand you clutched the notes from the healing centre in town which confirmed your diagnosis: pregnant. 

You took all of five of the 10,000 stairs before craning your neck to look up at your awful situation. 

You’re not sure how one might summon the Spymaster of the Night Court; you’ve never had to do it before. From what you’ve gathered, he just sort of… appeared in places that he was needed. 

You wondered momentarily if there was a way to tell him he was needed on the 9,995th step of the House of Wind. 

And then a shadow appeared.

Just one. 

Your entire body flushed violently, the sight of it flooding you with sinful memories of the last time you interacted with the devilish little things. You tucked your wrists behind your back. 

“Hello again,” you greeted, wincing when you realized you were speaking to a fucking shadow.

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to think any less of you for it.

“I, uhm, well… I was hoping to speak with your master,” you explained poorly. “Could you, uh, tell him I’m here? Please?”

Your neck almost cracked under the speed at which you craned it to watch the tiny thing go flying back up in the direction of the House of Wind, letting your head fall again once it disappeared over the cliff's edge. 

Not a moment later, the Shadowsinger materialized a few steps ahead of you.

You’re not proud of it, but you startled—big time. Shrieking, you took a step back and nearly lost your footing.

You were saved by a firm grip on your wrist and a few shadows at your back.

You flushed again.

“Sorry, sorry,” you breathed, quickly righting yourself and nervously brushing your skirts down. 

“Don’t be,” Azriel countered. “I’m sorry for startling you.” 

“I- well, I didn’t really know how else to contact you, I- I’m sorry for just…showing up.”

“Don’t be,” he repeated, brows furrowing as his shadows rioted around him; if he didn’t already sniff the pregnancy on you his shadows were definitely about to break the news on your behalf. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted, hoping to beat them to it. Some might consider it brave, perhaps, if you didn’t keep your gaze glued on the siphon on his chest instead of his face. “I…I found out a week ago I-”

You pulled the papers out from behind your back, looking down at them instead. 

“I’m sorry to just…spring this on you. I- I don’t, you know, expect anything from you? I know we don’t know each other well. I just didn’t want you to… to find out from someone else, or- or if we bumped into each other, I just-” You heaved a breath, suddenly feeling as though you actually had made the 10,000 step trip up the side of the mountain. “-I just wanted to let you know myself.”

After a few moments of silence you braved a look up to the Illyrian who was frozen on the spot; the only signs of life were the shadows flying around him and his siphons glowing ominously. 

His face was drawn, nearly pale; fear and concern evident as his eyes searched yours for any clues as to how to react to this. 

You winced, shaking your head in silent apology; you’d reacted much the same a week-or-so before.

You found out later that much of his concern was based on his sister-in-law’s pregnancy with a winged babe, but unlike the Inner Circle of the Night Court, you still have connections to the Spring Court, many of whom have managed to befriend their human neighbours.

Learning about a surgery called the cesarean section fixed the problem of wingless females giving birth to winged babes.

The fear, though? Well, if his fear was about being a father or being stuck with you for the rest of his life, he never did tell you. 

He simply just started letting himself into your apartment. 

“Azriel,” you chide after successfully rolling out of bed—a feat despite the fact that your bump hasn’t nearly hit maximum capacity yet. “You just let yourself into people’s homes now?”

He hardly pauses his current task of unpacking a bag to look at you over his shoulder. “Hey. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m pretty sure this is considered breaking and entering,” you offer instead of answering, perching on a stool to watch him work. 

“I haven’t broken anything,” he says. “And I knocked.”

You snort. “You’re generally supposed to wait for someone to answer the door, Shadowsinger.” 

His wings tighten against his back, the only sign he feels any embarrassment. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he explains carefully. 

You groan, rolling your neck. “I’ve been sleeping too much lately.” 

“Not too much,” he argues, turning and placing a plate of peanut-butter and banana toast in front of you. You must wrinkle your nose—or maybe his shadows tattle on you—because the plate barely meets the table before he’s whisking it away from you. “You need the rest. Is banana still a no-go?” 

“Sorry,” you sigh in confirmation, swallowing around your gag reflex. “I was hoping we’d be over this by now.” 

“Don’t be sorry, I’ll make you something else,” he tells you easily, reaching into a bag of groceries he must have brought with him. “Does a bagel sound okay? Maybe with cream cheese?” 

“Sure. I can make it though, Azriel.”

The Illyrian merely shakes his head no. 

You don’t succeed in convincing Azriel to make something for himself as well, but you do manage to convince him to take a quarter of the bagel he prepares for you, so you consider it a success. 

“Think you’ll be ready for the appointment with Madja shortly?” he asks after finishing his piece, brushing the poppy seeds from his hands. 

You nod, rushing to swallow your bite. “Yes, I haven’t forgotten.” This time, goes left unsaid. “You don’t have to come with me, Azriel.”

It’s not lost on you that a mere few months ago Azriel was enjoying the life of a disentangled male who could spend his evenings at Rita’s and leave with any fae brave enough to bring him home. 

Now he spends his time reverse-burglarizing your home—stocking your cupboards and feeding you despite your ever-changing tastes—and chauffeuring you to various appointments because he thought something awful happened to you after Madja reached out to him when you failed to show for your appointment on account of your baby-brain and constant napping.

Your offer seems to give him pause, finding him turning slowly to look at you. “Do you not want me to come?”

Your heart falls at the insecurity in his tone. “No I- I’d like for you to come. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to come.”

“I’d like to come,” Azriel tells you. “I’d love to come with you.”

You nod at him, offering a tight smile. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He shakes his head again. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“I just don’t know how I’d be doing this without your help.” 

“You shouldn’t have to,” he says plainly, wiping down the counter of your apartment like this was all just the most simple thing in the world. 

Your sinuses sting. 

“How’d you get in here, anyway?” you ask, wiping at your eyes before he can see you doing something embarrassing like crying. "I know I locked the door behind me."

One of his shadows circles your wrist as if in answer; Azriel’s only response is the humour in his eyes as he brings a glass of water to his lips.

You merely shake your head, grateful that he uses that particular skill on you for good rather than evil. 

You weren’t exactly sure where the need for perfection even came from. It might have been something you were innately born with or maybe it was nurtured by the indifference on your parent’s faces whenever you came home with your report cards.

At first you had tried rebellion but that didn’t even get an eye blinked in your direction so you figured you had to switch it up, go as hard as you could for as long as you were able to handle and then maybe you’d be able to satisfy the itch to be something better than whatever you were.

Eventually the need to prove yourself to your parents went away but the lack of tolerance for mistakes didn’t, growing heavier and heavier until your back was aching over your desk and your migraines were almost constant from lack of sleep.

You made it through school with barely a single conversation held that was beyond surface level, your entire being obsessed with studying and what your talents could bring to the table even if nobody knew or cared enough about you to even be sitting at it.

Emergency medicine wasn’t your first choice, it was actually pretty close to the last but you realized quickly that a large amount of med students were just as anal as you about being perfect and your studying habits didn’t seem as outrageous when surrounded by your actual peers. There was no more casualness and the sudden feeling of genuine competition was almost beyond what you were able to push through.

It didn’t take long for your first round picks to be taken by somebody who worked harder, came from a better family, or just had more natural talent. And then your second and third were filled too and before you knew it you were three years deep into your time at the PTMC.

You didn’t dislike it and you figured the long grueling hours were just par for the course in this career, you even felt a sense of relief when you got home and felt the ache in your body and saw the bruises coloring your skin.

To you it felt like a small victory, visible proof that you had worked harder than anybody might have assumed you were capable of if they had bothered to assume anything about you at all.

You weren’t really sure why it hurt you so bad when you were suddenly moved to a different shift last week. You didn’t have any real friends in the department, not even somebody you’d feel comfortable enough to borrow a protein bar from but the routine was something you’d become used to and you’d just started to perfect your way around any avoidable social situations.

The scowl on your face must’ve been more prominent than you realized when you walked in on your first day on the night shift, hand curled tightly around the single backpack strap were wearing.

You saw all of the same faces you had seen each morning for the last three years but now they looked weathered and tired in the way they did when you typically bid them a quick goodnight nod. Finishing their shifts as you began yours, a new normal that didn’t seem to disturb the flow of things at all for anybody minus you.

Robby gave you a nearly sympathetic look when he passed by you in a hurry and you didn’t meet his gaze out of anger, not necessarily at him since you knew the lack of staffing for the night shift wasn’t his fault but you felt a weird sense of betrayal.

“He feels bad you know.” The low voice to your left would have made you jump if you weren’t so exhausted already, failing to properly flip your schedule in the two days you’d had to prepare for such a drastic change.

“Yeah I bet.” You replied back to Ellis, barely giving her a once over as she leaned on the desk next to where you were currently frozen in place.

Your voice was flat and laced with irritation that you almost felt bad about. You knew these people well enough, been through shift change talk throughs hundreds of times and even sat around for a few awkward drinks on the nights out you were forced to go to by the newer student doctors.

There was an uncomfortable feeling when her face fell and she sighed softly, hating the fact you were being so standoffish and ruining any chance of making a friend before you even really started. You tried to loosen your posture a little to look more approachable and even half planned to tell her you were just tired before she was walking off with a pitying smile pointed your way.

You groaned inaudibly as you kept walking and made your way to the locker room, instinctively trying your old one with your code before remembering halfway that they’d moved you. One of the night shift doctors already had yours and had you beat in seniority by nearly a decade.

The deep breath left you shakier than you intended and you rested your forehead against the cold metal for a few more, letting the grates press hard into your skin to try and wake yourself up.

“Heard coffee is effective.”

You knew who the low drawl belonged to without turning around so you didn’t bother, eyes opening and another louder sigh leaving you with intention.

“Really? You should patent that.” You only responded after a few seconds went by without the sound of departing footsteps, turning around at the end of your sentence to raise an eyebrow at the man who was standing leaned against the door with his arm crossed.

Jack Abbot was one of the only faces on the night shift that wasn’t a near stranger. He spent enough time picking up unnecessary hours and lingering around the desk long after his shift ended to talk to Robby so you’d had your fair share of encounters with the older man.

He gave you a barely noticeable smile at your quick comment back, his ankles crossing over each other as he relaxed in the doorway.

“You used to smile more when I first met you.” He said in return and you fully rolled your eyes at this, ignoring the lack of professionalism considering you knew he didn’t care for it much anyways.

You turned again to open your new locker, trying not to fumble with the code under his watchful eye from behind you. Abbot was a direct opposite of Robby who felt like such a natural leader in every decision he made down to the tone of his voice, that cadence that some people were just born with.

Abbot seemed like he was always trying to leave a room as unnoticed as possible and despite being charming and as personable as anyone working the graveyard shift could be, he was more prone to quick nods of approval and silent pats on the back when someone was in desperate need of encouragement.

Sarcastic quips replaced the inspirational speeches Robby would give after a hard day and you didn’t need to work a full shift with him to understand that his methods were something you’d clash with.

You were self admittedly very sensitive, slow to understand a joke especially when you were the butt of it and unable to hide the insecurity in your chest that seemed to be clawing its way out almost constantly.

“No I didn’t.” You replied back and you finished putting your things away, closing your locker softly and walking past him in the doorway.

There was no surprise when he followed behind you, both because he was your new first in charge and also because he was never really one to let a conversation end so briefly when you were in a sour mood.

“He really does feel like shit about this whole thing.” He continued on and you kept your gaze forward as you slid into one of the rolling chairs behind the main desk and scanned your badge. He leaned forward onto the counter in front of you, the hair on his arms just barely visible out of the top of your eyes as he folded them together. “Robby.”

“He doesn’t have to.” You said smoothly with a light shrug like it wasn’t something that had been keeping you up for the last two nights wondering what you had done wrong to get booted at the first chance.

“He said you’re his best.” Abbot continued on and now you finally stopped the fast paced typing you’d barely been paying any attention to, eyes flickering up to him as he watched you with a sense of knowing that made you feel nauseous suddenly.

“He also said not to listen to anything you said about him.” You said flatly once you finally had your light dinner back down your throat, looking at him beneath your lashes to catch his reaction and feeling a bit smug when he snorted a small laugh and nodded as he looked off towards the entrance.

“Fair.” He replied in a softer tone as he pushed himself up off the counter and took a few steps back, pointing in your direction until your eyes rolled again.

You figured you saw Abbot a few dozen times during your shift but it was such a blur of red and stark white that you barely registered him, your medical vocabulary rolling off in autopilot and your hands moving through procedures before your brain could catch up.

It wasn’t until the fourth hour in, nonstop damage control from the shift change off and post dinner rush in the waiting room leaving you feeling dizzy when you stood still, that you actually got a chance to focus on his presence again.

Robby had a sort of nervous energy to him that followed him around the room like a static, catching the attention of his staff and keeping you in your toes.

Abbot was nearly the polar opposite in this way too.

He felt like a solid force in your corner, there enough to remind you that you were supported but letting you do the leg work as much as possible. The night shift certainly had a different level of darkness and chaos to it but the staff themselves seemed to be operating in a way that left you a little awed.

They almost seemed to be finding downtime in the endless stream of injuries and traumas, including Abbot who was currently leaning back on the counter and fidgeting with the corner of a file cover.

You were a similar position as you were before when he was giving you a half assed attempt at helping you understand Robby, but now you were on the other side of the counter.

It had to have been the delirium that left you leaning on the space next to him, enough distance between you for two people to fit but still more comfortable than you probably would have been after a power nap. He sent you a glance from the side of his eye that made a sigh leave you.

“You know…” He started slowly and his voice graveled in a way that made the traitorous hair on your arms stand up. “It’s okay if you take a breath, nobody is going to sue you.”

“Don’t jinx it.” You say back and your gaze lands on him, staying there until he meets it and then looking away with the new feeling of his eyes on the side of your head.

“We are happy to have you here.” He adds suddenly and you feel your eyebrows furrow at the sincerity of it, feeling like it’s misplaced considering you hadn’t exactly been a delight the entire night. “Hey.”

It’s a call for attention and you give it to him, picking up your gaze to lock with his and trying not to sink into yourself at the intensity of it. He gives you a firm nod like you’d passed some invisible test you didn’t understand and yet you still feel a surge of pride blossoming deep in your chest.

“Really?” You had really meant to quip something smart back at him but instead you croaked out the single desperate word and clenched the counter in a tight fist.

“I mean it.” He says back and it’s nearly soft now, halfway to a whisper and your head starts to buzz beneath the sleep deprivation. He doesn’t even slightly shy away from the eye contact, not that you expected him to considering you had definitely noticed it was a habit of his. “Hope you stick around.”

He was gone before you could let out another breath and you let your head sink down against the chilled counter top, pressing your forehead down until it turned red and you felt a dull ache.

Then you were picking yourself up and getting back to work.

—

The first three weeks flew by and you felt yourself adjusting to the changed shift way faster than you had anticipated. You’d picked up one or two day shifts when needed and your rhythm there was now awkward, fumbling around more than you ever had and finding yourself longing for the nights instead.

You felt beyond relieved that your brain and body seemingly decided they were okay with your new assignment and it was a breeze to sleep through the daylight now.

You knew part of it was because the staff and their demeanor, another half dedicated to your own hard work and your determination to make the most out of it. But there was a large portion that was reserved for the man currently standing in front of the room and talking calmly.

Abbot was leaned back against the desk, somewhere he apparently frequented considering it always seemed to be where you found him. He was talking with his hands outstretched and his posture as straight and military as it had been since the day you met him, favoring the side without his prosthetic leg.

To his left was Robby, nodding along with a drained expression that made you think he was barely listening to the brief. You couldn’t necessarily judge him considering you were pretty sure you hadn’t heard a single word that was said in the last five minutes but you figured you could ask Ellis later since the two of you actually managed to become sort of friends after your interaction on your first day.

It wasn’t like you to get distracted so easily and you had spent the better part of the last few weeks beating yourself up over whatever the actual fuck was happening to you whenever your attending looked proudly in your direction.

You’d sought after Robby’s approval yes, beamed under his praise and blossomed when you felt like he was truly trusting you to save lives, but whatever it was that you felt deep in your chest when his other half merely gave you an approving nod was nearly dangerous for your career.

Crushes were not something you had any experience with considering how study focused you were your entire teenage years, you’d felt a flutter here and there but you had never let your eyes linger too long and it was almost criminal to have your thoughts entertained by any fairytale fantasies.

So the fact the entire staff was dispersing without your awareness, leaving you standing in place staring at Jack Abbot like a lovesick puppy, was a serious problem.

You shook your head to try and get yourself together, hurrying away to busy your hands and mind with low risk patient cases. You spent the first half of the night talking to sick old ladies and stitching up simple knife wounds that any student doctor could do with ease.

It was a little after midnight when you were stopped by a firm hand on your shoulder, freezing you in place with a sharp breath as you turned around to see Abbot looking down at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Could’ve used you in trauma two.” He said lowly and you felt shame immediately rush over you like cold water. “Where were you hiding out at?”

“I…” You trailed off in an automatic lie that got caught in your throat, sighing and letting your shoulders deflate under his palm. He removed it but only to slide down your arm and briefly cup your elbow before letting it hang back at his side. “I’m sorry I wasn’t trying to hide. I just… needed to slow the pace down a little.”

“No you don’t.” He replied immediately and now it was your turn to furrow your brows as you watched him crossed his arms and adjust his posture. “You can handle it and I need you by my side when the hard cases come in because I know you can.”

You looked down at your feet as he half scolded and half praised you, not sure if you were touched by your own apparent importance or embarrassed that he had realized what you were trying to do so easily.

The embarrassment must’ve shown clearer on your face because his gaze softened and he exhaled, rubbing a palm over his stubble and looking towards the busy hub where some student doctors were currently fussing over the ever growing patient chart.

“Pass off your easy patients to the newbies.” He said and his voice dropped down into a whisper, leaning in just enough for your cheeks to momentarily inflate from the way you suddenly held your breath. “Let them learn something, you know plenty.”

“Isn’t this a teaching hospital?” You finally managed to get your voice back and you glanced upwards at him just in time to see the amusement pass over his face. “Technically I could always learn more.”

It was silent for a few seconds long enough for you to regret making a sarcastic joke when he was clearly trying to make you understand a legitimate point about your abilities. You almost started to apologize, already internally beating yourself up for thinking his usual dry humor was appropriate at any time when his low chuckle stopped you short.

“Yeah I guess you’re right.” He nodded slowly as he spoke, lips curling into a small smile and your eyes stayed locked on the movement. His gaze drifted back to you and you hoped the way your eyes widened was minuscule enough he wouldn’t notice. “But let me teach you. Deal?”

You didn’t even notice his hand had extended inbetween your bodies until the tips of his fingers lightly brushed your scrub top, head turning down to identify the feeling and laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all.

Your hand wrapped around his much larger one, trying not to flush at the roughness of his palm against your soft skin. You squeezed around it and he returned the action before you shook them between you. Yours was retracted and stuffed into your pocket after barely three seconds of touching but it was enough for you to press your nails deep into your skin once it was out of sight.

“Deal.” You gave him a firm nod that you hoped looked more professional than that little moment felt.

The rest of the shift consisted of following behind Abbot from trauma to trauma and trying to act like his steady voice and calm demeanor wasn’t still somehow sending you into a state of nerves despite it having the completely opposite intentions.

—

You didn’t spend as much time in the ambulance bay as some of the others did on a hard night, from the nurses with smoking habits they couldn’t kick to the students who felt like they couldn’t breathe around their eight hour.

But now you were on your fifth minute of standing outside the automatic doors with tense shoulders nearly up to your ears, breathing in and out so audibly you would have felt self conscious if there was anybody else around.

It really wasn’t that grand of an offense considering your shift was ending in less than ten, the sun already peeking around the cement pillars and making your headache sting even sharper than you thought was possible. Plus it had actually been a relatively slow night when it came to the flow of foot traffic but that hadn’t made it any easier.

You’d lost somebody young before it had even hit midnight and the entire ER felt the typical shift that came along with something like that for the rest of your time there.

Then there’d been a drunk man getting rough on his way in that had sent you and two nurses flying against one of the environmental carts, insisting you were fine and rushing to glove up to attempt to assist him with the beer bottle currently sticking into his thigh.

You’d been stopped by a sharp glare from Abbot that you knew wasn’t necessarily directed towards you but it still made your throat tighten with the urge to cry.

He didn’t even need to say a word to dismiss you, head hanging low as you ripped off the glove you’d gotten on halfway and threw it roughly into the trash can on your way out.

After that you spent the next few hours taking patient after patient as the ache in your ribs built steadily. You hadn’t even noticed it at first in the chaos but a trip to the bathroom around five alerted you to the large bruise forming under your chest, wincing as you tugged your undershirt back down and splashed some water on your face.

So you didn’t feel too awful for standing outside and taking a nearly meditative amount of breaths while the shift change happened somewhere in the building behind you.

The doors sliding open didn’t alarm you nearly as much as the slow measured footsteps did, the slight drag of one of them making you stop your breathing entirely. You knew Abbot by his stride on a regular day and even more-so when he had been on his feet beyond comfortability and his leg started to bother him, the slight limp he adopted nearly unnoticeable if you weren’t paying as much attention as you always seemed to be.

Next was the smell of him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with you, the fabric of his shirt barely brushing your hoodie sleeve. He carried the same sterile scent you all did after a long night but there was the unmistakeable musk and light cologne hidden underneath it.

“You know what that was about right?” He said lowly and you pursed your lips at the sound of his voice, not realizing how close you’d been to crying until the silence was broken.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You replied as smoothly as possible but your voice was tight and lacking any air.

“But I’m going to.” He shook his head and stepped forward so he could turn and be in front of you, giving you no choice but to stare at some part of him as he blocked the sun coming up behind his solid frame. “It wasn’t about your ability as a doctor but your safety as a member of my team.”

You didn’t want to talk because you knew you were tired enough to try and argue with him that you had been fine, that you didn’t need to be wordlessly booted out of the trauma room in front of half a dozen people like you were an intern. You almost wished he had yelled at you for a mistake rather than that disapproving look he gave you when he saw you gloving up.

Your silence must have bothered him into boldness because suddenly his hand was moving between you, sliding under the undone zipper track of your hoodie and pressing lightly around your rib cage. You immediately hissed in pain and shrunk away from his touch, nearly taking a full step backwards from the sensation.

“That’s what it was about. Do you understand that?” He asked quietly and you kept your mouth closed shut tightly as the scratchy sob like feeling continued to build. He pressed on the area a few more times in a wider range like he was trying to examine how far the bruise stretched out under your clothes.

You stayed quiet and let him do the same routine you’d done hundreds of times in your career, heart racing only a few inches above where his fingers were softly pressing.

“How bad was it?” He continued to whisper in that low tone as you avoided looking at him.

“It’s fine.” You said back because you knew the silence was pointless and you were partially paranoid he was concerned enough to look himself if you didn’t answer soon. “I looked at it a few hours ago and it wasn’t anything to worry about, just tender.”

“You of all people know how misleading a bruise can be.” He shook his head and you sighed again at the light show of disappointment even if it was as light hearted and casual as a comment could be from your boss. “I filed a report. For the two nurses too.”

Your back tightened up and you reached down to grab his wrist loosely, just enough to get him to stop touching you so you could focus on the conversation. His arm tensed and his gaze left your midsection to watch your expressions closely at the touch.

“You didn’t have to do that, he was drunk and probably confused. It wasn’t that big of a deal and I really would rather not deal with the paperwork.” You were nearly rambling but you couldn’t handle the thought of this becoming a larger issue than it already was.

You felt a sudden sense of humiliation despite the fact you hadn’t done anything wrong, it was almost a selfish feeling considering there had been other people affected to but you wanted the situation to be left behind with the rest of the shitty shift.

“Then I’ll handle the paperwork.” He said firmly and his voice took on that stern tone you hated so much. “Drunk or not, he hurt you.”

You knew his words and actions were coming from his place as a concerned boss, protecting you and the nurses as a mass collective being his only determination to carry out a consequence for what had happened, but you still felt almost touched by his want to handle this.

It was much easier to finish off the final few minutes of your shift after that conversation with the single delusional thought stuck in your head and the phantom feeling of his fingertips pressing against your clothing sending shivers down your spine.

—

You had the terrible habit of spending any day off you had in your bed scrolling on your phone until your eyes stung, possibly making up for the years in school you spent solely studying before you fell asleep.

It wasn’t something you had felt the need to break your first few years considering you thought friends were a distraction but you’d drastically changed your tune lately when it came to your social interactions. You felt nice when Ellis greeted you comfortably and a buzz of optimism when Shen remembered your coffee order three weeks in, the sudden desire to have friends hitting you.

So this time around, when you were invited to get drinks with some of the team, you actually accepted.

It had become a formality to just invite you regardless of the knowledge you’d decline so they all seemed thrown when you actually arrived.

The bar was smaller than it looked when you investigated it on google reviews before leaving and the music was a little too loud for it to be as casual as Ellis had suggested. She similarly had a day off and was sitting with a few of the day shift students you recognized more than the others.

Santos and Whitaker were in a quiet debate about something you couldn’t pick up, pushing a nearly full glass back and forth between each other like it was moderating their argument.

You’d expected to look at the other half of the circular booth seat to see Ellis by herself and ready to greet you but you froze halfway across the room when you saw who was currently occupying the spot.

Jack Abbot was not included in the list of names Ellis had casually said might be here tonight so you’d fully lowered your defenses that typically needed to be enabled to withstand being in a room with him.

You considered turning around and leaving before they spotted you, well aware that they wouldn’t be too shocked or disappointed to learn you weren’t coming. It was already too late considering Santos was glancing upwards and waving you over as soon as she saw you, mouth moving rapidly like she was trying to call you over.

You sucked in a breath, gathering as much air as you could manage to stuff into your lungs before heading over to them. Your greetings were stiff and awkward but they seemed to be buzzed enough to not notice, other than the older man who was watching you with a careful eye.

Abbot didn’t look much different outside of the hospital, black t-shirt pulled tightly around his biceps and the jeans worn out in a way you knew was from actual use and not design. You could see the shine of a belt buckle if you looked too hard under the table but you decided not to when you landed on his boots.

There was no where else to sit other than beside him but you perched nearly halfway off the booth seats to avoid touching him in any way.

“I never thought I’d see the day you actually spoke to us outside work hours.” Santos was quick to start her comments as soon as you settled down and got mildly comfortable. She was smiling as she spoke and you retuned it tensely even though it gave you a similar feeling to cruel comments you’d heard in high school.

“Don’t take it personally, I’m just boring.” You said back with a bashful laugh, glancing downwards as you picked at the loose wood under the tabletop.

Whitaker, who’d insisted you called him Dennis after you’d greeted him by his last name, was already shaking his head before you could finish your self deprecating statement.

“We think you’re cool.” He said simply and you gave him a disbelieving look. “Seriously, even Santos.”

You sent the same look her way and she shrugged her shoulders with a buzzed grin that made you laugh a little. You felt yourself growing comfortable with the small group which you were extremely thankful for, not sure you’d feel the same ease if anybody else had been there instead.

Although you hadn’t even begun addressing the quiet presence beside you, staying silent even when you all dove into conversation after conversation. You listened and added on occasionally, genuinely interested in their lives outside of work and fascinated by their dynamics, but he barely spoke a word at all.

You’d almost forgotten he was there by the time you slipped out of the booth to go to the bar and order a drink for yourself, barely sliding into the stool before his arm was in your line of vision.

He had it resting on the counter beside you, slightly caging you in unless you wanted to squeeze out the other direction past the large man who already was rocking drunkenly back and forth.

“I thought you worked tonight.” You said softly, feeling a wave of shyness you had never felt before in your entire career.

Being in the ER with Abbot came with clear guidelines on how to interact and a long list of boundaries that didn’t give you many opportunities to embarrass yourself. However, being in a dingy bar with him smelling too much like that rich cologne was a whole different playing field you had no idea how to navigate.

You figured talking first would soften the damage on whatever he was planning to say but you didn’t think it would matter anyways.

“Scheduling error.” He replied back simply, eyes on the side of your face as you desperately and silently willed the bartender to head in your direction so you could get back to the booth. “Disappointed?”

You sent him a confused glance, shifting on the circular seat. “No, of course not. Why would I be?”

“Not everyone wants to hang out with their boss.” He said and tilted his head down enough to try and catch your eye again.

You turned a little in your seat so you could actually give him a clear view of your face, enough so he could hopefully tell your next comment was meant to be a joke.

“Isn’t Robby technically my boss?” Your voice was mockingly curious and you felt a surge of pride when he laughed lowly. “No offense Dr. Abbot.”

His nose scrunched up at the sound of the title falling from your lips, something he’d asked you to avoid on your first day and you hadn’t missed the lack of it coming from the other residents.

“Jack works fine.” He said softly and his fingers tapped against the wood as the bartender passed.

You followed the movement as you listened to him order another drink, mumbling your own preferred one when he casually asked you what you wanted. You barely processed he had added your drink to his tab before it was placed in front of you.

You looked back at him to find him already watching you closely, hand curled around his glass but not taking a sip yet. You felt awkward drinking from yours under his gaze but you also craved the extroverted feeling alcohol gave you so you took a bigger sip than you probably should have, keeping eye contact as you slightly tipped your head back.

The glass touched the wood with a soft clink when you set it down and his hand move his own towards yours, lightly dragging it by the rim closer to him. It wasn’t out of your reach but enough so you’d have to lean your arm into his space to grab it.

You gave him a curious look but didn’t outwardly question it, like it made perfect sense to you that he would control where your drink was.

“You look different with your hair down.” He said suddenly and you watched his eyes track over your head and down past your shoulders.

It took you a second to respond and by the time you were starting to his hand was already lifted and softly touching the ends of your hair, not pulling or even really grasping but just letting it tickle his fingertips. You laughed at the way he stared, making his hand freeze in the air and his eyes go back up to you.

“How much have you had to drink?” You asked him with a smile you definitely had never showcased in the walls of the hospital before, a bit looser knowing he must be drunker than he seemed to be touching you so casually.

His hand on your ribs was a different story, the way it snuck under your hoodie may have felt historic but it was simply his doctor brain taking the lead in his decision making. Even the lingering hand shake had been sourced from a legitimate professional interaction, at worst just a bit too friendly.

This however, was completely unnecessary and out of character.

“I’ve been drinking since before you were born.” He rasped back and you felt a shiver run over your entire body, gaze narrowing a bit when his fingers started to move again just to twirl a strand of your hair. “I’m fine.”

The reminder of your age gap, not that you really needed one considering it was absolutely impossible to ignore, made you feel drunker than any amount of drinks could have even attempted.

You tensed up when the man next to you was attempting to get off of his stool, tipping sloppily in your direction and leaning against your side. You hissed in pain at the pressure and waved him off when he started to slur out an incoherent apology.

Jack went similarly rigid, standing to his full height from where he’d been leaning until the man stumbled away and then shrinking down a little to get a better look at you. Suddenly his hand was back on your ribs, large and encompassing almost the entire injured side of your midsection.

It felt different now than it had outside in the ambulance bay, the professional aura of the hospital surrounding you and layers of scrub and undershirt blocking out the warmth from his skin. Now you were in an intimately sized bar with a thin long sleeve pulled tight on your body, already feeling heated from the quick chug of your drink you’d done without the added effects of his touch.

“Still bothering you?” He said lowly and his eyes were locked on where he was touching, pressing lightly with his fingers tips and not backing off when you squirmed uncontrollably.

“It’s really not that bad it’s just sore when you touch it.” You breathed back, wincing again when he pressed down on the center of your large bruise. “That hurts you know.”

“Does it?” He hummed in response, his eyes meeting yours despite the fact his hand didn’t stop its light pulsing against your side.

You felt your throat tighten up and you knew you wouldn’t be able to speak even if you wanted to, not sure what words you could even say in this moment. This was clearly not appropriate for about a dozen reasons but the hidden school girl in you was ecstatic that a man like Jack Abbot was actually possibly flirting with you in a bar right now.

His fingers stopped pressing down on your bruise but he didn’t move his hand right away, letting the warmth of his palm cover your ribs until you squirmed on the stool.

“I’ve noticed something.” He hummed out and your eyebrows furrowed at him, gaze darting around to escape his intense staring.

“Yeah?” You hated that you sounded a little breathy and you halfway considered ripping his hand away from you just so you could focus for a second or two. “What’s your observation Dr. Abbot?”

His eyes darkened just enough to be noticeable and not for the first time, you wondered if you were making a mistake. You couldn’t tell enough to figure out if he had drank a lot before you came, his gaze seemed as steady as anyone’s could be but the way he shifted closer made you search for any sign of intoxication.

“You perform better when you’re told so.” He said it slowly like it was an indisputable fact and you watched him closely, trying to think of a way to deny what he was saying. “You like it.”

“Who doesn’t like it?” You whisper back, the only tone you could take without letting your shaky voice show.

“Everyone likes it but you need it.” He continued on easily and you inhaled sharply as his fingers started to lightly press on your bruise again. His lips curled up in a slight smile when your face contorted in a pained wince. “That okay sweetheart?”

You should have felt embarrassed for the near gasp that left you in response, head nodding rapidly the only translation to what the noise might have meant.

The pet name was spinning on a loop in your head and you were sure you looked completely ridiculous by now, seconds from falling off the stool if it meant being any closer to him. You could smell his cologne now under the faint scent of the whiskey he’d been sipping on since you got there and it was a nice change from the typical sterile smell you all carried at work.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” You found yourself whispering and you regretted it as soon as it left your lips and his hand was retracting back down to his side.

He cleared his throat, stood up straighter and you knew right away that you had messed it up.

Jack Abbot may be a flirt and he clearly had some sort of interest in you, you’d be stupid to try and deny that after how he was just looking at you a few second ago, but he was a good man above that all. You had signaled wanting to stop and he had done so right away without any hesitation.

He was a gentleman and that much was clear but more importantly, he was your boss.

You’d given him shit about it actually being Robby but you knew the specifics wouldn’t matter to HR and all they would see is the indisputable fact that he was your superior, both in rank and in age. You wanted to protest and take the words right back from where they sat awkwardly in the air but you didn’t know how to.

“You’re right.” He said gruffly and he didn’t look at all upset with you, just mildly disappointed and maybe even a little sheepish like he hadn’t realized just how far he’d taken it until you said something. “It’s not.”

—

The effects of that night out were carried with you to your next shift, sitting heavy in your chest and making it nearly impossible to get anything right.

Jack hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to you but it was the absence of his usual banter and quick check ins that made your stomach turn. He wasn’t being cold, wasn’t even giving you any weird looks that would indicate he was ever in a bar with his hand on your ribs, but something was missing and you knew it was your own fault.

You were slow with your response time, fumbling around when you needed to quickly grab tools or make space for another set of hands in an operation. You were acting like a complete idiot and although you were still preforming above the average quality for any other doctor around, it was below your usual standards and obvious to anybody used to you and how you normally carried yourself.

At first you had been attempting to avoid Jack but you realized that was pointless considering he was removing himself from any room you were in anyways before you got the chance.

You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t upset with you but rather himself, he believed he had made you uncomfortable and you were the reason he thought that.

The trauma one room was heated with loud frustrated voices, overlapping commands and hypothesis about what could be wrong with the little boy currently seizing on the table below you. Your brain completely blanked out, something that almost never happened to you and you barely registered one of the nurses yelling for another attending to help.

You moved over on autopilot out of the way of whoever had arrived, lightly bumping into Shen on the other side and only coming back down to earth when you felt a hand brush against your back.

“C’mon kid.” The low rasp from next to you sent you spiraling right back down to reality and your head snapped up and over to lock eyes with Jack. He had worry all over his face from the way you’d seemingly gone absent for a few long seconds at a crucial moment. “You know what to do.”

It wasn’t a question but a solid and trusted statement.

You hesitated for a breath before nodding firmly at him and turning back to face the room, your brain finally catching up with your mouth as you easily spout out the steps to take to help the boy settle down enough to continue his care safely.

There isn’t another moment to breathe until he’s sent up to the ICU and you’re able to leave the room, barely able to get your gloves off before you’re slumping against one of the hallway walls.

You don’t need to open your tightly shut eyes to know who the approaching footsteps belong to, reluctantly opening them again to meet with Jacks concerned face. He looks hesitant to even be in a slightly private space with you, looking over his shoulder like he needs an exit plan.

“You did good.” He says it softly and your shoulders deflate a little in a large breath followed by a scoff.

“I could have killed him.” You say back in denial, voice painfully tight as you run a shaky hand over your messy hair to try and smooth the flyaways.

“You couldn’t have.” He denies as he takes a step closer and you want to correct him, to tell him all the ways it was possible and remind him of the times it had happened before regardless if it was directly your fault or not. Instead you just fall silent and give him a long pitiful look. “And I wouldn’t have let you. But you did good on your own, you pulled it together.”

Now it’s your turn to take a step closer even though you immediately miss the support of the wall against your back. He peers down at you and your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry.” You say it so softly it’s barely audible under the chaos of the night and the beeping of machines, his eyebrows furrowing just enough to be noticeable but the rest of his face impossible to read. “For the other night.”

“Don’t.” He says immediately once he understands what you’re referring to. “That was my fault. I should be the one apologizing for making you uncomfortable.”

You shake your head and somehow gather enough courage to let your hand raise and land on his bicep, squeezing softly to try and communicate with him through some sort of physical touch morse code. Thankfully he softens a little at the feeling and you can brave yourself through an actual audible sentence.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable Jack.” You reassure as sincerely as you can even though you see the contemplation passing over his features, like he’s not sure if you’re just trying to save face or if you actually mean it. “I was nervous. I just… I haven’t really done that.”

“Flirted with your boss in a shitty bar?” He rasps as he steps closer and you know he’s joking, especially considering the way his lips curl up in a soft smile, but you feel a little sick knowing you’ll have to explain yourself further.

“Jack.” You sigh out, eyes locked on his before glancing away nervously and squeezing his arm a few more times.

You’re not sure if it’s just something about you that leads him to understand what you mean, an inexperienced nature that you’re sure could be relatively obvious to anybody interested in you, or if he had just came to the conclusion on his own but his lips part in realization as he slowly nods.

Your face flushes and you drop your hand from his arm, not losing contact for long considering he’s immediately bringing his own much large palm back up to your ribs, his thumb rubbing back and forth right under where your bras underwire starts.

“That’s alright sweetheart.” He says in a soft whisper and you suddenly feel like you want to cry.

Both from the adrenaline of everything that’s happened in the last few hours, the way he avoided you throughout the day, and especially from how embarrassing it feels to get such an automatic relief just at the sound of the pet name coming from his mouth.

You hope you don’t look as visibly torn up as you feel but you’re sure he can see it on your face, his eyes softening even more if that was possible.

“Yeah?” You find yourself whispering back in desperate need for reassurance and he’s quick to give it, nodding his head and shifting close enough that your chest could brush if he moved his hand and leaned forward. “That doesn’t… freak you out?”

“Are you kidding me?” He laughs a little but it’s lacking any real humor, like he finds you genuinely ridiculous for ever thinking along those lines. “Nobody’s ever touched you right sweetheart?”

It takes a few seconds before you’re nodding your head and biting at your bottom lip from nerves, face undoubtedly bright red from the blunt way he put it.

“I promise that does the opposite of freak me out.” He rasped back and your eyes reluctantly met his again just to make sure he was being honest with you, finding whatever you were searching for in his gaze almost immediately.

His eyes are actually a little darker than you expected and you feel your cheeks flush immediately at the mere idea of him being the first one to touch you like that. Not some drunk hookup with a guy who can barely pay his taxes, not a stiff and awkward first time with a boy your age who isn’t focused on your pleasure at all.

Instead you finally let yourself imagine what it would be like with Jack.

Jack and his rough weathered hands and low rasp, his decades of experience that started before you were even a thought in your mother’s mind. His never ending attentiveness and easy dominance that he carried through the ED without ever needing to raise his voice or assert himself, the thought out and specific praise he gifted you whenever he could sense you needed it.

You knew the direction your mind had gone was probably written all over your face, his amusement leaving his own as soon as he registered what it was you were so quiet about.

“Sweetheart.” It was low, the lowest you’d heard from him and your slightly watery eyes immediately darted back up this face despite you not even realizing they’d been drifting down his broad chest. “You have a few more hours to go.”

He kissed his teeth like he was disapproving and you felt a little sick at how eager you were to fix that.

Who knew Jack Abbot could so easily slip into the role of a complete menace the second he realized you were interested in him that way?

You nodded your head and visibly gulped, straightening out your scrubs and doing your best to avoid contact with him in any way as you turned to leave the hallway.

—

There was almost a sense of fear as the end of your shift approached although you still had your doubts Jack would ever cross that professional line with you.

You knew he wanted to, he wasn’t being very subtle anymore with the very hungry gaze he kept fixated on you whenever you were in a room together for the rest of the night, but wanting and doing were two very different things.

A large part of you hoped you’d just be able to leave the hospital and head home to obsess over him in your own bed like any good doctor with a raging crush should do, stuff it down and keep living your life solely for the medicine and the job. You didn’t have time for this, you didn’t have the ability to make the time for it either.

But Jack Abbot was somebody who walked around like they had all the time in the world, shoulders relaxed after a brutal shift and humor dry and witty as ever behind you as he said goodbye to the day shift.

You’d expected him to walk past you, maybe give you a light parting statement possibly accompanied by another knowing half smile in your direction.

Instead you felt his warm hand on your lower back, wordlessly guiding you with him out the doors. You didn’t bother telling him that you hadn’t even grabbed your backpack yet, absolutely no protest coming from your lips as you walked with him.

You wondered what you might look like to any other staff members, maybe just like a mentor giving you a ride home and guiding your exhausted body to keep you upright. A caring boss who was providing comfort after a long night.

His truck was parked further back than necessary, high up on the parking ramp and in one of the corners you’d only use on a really full staff day. You didn’t have time to fixate on the minuscule details of what this meant about his character, willingly walking extra minutes uphill just to be parked in solitude on the highest point of the ramp.

You barely even had the time to gasp when he was turning you around, suddenly in front of you with his hand on your hip as he gently backed you up against the driver side door of his truck.

Your eyes must have been wide and unfocused because he made sure to take his time, gaze raking over you and your messy hair that he was brushing behind your ear. He let his calloused hand cup your cheek after the hair was tucked neatly and you instinctively leaned against it.

“You sure baby?” He asked softly, croaked out in a gentle way you didn’t even know his voice could produce.

You didn’t even really know what he was referring to but you could definitely make a few guess and after running through a handful, you realized there was very little you would deny Jack Abbot of.

The patient was drenched in sweat, muscles straining violently against the straps. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused, jaw clenched so tight the tendons strained in his neck. He thrashed the second you stepped close, nearly catching a you in the jaw. The trauma bay lights were brutal overhead, all sharp white glare and humming electricity, making the blood at his temple look darker than it probably was.

“Sir, we need you to hold still,” you said, keeping your voice steady, low, and nonthreatening. He responded by trying to tear himself off the stretcher entirely.

“That’s enough,” Dr. Abbot snapped, already gloving up, moving to grab ahold of the patients thrashing legs. “We’re sedating.”

Dr. Ellis moved in on the opposite side, bracing one forearm across the patient’s chest. “You got that arm,” she muttered, nodding toward the arm thrashing closest to you.

You didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the patient’s upper arm, fingers digging into trembling muscle. He was stronger than he looked—adrenaline fuelled and panicked—and he bucked hard enough to nearly throw you off balance. Abbot swore under his breath as the patient tried to twist free.

“Ketamine ready,” Dr. Whitaker called from your left. His voice had that tight edge to it—focused but nervous. The syringe was already drawn, clear liquid catching the light.

“On three,” Abbot said. “One... two—”

The patient jerked violently.

Your grip shifted just as Whitaker moved to inject the patient.

Before you realized, sharp pain exploded in your hand.

“Ow—what the fuck!”

It was sharp and immediate, a hot, blooming sting that made you recoil. You looked down in disbelief.

The needle was buried in your hand not the patients arm, the plunger already fully depressed.

For a split second, nobody moved.

Whitaker went sheet white. “Oh my God—I didn’t mean for that to happen! The angle changed right before and I-I’m so sorry.”

“Get another syringe!” Ellis barked, not even looking up as she continued wrestling the patient down. “We need to sedate the actual patient.”

A nurse was already moving, efficient and fast. The second injection went into the correct person this time, clean and precise. Within moments the patient’s movements slowed, then stopped entirely, his body going limp against the stretcher.

Meanwhile, the world had started to tilt.

The overhead lights felt wrong. They were too bright, too close. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears, but your limbs felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.

“Okay,” you said carefully, blinking hard. “Someone get a gurney.”

Your words came out thick and slightly slurred. The floor shifted under your feet like you were standing on a boat. You tried to steady yourself by grabbing the edge of the stretcher.

“And please someone break my fa—”

Your knees buckled.

And everything went black.

—————————

Waking up felt like dragging yourself through syrup. The fluorescent lights overhead were blinding, stabbing through your eyelids until you groaned and rolled your head away from them. Your mouth was dry and your thoughts were slow, floating lazily out of reach.

“Hello,” you mumbled, voice thick.

“Hey there, kid.”

You knew that voice immediately.

You blinked several times until the blur focused into Jack sitting beside the bed, elbows resting on his knees, watching you carefully.

“Jack,” you whispered, smiling dopily. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

He let out a soft breath, tension easing from his shoulders. “Yeah?”

You frowned slightly.

Something wasn’t adding up.

You glanced around—the monitor, the IV pole, the curtain pulled halfway around the bed.

“W-where am I?”

“At PTMC. You were working on a patient and Whitaker injected you with nearly five hundred milligrams of ketamine.”

You stared at him.

“Oh,” you said after a long pause. “That’s not good.”

“Nope.”

You shifted under the blanket and felt thin fabric against your skin. You looked down, and froze.

You were in a hospital gown.

“Why am I in this?” you questioned. “I’m a doctor. I should be saving lives.”

Jack’s lips twitched. “We’ll need a raincheck on that. We’re observing you until the medication wears off.”

You processed that slowly. “Did you put me in this?”

He leaned back slightly. “No. Lena did.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “Boo. I was hoping you did.” You squinted at him, expression soft and hazy. “You’re so hot.”

Jack blinked.

“…I’m sorry?”

“You’re really hot,” you repeated matter-of-factly, then dissolved into giggles. 

Jack's eyebrows launch up.

You poked your own cheek experimentally. “My face feels like jello.”

Your fingers drifted upward and found the nasal cannula. You tugged at it lazily.

“Nope,” Jack said immediately, gently catching your wrist. “That stays in. Your O2 levels dipped earlier.”

You frowned at him like he’d personally betrayed you. Then your eyes dropped to the IV taped securely in your arm.

“Oh no, they forgot to take the needle out,” you whispered, horrified, reaching toward it.

“That has to stay in too.”

You huffed out in frustration, but then, for absolutely no reason, you started laughing again.

“What’s so funny?” Jack asked, a small smile making its way over his lips despite himself.

You looked at him very seriously, leaning slightly closer like you were about to share classified information.

“You smell like cologne and money.”

Jack blinks, shifting slightly in his chair. “Do I?”

You nod and hold his gaze, eyes heavy but locked on him. “Sometimes it makes me want to drag you into an on call room and lock the door.”

Silence.

Complete, stunned silence.

His jaw tightens. “That’s—”

“I’ve wanted to for months,” you add softly, like you’re commenting on the weather. “Its hard not, especially when you look like that.”  

He just stares at you, visibly recalibrating, breath shallow now.

“You don’t mean that,” he manages. “You’re high out of your mind.”

You opened your mouth to continue, but before the words could leave your mouth, the door to the trauma room opened, revealing none other than Whitaker.

“Huckleberry!” you say with sudden excitement, your smile widening instantly.

Whitaker gulps nervously and closes the door behind him. “I—I just wanted to come and apologize to you, for, you know… injecting you.”

“It’s okay, white chocolate,” you reply generously. “I forgive you.”

Whitaker winces immediately. “I see you’ve been hanging out with Santos and Garcia.”

“Yeah, they’re funny ladies,” you giggle, completely unbothered. “If it makes you feel better, I think the nicknames are cute.”

A wave of exhaustion crashes over you mid laugh. You yawn, blinking slowly as your eyes begin to droop.

“We should let you rest,” Jack says, already beginning to stand.

“No,” you protest immediately, instinctively reaching out and grabbing his hand before he can step away. Your fingers curl weakly around his. “I want you to stay.”

Whitaker shifts awkwardly, mumbling something under his breath, clearly aware he’s interrupting something he does not understand but definitely does not want to be part of.

“I have some patients to see,” Jack says gently, voice softening as he looks down at you. “But I’ll come back in a little.”

“But I’m your patient,” you mumble stubbornly.

Before Jack can respond, your grip weakens. Your head tilts slightly to the side, mouth falling open as the medication pulls you under again, breath slow and heavy.

Jack stands there for a moment longer than necessary, still holding your hand.

Whitaker clears his throat quietly, slipping out of the room awkwardly. 

Jack finally lets go, leaving to room.

—————————

You woke up again, this time slightly more coherent and felt less like you were floating. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

Jack’s voice pulls you fully out of dreamland. His thumb brushes lightly over the apple of your cheek, slow and uniform, like he’s been doing it without realizing. When your eyes focus on him, he pulls his hand back.

You blink up at him. The room isn’t spinning anymore, just a little foggy at the edges.

“…How long was I out?”

“A couple hours,” he says. “It’s almost shift change.”

You push yourself up carefully. “The patient?”

“Stable. All scans were clean. You can relax.”

You nod, then your brow furrows.

“I remember you were here,” you say slowly. “And Whitaker came in.”

“He did.”

You squint at him. “Did I say anything weird?”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. “You were… chemically compromised.”

“That’s not an answer.”

A flicker of something crosses his face, but it’s gone just as quickly. “We’ll talk later.”

Your stomach tightens. “Jack.”

“Later,” he repeats calmly.

Before you can press him again, the door whips open.

“Well, look who's alive,” Santos announces, stepping inside like she owns the hospital. Garcia follows behind her with a coffee and a grin that immediately makes you nervous.

“Oh no,” you mutter.

“Oh yes,” Garcia says. “The nurses have been talking.”

You sink back against the pillows. “About what.”

Santos gasps dramatically. “About how you were calling Whitaker dessert items.”

“I did not—”

“You absolutely did,” Garcia cuts in. “Whitaker is currently furious that we’re spreading ‘white chocolate.’”

You clap a hand over your face. “I’m never coming back.”

“He says it’s unprofessional,” Santos continues solemnly.

Garcia nods. “We say it’s branding.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “I don’t even remember saying that.”

Jack clears his throat quietly. You’d almost forgotten he was there. He’s standing now, composed, hands in his pant pockets.

“She needs rest,” he says evenly.

Santos raises an eyebrow. “We’re being gentle.”

Garcia’s gaze flicks between you and Jack, clearly noticing the tension. “We also heard something about cologne and money?”

You freeze. “What…?”

Jack looks entirely unfazed. “It’s time for shift change,” he says smoothly. “We’ll talk when you're fully sober.” His eyes meet yours briefly.

And then he’s gone.

The second he disappears down the hall, Santos leans in. “Okay. What else did you say?”

“I don’t know!” you whisper. “I don’t remember!”

Before they can dig any further, the door opens again.

“Alright,” Robby says, stepping in with a tablet in hand. “You’re clear to go home.”

Relief floods you.

 “You two,” he looks at Santos and Garcia. “Out. Patients exist.”

They groan in unison but shuffle toward the exit.

“We’re not done with you,” Santos warns.

“White chocolate forever!” Garcia adds before disappearing into the hall.

"Garcia stop saying that!" Whitaker exclaims as he rounds the corner.

Robby shakes his head, amused, and starts disconnecting your leads. “Heard you had the trip of a lifetime.”

“I’m gathering that,” you mumble.

He peels the IV out of your arm. “Vitals are good, you just need food and sleep.”

You hesitate. “…Did I say anything to Jack?”

Robby pauses, then gives you a look. “Depends,” he says. “Do you want the nurse version or the attending-approved version?”

Your stomach drops. “The attending-approved version.”

He smirks slightly. “According to Jack, you told him he smells like cologne and money. Then you informed him you’d thought about what would happen if you both went into an on-call room.”

Your entire body goes rigid.

“I said that.”

“Mhm.”

You stare at the wall in horror. “Please tell me I stopped there.”

“I’m not sure,” he shrugs. “That’s all he told me.”

“Oh my God.” You drop your face into your hands. “I have to work with him tomorrow.”

Robby chuckles, handing you your discharge papers. “You’ll survive.”

“I’m never going to be able to look him in the eyes again.”

Unfortunately, this time you were completely conscious for the humiliation.

—————————

It's been 22 hours and 30 minutes since you embarrassed yourself in front of Jack.

And you've been avoiding him all night.

Every time Jack stepped into a trauma bay, you found a reason to step out. When he rounded the nurses’ station, you disappeared into a supply closet. The ED had been mercifully slow, which made it easy to slip through the cracks.

You almost thought you’d succeeded.

Almost.

You’re scanning a chart at the nurses’ station when you feel it—that awareness. The shift in the air.

“We need to talk.”

His voice is low as he leaned down to talk right in your ear.

Goosebumps ripple down your neck instantly.

Before you can even respond, his hand wraps around your forearm—firm and controlled—as he guides you across the ED. Not rough, but not gentle either.

“Jack—” you start.

He pushes open the break room door and ushers you inside. The door swings shut behind you.

You swear you hear the click of the lock.

Your heart stutters.

He turns to face you, jaw tight, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“Do you remember anything you said yesterday?”

You swallow. “No. Not really. Robby… kind of filled me in.”

And then it starts—the rambling.

“I’m so sorry, I was high, and that’s not an excuse, I just—I don’t normally say things like that and I promise I’m not unprofessional and I completely understand if that made you uncomfortable—”

He steps closer.

You keep going.

“I mean obviously I think you’re attractive but that’s not the point, the point is I should not have—”

His hand comes up suddenly, fingers warm against your jaw, thumb pressing lightly into one cheek, steadying you.

“Stop.”

You freeze.

His other hand cups the other side of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly. “What you said last night—was any of it true?”

Your pulse is probably in v-tach.

You try to look away. He doesn’t let you.

“Answer me.”

You inhale shakily.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I meant it.”

Silence.

Then the smallest smirk touches his mouth. Before you can process it, he pulls you in.

The kiss is not tentative. It’s deep and deliberate, months of restraint snapping all at once. Your hands fly up in surprise, but they don’t push him away. They grip his scrubs tightly instead.

You melt before you can stop yourself.

When he finally pulls back, your breathing is uneven.

“I’ve felt the same,” he murmurs against your mouth. “For months.”

Your brain short circuits.

“Jack—”

“I was trying to be responsible,” he says, thumb brushing along your jaw again. “You made that very difficult.”

His mouth trails briefly along your cheek, your jaw, down to the curve of your neck—slow enough to make your knees weaken.

“You wanted to know what I’d do if you locked the door,” he murmurs.

Your stomach flips.

“I think you’re about to find out.”

And then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“What the hell?” Dr. Shen’s voice comes muffled through the door. “Why is this locked? My coffee’s in there.”

You and Jack jump apart like you’ve been electrocuted. You scramble to smooth your hair. He adjusts his scrubs, clearing his throat.

You unlock the door quickly and swing it open.

Dr. Shen looks between you both suspiciously.

“Must’ve locked automatically,” Jack says smoothly as he steps past him.

Shen narrows his eyes but grabs his coffee and mutters something about 'new facilities policies.'

You do not make eye contact with anyone as you speed walk away.

A nurse calls from down the hall, “Can someone come look at bed four?”

"I've got it," you latch onto that lifeline immediately and start walking towards to bed.

Jack catches up to you easily, falling into step at your side.

“Come home with me after our shifts over,” he murmurs, low enough that no one else hears. “I’ll let you finish what you started.”

Your face burns instantly. 

“Yes,” you say eagerly. “I mean—sure, yeah sounds good.”

Jack gives you a knowing look, the corner of his mouth lifting before he turns around to go check on a patient, looking like the picture of professionalism.

By the time you reach bed four, your face is still burning. And you're painfully aware that he’s watching you from across the ED. 

“What?” He asks, but really, it lacks the traditional inflection of a question. Instead, the single word manages to hold deep exhaustion and a healthy helping of ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’. 

Which, rude.

You stomp your foot, the moue of your lips more than a little petulant. “Oh, come on, don’t make it weird. Just...a little. Enough to pass out.” you raise your hand and pinch the air for emphasis.

“What?” Oh! The inflection was back, and he’d shifted weight onto his other foot. His cotton mask allows for you to see the top half of his face today, and you’re grateful, because the furrow in his brow exposes that while he really wants to just up and leave this conversation, he’s far too curious, or maybe perplexed? Disturbed?

“I want you to choke me out, Simon.” You grin, shrugging, “preferably with your cock in me but...” You mutter to yourself, pressing your lips together and widening your eyes in mock innocence when he glares at you in response, obviously hearing you. 

“No.” He turns away from you, pushing around the ceramic skull you placed in your office. A paperweight, whose presence had absolutely no hidden, romantic meaning whatsoever, you’d simply seen it in a home goods display off base and snatched it up. 

It had been on sale. Or something.

“I’m a doctor.” You tap your name tag insistently, “I know my limits, Si.” Now you’re just trying to rile him up, as if he’d ever lay a hand on you in anger you didn’t expressly beg for. Still, he hates when you shorten his name, used to hate it when you said it at all. 

Thankfully, things change.

“Fucking quack.” He mutters and you make a loud, dramatic, wounded noise you’d heard in a K-Drama you had watched once before flipping back to your favourite period drama you’d watched a million times over. You flatten your hand against your chest and rear back, more for your own gratification than to impress your offence upon Simon. 

“I’m serious! I’m curious and I know it won’t cause any real, lasting damage.” You approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his middle. He flinches, not from surprise, you guess, but from sensation, before his body relaxes. You push your face between his shoulder blades, rubbing your nose against his shirt. 

“I’ll suck you off after.” You murmur, and the lieutenant snorts derisively. 

No dice.

“Then I’ll ask Soap to do it!” You release him, and circle around your desk, feigning a grab towards your cell phone.

He doesn’t rise to the bait initially, turning back to face you and crossing his inked, scarred arms. You ogle them shamelessly, eyes greedily tracing every bit of knicked skin, every prominent, tempting vein. Thing of beauty, his arms were. “Go on, then.” He shrugs and consternation makes you furrow your brow in defeat. Unfortunately, the closer the two of you become, the more bags of candy and suggestive texts and lingering glances you exchange, the easier it is to read the other’s intent, your bluffs. 

You pout, and kick at the corner of your own desk, shifting it slightly. “Fine. I wouldn’t ask him.” You tilt your head, pinning him with a needy look you hope is suitably enticing, “I’m asking you cause I trust you, Simon. Please?” 

Apparently, bald, earnest honesty is the ticket because your not-boyfriend heaves a sigh and uncrosses his arms, raising one to rub at the back of his neck, the black t-shirt he dons stretched tantalizingly tight over the curve of his muscled bicep.

Oh, this was going to be so good.

“Fine. Just don’t piss yourself.” 

“Do people do that?” You wrinkle your nose, and Simon levels you with a look, dark brown eyes broadcasting a stark “Do I fucking look like I’m joking?” 

Regardless, you clap your hands in celebration, locking the door to your office and sprinting back to stand in front of him, the framed photo of your commanding officer, your mother, and you looking on judgmentally. You try to ignore it but end up putting the photo down on its face, no need for dear mum and your boss to witness your fantasy come to life.

Simon turns you to face away from him, the heat of his hands seeping into your shoulders. He is always so warm. It had been a boon to your freezing feet the few times you’d shared a bed for actual sleeping. (He’d cursed at you for maybe a minute before hiking your legs up to bracket his hips, so you could fall asleep wrapped around him like a koala.)

“Double tap, you understand?” He barks, and you can’t help but shimmy in excitement. 

“Yup!” 

Simon wraps a burly arm around your neck, not exerting any pressure yet. He hooks his other arm around his wrist so it sits in his elbow, and places that palm on the crown of your head, securing you snugly in a standard choke-hold. 

“Good?” He mutters low, his chest blankets your back, and you're enveloped in the clean, sharp scent he usually carries with him.

You laugh, “Yeah-huh-huh-huh.” and you know you sound a little stupid, but you’re getting what you wanted and even without Simon utilizing force, you can feel yourself getting wet, forcing you to rub your thighs together in anticipation.

He begins to constrict your airway and it feels as though your head is ballooning, building up pressure as breathing slowly becomes more and more difficult. Your eyelids flutter closed and your lips part in shock. It doesn’t feel good, necessarily, but it certainly doesn’t feel bad. It’s obvious Simon’s holding back a lot. It probably should hurt but the lack of air makes your mind stutter to a stop, and all you can feel is Simon’s heat along your back and his strength holding you in place and his scent where it’s stalled in your lungs, unable to escape. When he shifts a bit behind you, your eyes pop back open in surprise at what you feel.

“You’re hard!” You wheeze incredulously, using the very last bit of air you had to call him out.

“And you’re a fucking lunatic.” He bites back, jerking his hips forward to rub his clothed erection against the swell of your ass. And he’s been doing that a lot lately, pushing up against your back, grinding along the fat of your thighs. Just last week, he’d spent a whole night hot-dogging (“Dumb fucking name, huh?”) the aching length of his dick between the cheeks of your ass, fucking against your flesh until he spilled hot and thick over your lower back.

You think he may be developing a thing.

He keeps rocking against you, branding his shape into your backside. “God.” He mutters, pulling you up and sliding his knee between your thighs. You can’t speak, what with your brain rapidly losing function, but if you could you’d hiss your assent, maybe scream when the muscles of his thigh nudge against your clit. 

Your lungs and cunt burn in unison, and the edges of your vision fade, but you want to keep going, want to come just like this, completely under his control, dry humping his massive thigh, unable to breathe.

Finally, you raise a shaky hand to tap at his forearm, and Simon immediately releases you, letting you stumble forward, off his leg and towards your desk. Your palms make contact with the polished wood and you hunch forward panting loud and hard. The room is fucking spinning, but all you can bring yourself to do is laugh like a fucking maniac.

“You good?” The soldier speaks, the sound of his footsteps just barely piercing through the sound of your rushing blood. Your voice is practically non-existent and you have to clear your throat three times, but when you do eventually croak out a response, your chest heaves with your desperate breaths in between your words. 

“Yeah, fuck yes.” Your chest slowly loses that frantic, mounting pressure and when you turn your head to look at Simon over your shoulder, his eyes are unfathomably dark and narrowed, running laps over your legs, thighs and ass.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

“No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

"Why are you bathing in the dark?" he asks, flicking on the light.

"No, no," you practically whine and he turns it back off.

"What's wrong?"

"Just... the light. It's too bright." He hears you sigh and there's a few little splashes as you rub over your stomach. "I'm trying to relax."

"Well, I've got your dinner and you never eat it once it's cold so c'mon."

He helps you out of the bathtub, grumbling something about how it's not safe to bathe in the bloody dark, but he presses a kiss to your damp forehead and lovingly towels you off. Helps you change back into your sweats, his shirt.

But when you get into the kitchen and look into the bag he's brought, Ghost sees a look on your face that he knows.

His chest tightens.

A frown trembles at your lips.

Oh, bloody hell.

You press a hand to your forehead and begin weeping, pitifully, the tears quietly stream down your cheeks as you shake your head. He is quick to hover behind you, ghosting a hand on your hip.

"Hey... hey, what is it?" he tries to ask as calmly as he can, but your crying (no matter how often it happened) always spikes a rush of fear in him. All of Ghost's fears begin and end with you, and now, the child you carry.

"This isn't what I wanted," you tell him with a voice that quivers.

"What?" He takes a deep breath, speaks slowly. "This is what you always want from there, love. Got you the same thing."

"I know, but I— I wanted the chicken this time."

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I thought I did," you wipe your cheeks, but the tears don't stop. "I think I forgot to."

"Forgot to tell me what you wanted," Ghost murmurs, not angry. Amused almost. He brushes the hair from your forehead. "Right, then. Nothin' that can't be fixed, yeah?"

And he drives back to the restaurant because the knot in his chest hurts and he knows it'll only dissipate if your tears do the same. But when he returns, and you see that he's actually come back with the order you forgot to tell him in the first place, you only cry harder, waddling up to him and gripping the collar of his coat. Your wet cheeks burying into his chest.

"Oh, Jesus," he says, confused and at a loss, his hand settling carefully on your back. "Sweetheart... what is it—"

"You're so thoughtful," you whimper. Breaking out into a sob. And it completely throws him off guard. "I don't think I deserve you."

"Don't deserve me, huh?" he mutters with a sigh, closing his eyes and holding you firmer now.

He can remember when he used to say the same thing— but now you are his wife, your swollen belly is pressed against him and even though he has no idea how to make you stop crying, he just holds you and says gently into your hair:

Not when you were in your element. So happy to help him. To be useful to him and eager for his praise.

His fingers dragged down his tie as it now hung loosely around his neck, unbuttoning his shirt down to his chest. Adjusting his shirt so it wasn't too obvious. Eager eyes waiting for you to notice as you started to face him once again.

You were staring. Waiting for his input. He quickly skimmed the board as he grasped at the pieces he actually heard. But tried to hide his grin as he saw your face fall flat. A small sneer on your face as you spoke a half assed answer.

"Are you even listening? This could give us a real advantage here."

Jake was really trying to care. He really was. But you were too distracting. Everything you did he couldn't stop repeating in his head. Imagining a far different scenario.

"¿Que? I'm enjoying the view." (What?)

"Look out the window for a view, this is important."

"Oh, mi amor, you are very important to me." He leaned forward in his seat, lips quirked up. "Ni podría quitar mis ojos de ti si trataría." ("Nor could I take my eyes off you if I tried." )

Your cheeks flushed as your words died in your throat. You thought you could get use to his flirty behaviour yet here you were. It gets you everytime.

"Fuck me." You muttered bitterly to yourself.

Jake's grin grew wider as his eyes gleamed with delightful mischief. "Only if you beg, muñeca." (Doll)

You rolled your eyes, trying to resist the urge to bite your lip. This was just how he acted; he was a flirtatious asshole. You really wished he wouldn't be so forward sometimes - doesn't he know it could give a bad impression?

Without thinking you walked over to him, grabbing his tie to move it out the way. He simply raised a brow as you tugged on his shirt.

“Now what are you trying to do, coqueta?” (flirt - using it as the same as calling someone a minx)

“You look sloppy.” you quickly spat out, internally cringing at your own tone. You didn’t mean to be rude but nerves made your head spin. Jake seems to have that kind of effect on you.

"You'd look worse if you let me have you."

You yanked his tie back into its rightful place making him let out a strangled grunt. Raising a brow at his words as genuine confusion twisted onto your expression.

"In what way? Like - as in a fight?"

"In sex."

Your mouth formed a 'oh' as you blinked at him. You really should of expected that but stupidly, you had faith. Naively believing he would end his relentless flirts.

"What does that even mean? Why would I want to look worse? Isn't that a bad thing?"

Jake had to bite his tongue. Looking at you with forward brows as he pursed his lips. He knew you weren't innocent; no he's heard plenty of filthy remarks leave your lips but oblivious? That he could agree on. You weren't always the fastest at connecting the dots when it came to sexual things. It's why he enjoyed flirting with you at first, it was fun to watch you slowly realize what he meant.

But right now? He just wanted to shake you. How blunt did he have to be? How obvious did he need to make his intentions for you to finally realize?

Then there was that small light that flickered within his mind. The one that took joy in your cluelessness. How much did you even know about sex? He knew you were experienced and yet you were always the most clueless when it came to references regarding BDSM.

He could picture it. Watching those beautiful eyes of yours widen as he smacks your ass. Leave bruises on yours hips as he fucks you senseless. Tie you up all pretty, spread open and begging for him. Introducing you to a whole new world of pleasure that you didn't know could be reached.

But regardless of his fantasies, you showed no signs of being interested in him that way. Even less interest in anything he was into. He didn't want to overwhelm you with things you weren't comfortable with, if you weren't ready or into that.

"Jake? Shit- Hello, possible other alter." You nudged his shoulder, sending him a small wave.

"You're not getting rid of me that easy."

He barked out a laugh as he snapped out of his thoughts. You simply shook your heads as you kept your hands on his shoulders.

"Where is that head of yours?"

Curiosity tugged his words forward. His classic smirk on his face as he placed his hands on your hips.

"Not where it should be."

"Yeah, you've been daydreaming this entire day! You know where your head should be-?"

You took a step back from him, frowning down at him.

"Between your legs?"

"I--- doing what?!"

Your cheeks were surely on fire with how hot they were. What has gotten into him?! Sure he's made plenty of remarks similar to this before but somehow, this felt different. More meaningful.

"Ay, mi cosita preciosa." (Oh, my precious thing) You let out a yelp from how tightly he was gripping you. Staring as he sighed dreamily, resting his forehead against your thigh. His hat was pushed back on his head. Mismatched eyes gleaming with an emotion you couldn't quite pin down.

"Whatever you want me to do."

"You're being ridiculous again, I know you're just trying to distract me - you can just say my plan is bad, you know?"

"I would never do such a thing." He mocked. He's never been one to hold back. Calling out each flaw in your ideas and pointing out when something wouldn't work.

You loved his honesty even if it did hurt your feelings. He didn't treat you like an idiot despite your eccentric ideas and encouraged you to talk and think about new ways to help. At the end of the day, you would rather he tell you something was horrible than get both of you in a bad situation because he wanted to be nice.

So why was he being like this? It just didn't make any sense.

"Stop being an ass, if you wanted me to shut up you could have just said."

"If I wanted that, I wouldn't have you standing here scolding me."

He uncrossed his legs. Your eyes followed his movements only to snap to the prominent bulge in his trousers. You felt yourself clench around nothing at the size of it as you quickly looked back at his face. Jake followed your eyes the entire time, leaning back as he took in the way your lips parted. Trying to answer as your eyes kept flickering down to his crotch.

"Huh?" Your brain couldn't keep up. Not knowing what to say or do.

"I'd have you on your knees using that talented mouth of yours."

That's it! Your ears stung from how warm they are. You slapped his shoulder as you scoffed. "Oh fuck off-!"

He grinned as he leaned towards you. Tilting his head up with a small bite to his voice. Growing more excited at how worked up you were getting. Frustration clear on your face as you sneered down at him.

"Suck my dick."

That immediately wiped away any annoyance. Your mouth left to hang open once again. Palms becoming sweaty as you dug your nails into them. Your eyes are unsure where to look.

"I-I don't even know how-"

That caught his attention. Jake's whole demeanour changed as he took your hand in his, the other was on your thigh rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. His face suddenly became serious. It made you shift as you tried to think of a way to make him grin again. Finding your head full of cotton instead.

"Would you like to?"

"Like to what..?" Your voice was weak as a whisper. You knew what he meant but you wanted to believe he was still messing with you.

"Learn how to."

A nervous chuckle left you as you squeezed his hand. "Stop kidding around, Jake."

"I was until now." You didn't respond. You weren't even sure you knew how to. Words melted on your tongue as you felt a familiar throb between your legs.

"I asked you a question, amada." (beloved)

"Okay- um, yes I do."

You nodded. Slowly getting down on your knees as you kept nodding to yourself. disbelief written on your face as you blinked up at him.

"Uh- what can I practice on?"

Jake thought for a moment. As much as he wanted your mouth on him, he wanted to ease you into this. Scanning the room for anything useful but it was futile. He just caught your eyes glancing down at the gun attached to his thigh. Another smirk tugged on his lips as he pulled it out of its holster.

"Ésto." (This)

Your eyes immediately widened. Darting between him and the gun in his hand. The throbbing returned as you took in his suggestion.

"Are you insane-?!" Your face suddenly fell as you let out a huff. "Don't answer that."

"¿Pues? Want to try it?" (Well?)

He was ready to put it away and find something else. He could always use his fingers, after all. But you got more comfortable in your spot, eyeing the bullet chamber.

"Just–empty it out."

As soon as the words left your mouth, he cocked open the chamber. His hands moved quicker than you could process, pressing the button on the side causing the clip to drop. He cocked it again and the remaining ballet clattered to the floor as the chamber pops out. He reloaded the now empty gun without breaking eye contact. His movements were fast, precise. Your thighs rubbed together as you leaned forward.

Since when did this get you like this? You've seen him empty and refill his gun plenty of times.

'He didn't even look away. He knew exactly what to do.' a small voice in your head echoed.

"Abre tu boca." (Open your mouth) You immediately followed his command, letting him slide the gun against your lips. "Lick around the rim- that's it."

Your tongue swirled around the rim. Following its shape. The cold metal felt strange against your warm tongue.

You knew the basic steps of sucking dick - you've seen porn. But it wasn't exactly clear on everything or really taught you anything. Porn was the last place to look for actual education on sex, a good reference at the minimum.

With some hesitance you took the barrel into your mouth, trying not to scrape your teeth against it as you let your tongue drag along the bottom. It was a bit of a snug fit due to the make of his gun, the usual one he kept in his car. Your mouth had a slight ache from the stretch but it wasn't painful.

You gagged as he thrusted it in and out. Slow and steady as your head bobbed. Jake tried to keep it from going too far but you were clumsy in your movements.

"Breath through your nose."

You let out a shaky breath through your nose as your tongue licked the sides of the barrel.

"Doing so well, you like this?"

You nodded as your eyes fluttered. Your gaze falling from his face to his bulge. You could feel your mouth water, trying to picture what it would look like. Would he taste nice? Could you even fit him in your mouth?

That made you moan. Sucking on the gun as you grinded against the floor. Jake groaned at the noise, suddenly pulling the gun from your mouth. It came out with a wet pop, your mouth chasing it as your tongue peaked out from between your lips. He grabbed your chin to keep you still. You panted as drool dribbled down your chin. His eyes scanned the gun, seeing the barrel was completely covered in your saliva.

"Oh, muñeca." He breathed out. Moving the gun towards him, licking a long stripe down it. Tasting your spit and drool. Humming at the taste of it. He wanted to know If the rest of you tested this sweet.

You whined at the sight. Pawing at his thighs. You couldn't believe how you were acting. You've never felt like this with another person. Sure, you haven't been with many but none of them got you this riled up.

"Think you can take the real thing?"

Insecurity chewed at your gut. You were just going with what you've read and watched. Jake was the last person you wanted to do poorly with. You wanted to make him feel good.

"Please."

The words came out without you even thinking. He chuckled at your pleading tone as he put his gun on the nearby coffee table. Unzipping his pants teasingly slow. You huffed as you sat between his legs, helping him take off his trousers leaving him only in tight boxers.

If you thought he looked big in two layers, this was just intimidating. You could see the shape much better now. It flopped to the right, girthy in its width. You pulled him out from his boxers, taking in the cock before you.

It was slightly darker than the rest of him, the tip flushed and a visible vein on the underside. You grabbed the base, guiding him to your mouth. Your breath hitched as you noticed how your hand could just about fit around it. He's much bigger than anyone you've ever been with.

But with a deep breath you followed his first instruction. Swirling your tongue around his tip as you lapped up the bead of pre-cum oozing out. He shuddered as he let out a sigh of relief, holding the back of your head.

"Así, ángel, taking me so well." (Just like that, angel) all he said, slowly guiding your head down and only when you gagged did he stop.

You tried to replicate what you did to the gun. Licking along the side of his cock as you bobbed your head. The ache settled in your jaw as you sucked and swallowed. Trying to keep your drool down but it only made Jake groan.

"¿Enserió que no me 'stabas mentiendo, ángel? Because you're good at this." He let out a breathy chuckle, head tipping back as he kept his stare on you.

You refused to believe you were doing that good. He was just trying to be supportive.

But when you moaned around him he jerked his hips up. You gagged as it prodded the back of your throat. Tears forming in your eyes, looking at him surprised. Jake let another groan watching you shudder. Big wide eyes stared back at him, glossy and shining. Your mouth is completely stuffed with his cock, struggling to take anymore as your small hands grasped at the base.

"I want to fuck that little mouth of yours, hermosa." (beautiful) You kept sucking along, giving yourself a break by focusing purley on the head. Your teeth grazed it by accident but it only made him grunt. His grip tightening on your head with a small thrust.

"Look so pretty like this."

Your eyelashes fluttered, the warmth from your cheeks was spreading down to your chest. Giving kitten licks to the very tip as you took in a few gulps of breath between them. Jake cupped your chin, his cock slightly tapped against your cheek. You nuzzled against it, your head felt fuzzy. Placing small kisses where you could. He grinned, caressing your chin as you sucked on the side of his dick.

"It's big, isn't it? Struggling to take all of it in your mouth, The things I could do if you let me - want to get your little throat fucked? Gag around my cock as I use your mouth, you want that, muñeca?"

"Please Jake...I want to take all of it."

He groaned as he tipped your head back. Standing up as he let go of your chin. You placed the head of his dick back in your mouth and he let out a 'tut'. You raised a brow as you removed your lips.

"Open as wide as you can."

And you did. A dull ache formed from the stretch but your focus was on the prize before you.

"Tongue out."

Once again you did exactly as he asked. He chuckled to himself as he smeared his pre-cum against your tongue. Listening to the way you whined, knowing you had to do as he said. And oh how he loved how obedient you were. You didn't even have to be told to sit still.

He grabbed the top of your head. Guiding you back down as he slowly pushed his hips forward. Watching you squirm as you moved your tongue back, he could feel it drag against him. You let out another gag, breathing more heavily through your nose as your eyes squeezed shut.

"I know." He cooed. "It's going to feel so good, just relax."

You nodded. Your brows knitted as you stared at his thighs, trying not to pay mind to the urge to keep gagging. It was difficult. Tears formed back in your eyes as you tried your best.

"Tap my thigh twice if it's too much."

You grabbed his thighs, readying yourself as you let out a long huff of air. You could feel his cock in your throat, your head tipped slightly back for better access. He started to move his hips again, giving slow thrusts in and out.

He kept that pace as you got more adjusted. Your nails dug into his skin as you moved your mouth wider. You could feel your bottom lip trembling.

You tried to tell him to go faster but your words were completely. His grin grew wider as he leaned down, tilting his head closer to you.

"What's that? I couldn't quite hear you."

Foolishly, you tried to speak again but all to the same result. Growing frustrated you squeezed his thighs, surging your head forward much to his surprise. Your nose pressed against his happy trail as his cock hit deeper. You shuddered as you let out another gag. Jake felt the wind almost knocked out of him as he grabbed the nearby pillar to steady himself.

"Need more? Need me to properly fuck you?"

You nodded your head. Bopping your head faster in hopes he'll understand what you mean. And he definitely did.

"Ay, te voy arruinar." (Oh, I'm going to ruin you) He groaned out, adjusting his hold on your head and thrusted forward.

Your fast rhythm was taken over by his movements. Leaving you to stay still as he fucked your mouth. Sucking and swallowing around him. Trying your best to keep up but he was quick. You moaned around him as you felt his fingers dig, letting your tears fall. Eyes rolled back completely, Jake just kept up his pace. Words spilling out from his mouth that you couldn't quite catch.

You could feel him twitch, his thrusts growing uneven as he let out strings of groans.

"Going to-"

You tapped twice on his thigh. He immediately pulled back. His grip on you loosened as a flicker of concern crossed his face. You grabbed his cock as you put your mouth over the head. You knew you wouldn't be able to handle it fully in your mouth, you were struggling enough as it is. But you still wanted to taste him.

"Keep going." He could just understand you, letting out a breath of relief.

His jerky thrusts grew more sloppy as he raised himself back to his peak. Only doing small thrusts this time as you sucked and swirled your tongue. Lapping up the tip as you moaned. It didn't take long for his orgasm to hit; spilling thick ropes into your mouth. You did your best to swallow as much as you could but you could feel some dribble down your chin along with your drool.

He sat back in the chair with that grin still on his face. Curled two fingers at you, beckoning you over. You crawled back between his legs as you smiled. Panting heavily as you finally had time to just breathe.

He lifted you up into his lap with ease, hugging you close to his chest.

"That was really good-!" You beamed, tilting back just enough so you could look at him directly. "Did I do well?"

"Was cumming in your mouth not obvious enough?"

You both let out a laugh. You tried not to pay mind to the insistent throbbing between your legs. It was fine. You could wait this out. Jake's hand slivered up your thigh, rubbing his fingers along your clothed core.

"You're completely soaked."

"It's fine." You tried to brush it off. Your hips betraying you as you grinded against his fingers.

He shook his head as he let out a tut. "¿Quieres que te toqué, hm?" (You want me to touch you?)

You quickly nodded. Leaning against his shoulder as he pulled down your trousers. You removed yourself, kicking off your pants with urgency before flinging your underwear to who knows where. Jake bit back his laugh. Watching you awkwardly shuffle back onto his lap, hovering over his still hard cock.

"What's your safe word?"

You stilled at his question. Looking at him with raised brows, head tilting.

"Do you know-"

"I know! I just–no one's ever asked me before, I haven't really thought about it."

He mumbled something in Spanish you couldn't hear properly. Only hearing a few cusses as he talked to himself. No doubt he was insulting your previous partners and you didn't blame him.

"Um-how about peaches?" Your voice was unsure but Jake just nodded.

"Peaches–sweet like you."

You couldn't even retort as you let out a moan. His fingers rubbed along your wet folds. Just staying away from where you need him, You grinded against him as his palm brushed against your clit.

"Is it good when I touch here? Or maybe here."

You let out a gasp as his thumb circled your sensitive bud. He raised a mocking brow as he added more pressure. Switching between rubbing you and collecting your wetness. Fingers prodded at your entrance as he kept his thumb moving. You whined as your hips bucked.

"No one has ever touched you like this, have they?"

You shook your head. It was true, no one has ever put this much attention into you before. Either never able to find it or touch you properly. Jake let out a noise of pity, bringing your head to his shoulder as he nuzzled his cheek against your head.

A jolt went through your body as he pushed one finger in. Pumping it in and out as he kept playing with your clit. Your breath fanned his neck, gripping his shoulders. Moving yourself up and down.

"Another finger." Your voice couldn't even come out as anything other than a pleading whine. Jake hummed, as if debating your words. You huffed, your need growing stronger. "Please."

"Wasn't that easy? saying please can get you more than fingering–I can do so many things to this pretty pussy and all you have to do is say please."

He added another finger and you could already feel the stretch. His words shooting electric down to your core as you grinded against his palm.

"Jake....I want-"

Your words caught in your throat as your legs trembled. Something twisted In your stomach as the feeling of pleasure only increased. You gripped his shirt as you tried to wiggle your hips away.

"I don't- feels strange."

"You're close, I can feel it, angel."

Close? As in- your eyes widened as you lowered yourself back onto his hand. Your lips brushed against his neck making him shiver. His skin felt so hot.

"Please- make me cum.. please Jake!"

Jake brought one of your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "Of course, mi vida." (my life)

You let out a strangled moan as his fingers thrusted deep into you. The pace picking up each time whilst his movements on your clit remained the same. The only thing you could do was let moans as his fingers curled. Scissoring you open when he wanted to put more attention on your bud.

"¿Te gusta cuando te tocó asi, no? Working you up so you can take my cock." (You like it when I touch you like that, don't you?)

His words made your whole body burn. Letting out a weak sob as he rolled your clit.

"Oh you're clenching so hard angel, you want it so bad."

You could hear the smirk in his voice. Absolutely thrilled he was making you come undone.

"Yes–Jake please! Just let me cum, I want you!"

White flashed before your eyes as you felt something within you snap. Looking down to watch yourself cum. Your legs were shaking as you clenched his fingers, they were knuckle deep inside. Your own slick was coating your thighs and you could see it clearly on his leather gloves. Jake slowed down his movements, just slowly scissoring you as he removed his thumb. Working you through your high as you let out a laugh.

You couldn't believe you actually came.

"That was.... amazing!"

As soon as he removed his hand you collapsed on his lap. Your sexes pressed together making you both moan. Jake cupped your face, guiding you to look at him. He remained silent as he sucked on each of his fingers covered in your arousal. Licking a long strip up his palm as he hummed.

"Taste so good, doll." He sucked on his thumb with another hum, small groan leaving him. "I could eat you out for hours."

Your shaky hands took hold of his. "Would you?"

Jake licked his lips as he suddenly picked you up. Taking you over to the small bed in the corner of the apartment. A small place you two stayed at after long mission's. Usually it was Jake leaving for his actual home after he takes you here. There was no personality to it at all - just a few pieces of furniture.

It always surprised you how strong he was, often forgetting that knoshu's power was gifted to him when he was in control of the body.

You landed with a small 'oof' as you sunk into the plush mattress. Jake crawled on after you, sliding easily down on his stomach. Pulling your legs over his shoulders as he took his place between them. His teeth sunk into your thigh making you let out a yelp. He sucked on the spot as he left open mouth kisses on each bite he made. Creeping closer and closer to your sex until he faced it.

He let out a chuckle as he watched you squirm. A whimper escaped you as you kept saying 'please' but he only blew against you. The cool breath makes you squeal. He turned his attention to your other thigh, beginning the process all over again. Taking his sweet time to cover you in hickies.

"You said if I said please-!"

Hearing the desperation in your voice made him crack. Finally pressing his mouth against your sex, his tongue lapping up your juices. Holding your hips still as he sucked on your clit, overstimulation hitting you as he kissed and licked. it was new - felt good but strange. Like everything inside you wanted to get away but you couldn't bring yourself to. The pleasure was too good. You loved it.

You let out a gasp as you felt that band in your stomach again. Surprised by how soon it came back. Your hands dug into the bed as you glared at the cap on his head. It was as if he could read your mind. Looking up at you with a knowing smile.

Jake lifted his hat off his head and offered it to you, you let out a breathy laugh as you placed it on your head. Quickly, you moved your hands into his hair. Clenching tuffs of curls as he continued. His teeth grazed your bud as he greedily sucked. Your back arched as you hid your face with his hat.

A slap to your thigh made you look down at him, confused at his actions. He made a silent gesture, tipping an imaginary hat up. You did as he gestured, your face no longer hidden under his cap.

"Good, don't hide your face from me, nena." (babe)

That was the last thing he said before he buried his face back in your heat. His nose grazed your clit as his tongue prodded against your entrance. Your body went limp against the blankets and pillows. Holding back the new round of tears that threatened to spill. It was too much and yet not enough. Jake groaned against you as he continued to lick and prod. You squeezed your eyes shut as you let out a loud moan.

Your eyes fluttered as you let out a whimper. A weak orgasm coming out of you. You wish you had a clock - how long has it been? It felt like it's been days since he started. You've lost count how many times he's made you cum. Five? Eight? Sixteen? Your brain was mush. Your body felt weak as your legs kicked out.

"I can't - I can't do anymore-!"

Jake nuzzled into your thigh, taking a breather. Looking up at you as you sniffled. Hiccuping on your noises. Weakly pushing back his head by his hair. He immediately moved away, crawling forward. His hands on each side of your head.

His lips ghosted over yours. You blinked away the tears, smiling as you cupped his face. "Do you want to keep going?" He asked, leaving a trail of kisses from the corner of your mouth to your forehead.

You hummed at the affection. Melting into his touch as you nodded your head. "In a minute–need to calm down."

Jake laid next to you. Pulling you close to his chest, your back facing him. You panted as your legs slowly became less twitchy. His large hands caressed along your body as he hummed a song into your shoulder. The both of you laying together, letting the time pass.

Your eyes glanced behind you, seeing his eyes were closed. You took the chance to look lower. His cock was still hard and pressed stiffly against his stomach. Jake buried his face into your neck forcing you to look away. Nibbling your throat as he lapped up the little marks he was making. A moan slipped from your lips, you moved your hand down his stomach making him grin.

Your hands clumsily wrapped around his shaft, squeezing it to get a better grasp. He jerked against your hand with a groan. Only taking a moment to bite off his glove before he moved it between your legs. Making sure to avoid your clit.

You could hear how wet you were, cum mixed in with your other juices coating your thighs and sex.

"Ay, nena, you're making a mess." He teased, lifting your leg so he could get better access. His hand felt so warm against you. They were calloused from endless missions but they weren't too rough. They were softer than you expected.

His two fingers split your folds apart. Revealing the cool air to your entrance. You shivered as he slowly rubbed up and down. You twisted yourself slightly, looking up at him with a pout.

"Put them inside- please-!" You whined, grinding back against his cock. "I need you inside me."

Jake almost froze. It was as if something struck him. A moment of realization as you squirmed against him. You lined his cock against your folds, rubbing him along your entrance as you kept letting out whimpers.

He couldn't stop watching just how desperate you were. Completely going by instinct. You, someone he's been working with for so long turned into putty into his hands. Someone who would blush at just the idea of begging for such a thing.

You didn't even know how to give a blowjob until today. Never been eaten out or touched correctly. Oblivious to his moves and flirtations.

And now look at you. Gasping as he pressed his hips forward. Arching as his fat tip stretched you out. Trembling at the overwhelming pleasure that's taken over you.

He let out a growl as he suddenly removed himself, you couldn't even react before you were moved back on his lap. He semi sat on the bed, leaning on the pillows as he held your hips. Guiding you down back on his cock as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He wanted to watch you. See what he was doing to you. What he's turned you into. It got to three inches before you let out a pained whine.

"It's not going to fit..." You sounded utterly defeated as you couldn't move any further.

Jake cupped your face, you immediately leaned into his palm as his other hand snaked down to your clit. It was still sensitive from before but not as much. Your breath hitched as he did tight circles, his thumb pressed against your parted lips. You let it slip into your mouth and sucked, the taste of leather surprisingly pleasant on your tongue.

"It's going to, it'll take however long it takes, you'll take it inch by inch and once everything is in I'm going to fuck that little pussy of yours until your voice is gone."

As he spoke you sank lower. Slowly taking in another inch as he gently thrusted up. Keeping all his attention on your clit. Each thrust helped him ease in. But you still hissed in pain, having to stay still for a minute or more to get adjusted.

"So big." Your teeth lightly dug into his thumb. Moving up and down as much as you could, determined to have him inside fully.

"Yo sé nena, yo sé, I'm right here, just breathe." (I know baby, I know)

You let out a shaky breath as he'd guided your hips up. His tip only remained before he thrusted upwards. You slammed yourself down as you let out a scream. You could feel his cock twitch inside as he kept his slow thrusts.

"Look, you did it–doesn't it feel good?"

He removed his hand from your mouth and held your jaw making you look at him. You nodded as you kept your body stiff. Just needing a few more moments to adjust to him being completely inside. Jake waited for you to get comfortable as you clenched around him. Your breathing grew heavier as you grinded against him.

"Fuck me, Jake." Your words came out shaky and any demanding tone you meant to be there was gone. It only came as a needy whine.

"Feels so good....I need more–please fuck me."

Before you could ramble anymore he grabbed your hips. Spinning you around so you were back laying on the bed. Your legs around his waist as he began slamming his hips into yours. Taking slow deep thrusts at first before it became quicker and quicker.

Your back arched so much you felt like you were floating. The back of your hand pressed to your mouth as you couldn't even shut it. Leaving it stuck in a 'o' as moans spilled out from your lips.

With one particular thrust you felt sparks light up your veins. A loud groan ripped from your throat as your eyes squeezed shut. Jake chuckled as he grabbed one of your legs, moving it so half of your leg leaned on his shoulder.

"Keep your eyes open, mírame, ángel." (look at me) His voice was cold, demanding. "Look at me while I fuck you."

It made your eyes snap open as you whimpered. You haven't heard him use that tone with you before. It made you clench as you chewed at your lips.

"Like it when I order you, huh? Want me to be mean, doll?"

You knew Jake could be a cruel man, what he was giving you was gentle. Loving. Anyone would look at you as if you were insane if you described him as such. But you knew him, he was softie at heart.

"Don't hold back." Was all you could say before he lifted your hips.

Moving both legs over his shoulders as he gripped them tight. Your nails dug into the plush beneath you as he left hickies on your leg. His thrusts becoming harder as he pounded into your sex. Your body bounced up and down at the sheer force.

"Las cosas que podría'cer a ti, ya me dejaste 'rruianate tanto, amada."

Jake groaned, pressing his forehead against your leg as he panted. His grip was so tight as he completely lost himself in the feeling of you. So warm and soft around his cock. Looking so beautiful.

"Been so desperate for my cock inside you - kept looking at me with those big eyes making all those pretty noises."

He finally lifted his head, Leaning forward as he hovered over you. Pushing even deeper inside as he kept hitting that sweet spot.

"You're a fucking slut, aren't you? I'm going to use you all day, ángel." He grinned, licking along his teeth.

"Vas a tomar todo lo qué te daré –like a good little toy." (You're going to take everything I give you)

You couldn't stop the noises that came out of you, your heels digging into his back. You couldn't pry your eyes away. His gaze was vicious, following every flicker and movement. Keeping you pinned under his watch as you squirmed.

"Oh you liked that–squeezing me so tight."

You could feel him getting closer. His pace never grows restless but sloppy in its pattern. His brows pinched as he let his head hang. Pressing his forehead to yours, moving his cap further back on your head. You threaded your hand through his hair, tugging everytime he thrusted in deeper. Clawing at his shoulder.

"Where do you want it, baby?"

It took you a few seconds to realize what he meant. You nodded to yourself as you tried to move him closer. "Inside."

It didn't take long for him to reach his peak. He let out a gasp as he stilled. Keeping himself deep inside as he came. Your own orgasm followed after, weak and left you squirming. You both panted as you took a moment to breathe. Jake hummed as he kissed your forehead before he started moving again. Fucking his cum in further. Your legs ached from their position, you tapped his shoulder and he looked at your trembling legs.

It seemed he didn't need any explanation, helping you so your legs were wrapped loosely around his hips instead. Keeping hold of them for you as you laid there. You felt as if you were glowing. Everything felt so right.

He chased another orgasm, full of stamina, he wasn't going as hard as before but still had the same power. Taking it slower as he kissed all over your face, bringing you with him as he ventured lower. Using one hand to lift your back and keep you arched, sucking and licking down your chest. Groaning as he took your perked nipple into his mouth as he felt his climax once more.

Biting down enough to make you cry out as he came. Your vision grew blurry from exhaustion and new sets of tears. Unable to wipe the smile off your face as you let the pleasure ripple through you. You doubt you had any more orgasms in you but the sensation of being full over and over again - you couldn't get enough.

"Your thighs are shaking." He teased, finally feeling his limit as he laid you down. Taking his place on the other side of your chest, doing the exact same he did with the other. Tugging on the bud as he grinned at you.

He came two more times before he finally pulled out. You whined at the sudden emptiness as your legs refused to stay still. You could feel his cum pooling out. It felt as if it went on forever.

"Hermosa." Was all he said before he patted your leg.

You just raised a weak brow but he shook his head. Easily picking you up, if he had any form of struggle he didn't show it. Taking you to the bathroom to get you cleaned up. You rested your head against the sink as he sung your praises, wiping you down with a warm cloth. Kissing wherever he could.

"Tan bueno pa' mi, you did wonderful.", (So good for me) "My talented angel." and "Mi cosita preciosa." (My precious little thing.)

You laid with your boyfriend Peter on your bed, listening to some music together from a Spotify playlist full of your favorite songs. 

You leaned back against the comfy pillows and fluttered your eyes shut, lightly humming along to the music. Peter gazed over and ogled you. You were wearing his baggy Rush shirt that teasingly outlined your breast and some black panties. 

Peter's fingers anxiously fidgeted together as he waited for a particular song to play. It was a sexual song. After lots of planning, he thought this would be a romantic way to get you in the mood and finally tell you how much he wanted to be with you, well, in other ways...

A short silence filled the room before the next song began. It was Use Me by Bill Withers. 

“I-I don't remember this song being on this playlist.” You said, glazing over at the lit-up phone.

Peter pushed his hands behind his head and subtly puffed his chest out. “I don't remember putting this on here either… I-I don't know how this turned on.”  

He’s such a terrible liar, you thought to yourself as a smirk formed across your lips. Your eyes scanned the locked door from across the bedroom, knowing exactly what Peter had planned. 

‘My friends feel it's their appointed duty

They keep tryna tell me

All you want to do is use me’

You gave him a lip-biting smile and slung your legs on either side of his lap, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he shifted under you, trying to control the massive boner that was forming beneath you. 

“I think you put this on for a reason.” You teased, admiring his flustered rosy cheeks and those big brown eyes. 

 “W-well, uh- yes. But, if you don't want to do this-” You leaned forward before he could finish and molded your lips against his. Peter’s lips were soft and sweet and moved with desire as you made out. His hands slipped up your shirt and grabbed your waist, pulling you closer in his lap, sending a tingle throughout your body. 

‘I-I-I, and I wanna spread the news

That if it feels this good getting used

Oh, you just keep on using me

Until you use me up’

The lyrics rang through the room as you ran your fingers through his soft silver hair and gently tugged on it, teasingly grinding your clothed cunt against his hard-on, listening to him let out a small moan.

Your mouth drew back from his and pulled your t-shirt over your head, exposing your bare chest to him.

 “Holy fuck-” Peter muttered under his breath, ogling those beautiful tits as his dick twitched in his pants. He slid his hands up your body and squeezed your breasts, somehow timing every movement perfectly with the seductive music. 

His thumbs ran across your soft silky nibble, feeling them grow harder and harder from his touch. “Mhm, Peter-” You softly sighed, nibbling on your bottom lip. His cock tingled from watching you get turned on. He wanted to see more. 

Peter grabbed the sides of your waist and rolled you over on your back, his shirt and pants discarded on the bedroom floor in a blur. He ran his fingers along with the lace of your panties, “May I?” 

You looked down at him and nodded, “Please-” 

 Peter sped your panties off and gazed down at your cunt, “You're so fucking beautiful.”

His lips attached to your chest, leaving hickeys across your tits as he kissed so tenderly. His fingers snaked down your midsection and rubbed across your warm, wet pussy. You let out a shuttered breath as he slid between your lips and stopped directly on your clitoris, making small circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

‘If you only knew you'd wish that you were in my shoes

You just keep on using me

Until you use me up

Until you use me up’

You reached down and pushed into his boxers, running your fingers across his girthy tip that oozed with pre-cum. Your fingers trailed down the underside before wrapping your hand around his cock, lightly pumping it, making him moan as your pussy grew wetter and wetter from his magic fingers that knew just how to touch you. “F-fuck me, Peter!”

 He gave a cocky smirk and sped his boxers off, hovering over you with his leaking head pressed against your entrance, “You ready?” 

“Yes,” You nodded, feeling Peter slowly push himself inside you. Your tight and velvety lining wrapped around his thick, tingling cock, that filled you up. He waited a moment so you could adjust to his size before starting to rock his hips into yours, burying himself in your pussy as he massaged your inner walls, making tension build in the pit of your stomach. 

You pushed your head back against the pillow and let out a breathy whimper, “F-faster Quicksilver-”  

Fuck he loves hearing you call him that.

 Peter’s arm snaked underneath your waist as his speed picked up. His cock drove in and out of your wet pulsing pussy, hitting your g-spot with each thrust. He reached down, positioning his thumb against your clitoris, rubbing away at your hot sensitive clit.  

Your hands flew up into his silver, sweaty hair and wrapped your weakened legs around his waist as he fucked you. 

“Just like that Peter-” You moaned, the tension growing bigger, getting closer and closer to your release. He couldn't control himself. Your moaning and the beautiful sight of your breasts bouncing up and down sent him over the edge, making himself uncontrollably vibrate inside you.  

Your mouth opened in shock, letting out a loud moan, feeling the tension break and pleasure flood over you. Your arousal wrapped around Peter's cock as his hips shuddered, filling you with his hot load. 

The aroma of sex filled the room, along with the loud and tired pants from you and Peter as the music faded out. You laid against his chest while the both of you came back from the surge of pleasure. You looked up at Peter as he weakly smiled at you, his head still hazy. “I- I love you so- so much, y/n.”