You didn’t know Jesse before Seattle.

His name was just another on the roster, another face you quietly mourned when the group didn’t come back. So when he walked through Jackson’s gates—limping, dirty, but alive—you couldn’t look away.

He looked wrecked, but grounded. Like he was holding something heavy and refusing to let it show.

You met him days later by the weapon shed. He was hurt, you offered help. After that, he kept showing up—at the stables, the mess hall, your favorite quiet spots. His smile slowly steadied. So did yours.

You were known as one of Jackson’s best patrollers—Agile, sharp, capable. Jesse never tried to change that. Was he Protective? yes. Dominant? sure, and while it was weird to not have full control, he never tried to tame you. Atleast not yet, Just getting to know you.

It started small—shared coffee, long talks, quiet touches. One night by the bonfire, he asked to kiss you. You said yes. It didn’t feel new. It felt right.

He kissed you like he meant it. Held you like he’d lost too much before. The next morning in his arms already felt like home.

When the nausea started, you knew. The test confirmed it. Jesse didn’t hesitate—just dropped his hands on your belly, forehead against yours.

“I got you,” he whispered. “Both of you.”

He kept patrolling, took on more responsibility as captain, but never missed a night coming home. Always brought something back—flowers, honey, stories meant to make you laugh.

Then, when you hit the second trimester, something inside him clicked. This was his chance. His chance to make sure you didn’t overwork yourself, his chance to start making the shots like he was used to doing.

You tried to keep working. Said you could handle it. But one morning, as you reached for your gear, Jesse stepped in your way.

“No.”

You blinked. “No?”

His voice was calm, firm. “I’m not letting you patrol anymore. Not while you’re carrying our kid.”