pockcock
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"My father would have liked you," she says softly.
"You think so?"
"I know so. He valued people who listened more than they spoke. Who paid attention." She gestures at the flowers around their feet. "Who found beautiful places and sought to share them."
"And your mother?"
Samira laughs. "My mother would say you are a knight with no lands, no title of significance, and no political value. A waste of time for me to be even conversing with."
—
Princess Samira has spent her life being the spare: invisible when it's convenient, controlled when it's not. But she didn't account for Sir Jack Abbot, a knight with nothing to offer but his sword, his life, and the way he looks at her like she's the only person in the world
Series
- Part 1 of nobility
Bookmarked by pockcock
20 Jul 2026
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She tilts her head, baring her neck.
Crosses burn him, but this is an altar he can bow before.-
Jack Abbot is a vampire. So why is Samira the one that's so hungry for this?
Bookmarked by pockcock
19 Jul 2026
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She had miscalculated and today is the first time she's seeing him since she told him to kiss her in the hospital parking lot on Thursday morning, and he, instead of doing as asked, ran away. Since he tucked tail and bolted with a laughably weak excuse to hole up in his perpetually-dark bedroom, police scanner on full volume if Samira had to guess. The memory tastes bitter and Samira can feel the frown she's wearing. She doesn't like being wrong in general, but it feels infinitely worse to have been wrong about whatever this thing between her and Jack is. Or isn't.
Or:
the erectile dysfunction fic
Bookmarked by pockcock
02 May 2026
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Abbot lifted his head to look down at her. “See, that’s the post-traumatic stress. Something happens that your brain decides is a life or death situation. You have a massive adrenaline kick while it’s all happening, and then when it’s bleeding out of you on the comedown, your brain throws out anything that’s not completely vital. The amount of car crash patients we have who don’t even remember coming to the ER when they submit requests for their medical records for insurance… the brain’s a weird thing, Mohan.”
“Yeah,” she said, shooting him a look out of the side of her eyes. “It can even make you convinced you have to hurt yourself in order to seek external validation when the most logical course of action is rest.”
He snorted softly, shaking his head and leaning it back. “God,” he muttered, his cheeks stained pink. “Robby was right. You should have gone into psych.”
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A night shift from hell ends in Mohan giving Abbot a ride back to his place, where tensions finally boil over.
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Bookmarked by pockcock
27 Apr 2026
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When he boards the elevator he’s upset. By the time he leaves the elevator he’s angry, each reverberation of his feet hitting asphalt felt in the remaining bones and surgical grade titanium in his right leg, all the way up to his hip. It takes him less than sixty seconds to walk from the parking deck to the ambulance bay. Ten feet from the entrance, he sees Robby walk through the first set of doors, past Ahmad, and then through the second set of doors. His pulse roars in his ears, his heart pounding in his chest. For the first time in years, Jack Abbot feels something approximating rage, an emotion he has long assumed to be medicated out of him.
His hands furl into fists.
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Robby commits the critical error of making Samira cry. Jack reacts.
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Bookmarked by pockcock
27 Apr 2026