Maddy ❤︎

you were another number on the board. twenty-nine, to be exact. exhaustion was thick and heavy in doctor jack abbott’s bones, and the exhilaration of saving lives had simmered down to obligation. his diagnoses grew more robotic by the hour— eleven of twelve. he hoped you would be his last patient of the evening.

you were already prepped by the nurses— stripped down into a hospital gown and poked and prodded and scanned. the lithotomy stirrups forced your legs open, angled just above your head. the straps were tight and biting into the soft fat of your calves. this wasn’t typically how you greeted people— slick cunt first, beet-red face second.

you should be used to this; the sterile, antiseptic air that made your nostrils burn. the mundane monitors that added another block onto your building tower of anticipation with every rhythmic beep. the paper sheet crinkled underneath your weight every time you nervously shifted, and the stark white ceiling was starting to get old after twenty minutes of staring.

he’d waltzed into the room without the slightest glance in your direction, introduced himself in a monotone manner, and showed more interest in the chart than your naked bottom half. maybe this is why he was the best. maybe this is why everyone in your support group recommended him with an all-too-eager grin on their face. he was there to yield results, not to ask about your afternoon plans while he fished around in your insides.

“you’re not able to conceive?”

a question that never stopped nagging at you, but from the handsome doctor with salt-and-pepper hair and a clinical timbre to his voice, it felt condescending— like you were doing something wrong. like you hadn’t tried basal body temperature charting or went two years without a sip of wine. like you showed up here with your legs spread open for him for fun.

“afraid not.” your chest was practically heaving with each breath. you loathed this part—knowing that with every question you answered, you got closer to being split open and observed by a new stranger. it was a discomfort that seeped into your bones.

he was positioned over the computer, long and thick fingers hovering just above the keyboard. the stubble on his perfectly crafted jaw and the furrow of his brow was illuminated by the light of the screen. he’d started to wrinkle, but it complemented the ruggedness of his appearance. his astute gaze shifted from whatever notes he was studying on your chart, to your lily-livered gaze and finally to the glistening mound between your thighs.

“let’s take a look, yeah?” jack initiated, pulling on his second glove with a sudden snap. the wheels of his stool dragged across the floor, positioning himself between your legs. you were avoiding his eyes like a guilty dog— quick to toss your head back, face hot and heart thumping in your ears as you awaited the inevitable.

jack didn’t need the frigid gel to ease you open. in fact, you were practically soaking the sheet beneath you. “lubricant slows down sperm,” he mentioned rather clinically when he breached your entrance— joint by joint, until you felt his knuckle flat against your core. you were tortured by the squelch of his touch, gloves enhancing the wet sound of being stretched. his digits were hefty, rhythm just rough enough to make you squirm. “did’ya know that?”

you shook your head, eyes screwed shut now. the pout on your lips was almost too minuscule to see, but jack’s entire job was to observe. “no… of course you didn’t. lucky girl, young enough that you don’t need that stuff.”

your stomach twisted and tightened in unfamiliar ways— dread? arousal? you wondered why it mattered how it would take to your womb if this was just an exam, but the thought was replaced with mind-numbing pleasure when he scissored a second finger inside, curling the tips just enough to brush your cervix. you’d done this enough to know the procedure step-by-step. the speculum and scope were splayed out by a nurse at your bedside but they went unused. maybe he was… old-fashioned? maybe that’s why he was the best? you didn’t have the wherewithal to ask. the room was starting to spin, and the tips of your toes were tingling. you reckoned that the benzodiazepine that you’d taken in preparation for this appointment had started to kick in.

“mucus is healthy,” abbott observed aloud, thriving off of the humiliation that washed over you in intensifying waves. your doctor was diagnosing you as wet. the words hung in the air like a taunt, accompanied by the continued lewd sounds that further proved his analysis.

“are you ovulating?” his tone was too casual and clinical for a man knuckle deep in your pussy. you squeaked out a meek “yes”, and jack’s hum seemed pleased. he soothed his fingers along that achy spot inside of you, and you inhaled.

“no abnormalities,” jack murmured, more to himself when he got a glimpse at your face— lips parted, cheek pressed flush to the exam table like you either couldn’t wait for this to be over or you didn’t want him to stop. perhaps both. however, he was the doctor and he knew what was best. you were pliant enough to leave it at that.

“everything is fine on your end…” jack added, feigning confusion when his fingers started to pump at an agonizingly slow pace. “maybe your husband is shooting blanks. why don’t we see?”

your eyes were wet when they finally opened, bottom lip trembling in trepidation. you clenched at the indication, anticipation blooming in the depths of your gut. you couldn’t possibly believe that he meant what you both feared and hoped for until his spare hand made quick work of untying his scrubs. he kicked the stool out from under himself, standing to tug the black fabric down to his mid-thighs with his boxers. he had a sinister smile on his face when he spoke the words “don’t move”; like he knew something you didn’t. like you had overlooked the suspiciously high dosage of the benzodiazepine the nurse fed you earlier; you made for the perfect victim with your trusting nature. you didn’t have a choice now— your brain was blanketed by something fuzzy and warm, limbs twitching until they were practically immobile.

you hadn’t realized just how much you’d been enjoying the stretch of his fingers until it was gone. you were stunned into silence when he propped your hips up with slick, gloved hands. he nudged his tip against your weeping hole, and pushed. he invaded you inch by inch, penetrating just deep enough to align with your cervix.

as he began to thrust, latex-covered thumbs brushed over the peaks of your nipples that were perked up from the cool hospital air. they hadn’t gone unnoticed through the thin material of your gown. you mewled.

jack hunched over then, rutting into you like a dog in heat. “husband not fucking you good enough, huh? had to come get fucked by a real man, is that it?” his lips brushed the shell of your ear, scrub top pushing your poor excuse of clothing further up, bunching at your ribs until he shoved his freezing gloved hands under and squeezed. “didn’t even need the gel, pretty girl. that’s how badly you needed it… fuckin’ soaked.”

jack didn’t ignore the way your gaze glossed over, endeared by the few fat stray tears that slipped down your face. “this is what you’re made for, hm? gotta be made useful somehow, right?” it was hard to miss the way you clawed at the table beneath you, leaving crescent-shaped marks in the leather. he was right; you'd felt that your worth relied on what came next. you weren’t putting up a fight, and surely it wasn’t just the sedative. they were to render you almost helpless with poor coordination, not completely with paralysis.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” his tone was accusatory, filling you with unbearable humiliation until you felt the slap of his balls against your ass. “yeah? like gettin’ raped by your doctor? such a sick little patient, aren’t you?”

“should have you locked up in one of those padded cells so i can come and play with you whenever i want, baby.” the soft cries that you started to blubber only spurred him on, his hips meeting yours in a bruising smack. his lips were still inches from your ear, voice turning into more of a growl with each word. “check up on you as that stomach and those tits start to swell… up until you have that baby of mine.”

he tweaked your nipples again. your head was thick with desire, unable to think outside of how good it felt. how you couldn’t control the way your back arched into his greedy touch. submission wasn’t a choice you had the luxury of, and his words were laced with faux pity; “s’okay. i’m almost done.”

then, his hips stuttered, bullying the heft of his cock in until his groin was flush to yours. he let out a gutteral moan. his balls tightened when his spend spurted out and into your womb. it was hot and thick— fed to you and forced further into your uterus in a handful of weak thrusts, painting your insides and filling you with warmth. your toes curled, instinctively bending at the knees and fighting the buckle around your ankles. the drowsiness made it a pathetic attempt to pull him in— stop him from pulling out. instead, you planted your feet into the stirrups and let out a pathetic whine. your eyes were half-lidded. jack knew you were long gone.

“i’ll be back in a couple of hours to try this again, yeah? we’ll keep going until it sticks.”

--🩷--

'The thing about missing me on night shifts,' Jack's fingers trailed lazily up and down your bare thigh; a ghost of a touch, 'is Waffles.' 'Hmmm?' You asked, half-asleep and confused. Jack reached over and gently plucked the doggy stuffie he bought you from your arms, sprayed in his aftershave. You had been curled over his pillow to smell his shampoo, wearing an old soft tee, and cuddling Waffles. It was the only way you could feel semi-relaxed; just enough to sleep. 'Not only does Waffles give great cuddles,' Jack explained solemnly, making Waffles's head nod in earnest, 'he is also magic.' 'Magic?' You asked. 'Yes, baby,' Jack's voice has dropped low and rough in your ear. He makes Waffles give you a kiss on your nose. You smile with childlike innocence. How cute, Jack thought. 'Did'ya feel that?' 'Feel what?' You asked, receiving another kiss on the nose from your stuffie.

'He's very soft,' you mumble. Jack stared down at you with those intense hazel eyes, one eyebrow slightly raised and the smallest smirk playing with the corner of his lips. 'He's very hard.'

Jack made Waffles give you a third and final kiss on your nose, before making him dance along your shoulder. You giggle and dip your neck. You loved it when Jack played with your stuffies with you. It made you feel safe, relaxed, loved. You didn't need to think about anything else in the world; your thoughts cleared like clouds after a storm. The smell of Jack's aftershave, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, the scruff of silver on his face, his calming breaths, and the low rumble of his voice as he brought your animal friends to life was nothing short of heaven. All you needed to think was Jaaack.

Jack made Waffles snuffle across your chest. 'Stop - daddy!' You looked up at Jack in surprise, eyes wide. 'He's only exploring, baby. He doesn't know what it means.' You eye Jack with careful suspicion. Waffles snuffles kisses down your stomach, and quickly darts to your ribs. He disguises Jack's fingers, which tickle you quickly and deftly. You giggle and squirm against Jack's half-hard cock. 'Oh, Jack...' you breathe. 'Ignore that,' Jack directs. 'Watch Waffles.' The way Jack coos to you has your insides melting and you purr in his arms. Waffles trails his doggy snout along the sensitive dip between your hip and your stomach. You held your breath as Jack hummed softly behind you. As Jack guided your doggy along the waistband of your panties, he dipped his snout playfully beneath the fabric. His cold nose made you shiver.

'Waffles is naughty,' you insisted. You felt Jack shake his head behind you. 'Nuh-huh,' Jack continued that low, rough mumble, 'he's magic.' 'He's not magic, he's a menace to society!' You laughed, 'he shouldn't be there.' 'He doesn't know it's wrong,' Jack insisted, 'he's just exploring.' Jack leaned around you and gently ran your stuffie's face along the seat of your panties. You stiffened as Jack lowered his voice. 'I'm only playing, mommy... play with me.' Waffles's hard, plastic nose pressed against your clit and you let out a soft noise at the back of your throat.

'I'm sorry, what was that?' Jack asked, running his snout back down your clit to your leaky pants. 'No-no-o-o-othing.' Jack gave a cocky smile. 'Your doggy is to keep you company for whatever you need when I'm not here. If you need a cuddle... or if you need something hard to sit on.' You started to gasp, which quickly turned into a small moan, as the stuffie nosed within your folds, towards the centre of you.

Jack pulled him back and inspected his snout. He smirked as he turned the stuffie to face you. 'Wouldya' look at that,' Jack mused, 'Waffles is wet.' Heat rushed to your face as you saw the hard button nose glistening with your slick. He hadn't even touched you bare; you were leaking through your pants. 'Noooo,' you cried, trying to hide your face in Jack's chest. 'Oh, yes, baby.' Jack couldn't hide his grin. He used your stuffie's snout to nose your panties to the side. His warm fluff and cold button nose made you bite your lip as it brushed against your bare skin. 'Don't,' you cried, 'you'll get Waffles's fur all wet.' Jack kissed the top of your head. 'Waffles can always have a bath later,' he reassured you. 'He just wants to explore...'

Before you had chance to protest, the stuffie's nose was pressed against your cunt, the hard nose pushing in as far as Jack could get him. It was centimetres into your tight hole, but it was enough. 'Fuuuck,' Jack breathed, his cock waving in his pants. You tried to hold in the squeak but failed when Jack moved the nose in gentle circles, exploring the wet sides of you. 'That's it,' Jack soothed. 'Let all of those pretty thoughts float away. There you go.' You looked down and saw Jack's thick, wide fingers circling the stuffie's shoulders. It felt so wrong but that made the sensation even better. 'Jack,' you moaned. 'Yes, princess?' Jack whispered in his gruff voice, gently biting the top of your ear. You clenched automatically, squeezing around the toy. 'Oh,' Jack was really starting to enjoy himself, 'I think Waffles really liked that.' 'Jack,' you whispered again, 'please.'

'Don't ask me, princess,' Jack raised the stuffie's head to look at you. 'Ask him.' Humiliation washed over you and you looked up into the famous Jack Abbot gaze. You lost your trail of thought. 'Please don't make me do that,' you whispered. Jack shrugged his shoulders and continued rubbing your now soaking cunt with your favourite present. 'Fuck - please!' Every inch of movement was delicious - the softness of the fuzzy fur dragging lightly across your inner thighs and the cool, hard surface of the pointy nose was driving you crazy. Of course it was. Jack teased you, working you up until he knew you'd beg for it. 'Wa- Waffles,' your mouth moved around the thick words. You looked up into Jack's blazing eyes. 'Look at him, baby, not at me.'

Jack raised the doggy's head again, tilting it to one side in an inquisitive stance. 'Waffles,' you hated yourself with every word, 'please.' 'Please what?' Jack even gave the toy a ridiculous voice. You wanted to die. 'Use your words,' Jack murmured, ''else he won't understand.' 'Please... please can you make me cum.' Your face burned with embarrassment. The fingers around the stuffie, closest to your cunt, were slowly being drenched in your slick. Jack knew how wet humiliation made you.

Jack slid the button nose between your folds, gathering your wetness along the snout and between his eyes. 'Like this?' The ridiculous voice continued. You were about to swear at Jack and plead with him to stop, but the cold nose pressed just above your clit... just above where you needed him. 'Yeah... yeah, like that.' The button nose swirled around your clit in feather-light kisses, working you over in the way Jack knew you liked with his fingers. You couldn't disguise the filthy noises leaving your throat, and Jack kissed the top of your head. You could hear his heavy breathing so close to your ear and you clenched uselessly around nothing. 'If you need Waffles somewhere else, all you just gotta beg.' You made a strangled cry, resolving to hold onto your last shred of dignity. Maybe you could cum from just this? A weak one, if he did it for long enough.

Jack started to pull the toy away. 'Please! You cried, desperate now from the edging and the fear of it stopping. 'Waffles, please... please make me cum.' Jack left the toy suspended in the air for a few seconds until you whined. The toy finally, finally, hit where you needed. You couldn't help but grind against the nose. Some part of you was aware you were ruining his fur but you didn't care anymore. Your hips chased the friction, pushing against its face. Jack held Waffles steady, allowing your pressure to remain against the button. Sloppy, wet circles against your sensitive clit made your body tingle, a band tighten in your stomach. It was different to fingers; heavier and more precise. Your chest worked faster, harder, as you came. 'Oh fuck,' Jack cursed, watching you soak the little dog's face. He gave a few more tender swipes of the snout along your folds, making drinking noises. 'Kiss the little doggy thank you,' Jack brought the stuffie up to your face. You panted as you kissed him, tasting yourself on his snout. 'You know I'll always look after you,' Jack turned your head to face him with a finger under your chin. 'Even when I can't be here... you've got someone to cuddle... and ride.'

it’s perfect. your tits smashed against the vanity’s surface, your face flushed red and glistening with sweat. mouth agape, panting like a dog. drool starting to collect at the edges of your mouth.

behind you, jack abbot shirtless, pounding into you. his soft belly brushes against your back with every thrust, the warmth of his skin grounding. he leans forward, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers dirty things that make you moan.

"feel that?" he groans, his cock twitching inside you, each motion deep. "feel how deep i am? how full you are?"

you nod desperately, eyes locking on his in the mirror.

"there she is, good fucking girl." he smiles "just keep your eyes on me now, yeah? you can do it." his hand releases your hair, trailing down to your jaw, cupping it, holding your face up to make you watch. "wanna see you watch this"

his thrusts relentless, continuously moving deeper and deeper, as if he’s remaking you from the outside in. you can feel the mix of your sweat and his down your back as he trails soft kisses on your shoulder, his lips lingering on your skin.

the sounds fill the room— the slap of skin on skin, your whimpers and his groans. the creak of the vanity beneath you.

"oh my god— jack!” you whine, feeling the pressure building low in your belly, your vision starting to blur.

“don’t tell me you're close already…" he chuckles, breathless. "we’ve barely started baby… you need it that bad, huh?” he smiles, now pulling back slightly to get his hand wrapped around you.

his fingers find your clit, now making soft circles, building the tension you feel growing in your belly. you whine, starting to push yourself back into his thrusts, desperate for more.

“that’s my girl. just needed me to touch you here, yeah?" he groans as you tighten around him, your pussy clenching his cock. "need me to make you feel pretty down here? need daddy to take care of his girl's pretty little cunt?"

“y-yes please! need you so bad— please—" you moan, unable to control your body as it grinds back into him. you're so full of him, stretched and aching.

“that’s okay baby, come for daddy. let me have it.” his fingers drawing tighter circles, pushing you over the edge.

you cry, your body trembles are your orgasm shakes you, jack still pushing deep. the pleasure overwhelming, make you whine and claw at the hand still holding your jaw.

“jesus, baby— never seen a prettier sight." his voice rough, in awe. "now keep those eyes on me, yeah? i’m not done baby, just be good.” his lips brush against your temple, eyes fixed on your limp body in the mirror, still taking him.

he groans as you whine, overstimulated. “no, no. come on baby, you can keep taking me. my pretty girl needs this, doesn’t she?” he kisses your cheek softly, then straightens up.

he slaps your ass with a hard hit, the sound sharp in the room, causing you to jolt up, gasping. you sit up slightly, hands now braced again against the wood. your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“i said look at yourself baby. need you to look." his hands grip your hips, bringing them back to his, angling you just right so his cock hits that spot that makes you see stars.

your eyes fall to yourself— disheveled, hair frizzy, and makeup ruined— mascara streaked down your cheeks, your lipstick is smeared. but you couldn’t help but smile. you were utterly wrecked by him. you looked beautiful like this.

“aw look baby, your makeup's all smeared now huh? you look even prettier this way. don’t you baby? say it.” he leans and kisses your shoulder again, his belly pressing warm against your back. “say you’re pretty baby, wanna hear it.”

you moan, exhausted— but still loving every second he fills you. “i-i'm pretty jackie. s-so pretty.” you whine as his hand trails down to your clit once again.

“that’s so good baby, now come on, give me another.” his fingers work you fast, despite your sensitivity. you can feel his cock throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is.

“jack— please!” you scream as he keeps circling, torturously pleasing you. he only smiles and shakes his head.

“need you to come with me baby. give it to me it pretty girl. know you can.” his thrusts turn erratic, now chasing his own release. you can see his jaw tighten in the mirror, his eyes grow half-lidded. "gonna fill up this pretty pussy. gonna make you so full of me you'll feel it for days."

and then you're coming hard. your entire body convulsing around him as you scream his name. your muscles clench, milking him, and he groans a deep, guttural sound.

"fuck yes—that's it baby," his hips stutter, his grip on your waist bruising as he slams into you one last time. he comes with a shudder, spilling inside and filling you up. you feel the heat of him as he pulses and twitches in you.

for a moment, neither of you moves. you just lay breathing, boneless beneath him. his eyes find yours once again in the mirror, filled with love and adoration. he nods, then places a gentle kiss to your hair.

he pulls out slowly and turns you around, his hands gentle now as they cup your face. his thumbs brush your cheekbones, eyes searching yours.

"don't you ever say you're ugly again," he murmurs, his voice rough and tender all at once. "you're so fucking beautiful. such a pretty girl for me." he kisses your forehead, then your lips.

"my sweet, beautiful girl."

“w-what?” his head snaps up, surprised. you know he doesn’t really ever ‘take care’ of himself, he has you.

you grin, “c’mon, andy. touch yourself for me. i wanna hear it.”

it’s silent on the other end for a moment, but then you hear soft rustling and you can tell he’s palming himself over his jeans. “good boy, that’s good. doesn’t it feel nice?”

pope nods quickly, “yeah, it… feels nice…” his breathing hitches a bit as he speeds up.

“take off your jeans, feel yourself. i wanna hear it,” you whisper, and you do. you hear his breathing pick up even more, and he accidentally lets out a soft moan. you giggle, “wow, i’ve never heard that sound from you before. you really need me, huh?”

he whines, “yeah, i do… please, i do…” he’s stroking himself fast and rough, the same way he always fucks you when he’s missed you.

you can’t believe what’s going on, but you’re not complaining. you’ve never seen him like this before. “are you close, andy?”

he’s trying so hard to keep his composure, he can’t cum just from this. “i…”

you shush him, “it’s okay. i want you to. cmon, andy, let go for me, you’ve been so good.”

he tries, he really does, but the second you say that he loses all control. he lets out a high whine as he spills into his hand, and you can hear his breath stuttering as he comes down from his high. you smile, “you okay?”

“yeah, i’m… fuck…” he sighs, and you can practically hear him melting into the bed. he always gets so sleepy after you fuck, it’s cute.

you can tell he’s falling asleep, so you assure him, “i’ll stay on the phone until you’re asleep, don’t worry.”

monday

The wedding had come around far quicker than you expected.

Your best friend had been dreaming about this day since she was fifteen, long before there’d ever been a ring on her finger. She’d planned the dress, decided on the venue and even had opinions on the hors d’oeuvres that would be passed around on silver platters during the reception. By the time her fiancé proposed, she already had a guest list tucked away somewhere and at least three pinterest boards dedicated to centrepieces alone.

So, really, you shouldn’t have been surprised when she ran the wedding like a military operation.

As her maid of honour, you’d been promoted to second-in-command. There were group chats for every task, weekly coffee dates spent debating whether the invitations should be cream or ecru, despite the fact they looked exactly the same, and enough colour-coded spreadsheets to make a project manager weep with pride. She may as well have handed you a headset and started calling you Monica Gellar.

Not that you minded.

You happily accompanied her to cake tastings and offered diplomatic advice when seating plans threatened to reignite decade-old family feuds. Being maid of honour wasn’t just a title to you. It was a responsibility, and you intended to do it properly.

Still, even you had to admit she’d gone a little overboard when your phone buzzed with a notification announcing you’d been added to your seventh WhatsApp group.

bridesmaids x groomsmen 🤍

Apparently this one existed solely to pair everyone up before the wedding.

You frowned at the screen.

It wasn’t exactly as though you needed weeks of preparation to walk down an aisle beside someone. Surely introducing yourselves five minutes before the ceremony would suffice. Clearly not.

Five minutes later a lengthy message from Katy appeared...

hey all! we're only a week away from the big day, so you know what that means… time for matchmakers! 💍

i've dropped a list below of all you lovely bridesmaids and your corresponding groomsmen. i'm pretty sure most of you know each other already, but if not, pleeease make sure you have a chat before next weekend. i don’t want any awkwardness down the aisle!!!

love you all! xoxo katy 💋

A laugh escaped you. Trust Katy to treat introductions like another item on the wedding itinerary.

You didn't have to look far for your name, sat in bold at the very top with MOH next to it. Cute.

Your gaze drifted across the page to the name beside yours.

jack - BM

You frowned again. Katy had said everyone already knew each other.

You didn’t know a Jack.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you tapped on the name to open his contact.

Nothing. No profile picture. No status. Just a phone number and one solitary word.

Jack.

Helpful. You tilted your head at the screen.

“Who… are you?” you murmured to yourself.

For someone important enough to be the best man, he was remarkably mysterious.

You tried to think back to any mention of a Jack. High school? University? Work? Somewhere in passing over the years? But Katy and Matt collected friends wherever they went, the sort of couple who could strike up a conversation in a queue and leave with an invitation to dinner. Jack could’ve been anyone.

Eventually, you decided it wasn’t really your problem.

You’d introduce yourself before the ceremony, exchange the obligatory pleasantries, walk down the aisle together and that would be that.

Your phone buzzed before you’d even set it back down.

An unsaved number. Curiosity won.

Hi. Katy’s orders. Apparently we’re supposed to become friends before next Saturday?

I’m Jack

A smile tugged at your lips.

wow… you’re real

The reply came almost instantly.

Jack:

Last time I checked

Although Katy’s got enough spreadsheets to convince me we’re all just NPCs in this wedding

A laugh escaped you.

So, he was funny.

You saved his contact, half expecting a profile picture to magically appear. But nothing. No photo. No status. Just Jack.

The mystery lived on.

honestly, maid of honour duties are keeping me up at night 🫩

Jack:

Can’t say Matt’s got me working quite as hard. Guess I lucked out?

if u fancy swapping the suit for a bridesmaid’s dress, i'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement...

Jack:

I’m in.

You smiled to yourself.

As first conversations went, this one was surprisingly easy. There was none of the awkward small talk Katy had clearly been trying to avoid. Instead, every message seemed to slot another tiny piece into the image you’d started building in your head.

Funny. Quick-witted. Entirely faceless.

so… how do you know matt anyway?

bit surprised i've never heard of you before today, considering you’re the best man

A typing bubble appeared and disappeared.

Then came his reply.

Jack:

Ouch. That stings a little

You grinned.

Jack:

Kidding. Honestly, I was surprised too. Thought his brother would’ve got the gig

Another pause.

Jack:

I’ve only known him a couple of years. Helped him out after he had that accident a while back

You frowned at the screen.

That accident.

That was one way of putting it.

It's been a horrific three-car pile up. Matt had been trapped behind the steering wheel while emergency services fought to free him. He’d spent weeks in hospital recovering, and afterwards Katy never stopped talking about the guy who’d pulled him from the wreckage, kept him alive until the ambulance arrived and refused to leave his side.

She’d called him a miracle more than once.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

wait

you're that guy

There was a brief pause before his reply arrived.

Jack:

That guy?

the guy who literally stopped matt from dying

Jack:

Guilty as charged

You stared at the screen for a moment.

Well that certainly explained the best man title.

From everything Katy had told you, Matt had made a point of staying in touch after he recovered. What had started as gratitude had slowly turned into an unlikely friendship, one that had clearly become important enough for Jack to be standing beside him on his wedding day.

jesus didn't realise i was texting a real-life hero

His reply appeared almost immediately.

Jack:

Not a hero. Just a doctor :)

It should’ve sounded unbearably cheesy but instead, it was somehow the most impressive thing you’d heard all week.

Another piece of the Jack-shaped puzzle quietly clicked into place.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ °❀⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ᢉ𐭩 ˙⋆✮ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ .✦ ݁˖ ⋆˚࿔ ° ❀⋆ ⋆✴︎ ᢉ𐭩 ˚｡⋆

tuesday

You woke early the next morning, rolling over to savour the last few peaceful minutes before your alarm dragged you into the day.

More out of habit than expectation, you reached for your phone.

No new messages.

You weren’t sure why that disappointed you.

Last night’s conversation with Jack had been… nice. Surprisingly easy. The kind of conversation that left you smiling at your screen without really noticing.

You slipped your phone back onto the bedside table and got on with your morning, went to work and about your business.

By 10:30, you’d almost forgotten about it.

Then your phone buzzed.

Jack:

Morning

A second message followed almost immediately.

Jack:

Just remembered we’re supposed to spend an entire day together on Saturday

A smile found its way onto your face before you’d even started typing.

bit late to back out now…

His reply came within seconds.

Jack:

Shame. I was hoping you’d be unbearable so I’d have an excuse

You huffed a laugh.

give me time x

The tiny blue haha reaction popped up above your message.

Well. At least he appreciated your sense of humour.

Jack:

I was going to say… we’re spending a whole day together and I don’t actually know much about you

You have my story

hardly!

Jack:

Well the important bits

You rolled your eyes.

what, that you’re a doctor who saves lives? very impressive but limited I'm afraid

i'm going to need more than that

Jack:

Alright then. What do you want to know?

You didn’t even have to think about it.

first celebrity crush. fave drink. best holiday you’ve ever been on. go

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

Jack:

Sounds less like getting to know each other and more like you’re preparing for one hell of a date...

Heat crept into your cheeks despite yourself.

answer the questions!!!

Jack:

Sarah Connor

Saw Terminator at the cinema when I was about ten and thought she was the coolest person on Earth

You blinked. That wasn’t the answer you’d expected.

Jack:

Bourbon. I know, I’m painfully predictable

And Italy

Most beautiful place I’ve ever been

You smiled as you read each message, the puzzle coming together piece by piece.

Jack:

Your turn.

afraid i have a meeting now

you'll have to wait 🤗

Jack:

You're a cruel woman

By the time your meeting finally wrapped up, you’d forgotten all about your unfinished interrogation.

It wasn’t until you collapsed onto your sofa that evening, kicking your shoes off with a sigh, that your phone lit up once again.

Jack:

Right

I’ve waited long enough

Pay up

You frowned at the screen for a second before remembering.

Oh. The little Q&A you had going on before you had to slip off to work.

A grin spread across your face as you unlocked your phone.

demanding, aren’t we?

Jack:

I’ve been told patience is a virtue

Unfortunately I work in an emergency department, so mine’s been worn dangerously thin

You laughed.

fine 😤

celeb crush… orlando bloom but specifically POTC orlando bloom

His reply arrived before you could even start thinking about the next answer.

Jack:

The fuck is POTC? Did he have an illness?

You snorted.

pirates of the caribbean you idiot

😭😭😭

Jack:

Jesus I'm old

Anyway, next

...... wow

fave drink spicy marg, a classic?

then best vacation probably greece

went to a tiny island, all white buildings and clear ocean it was unbelievable

A minute passed before another message appeared.

Jack:

You strike me as someone who plans a vacation down to the minute....

You frowned.

excuse me?

Jack:

Colour coded itineries, packing half your closet, arriving to the airport four hours before your flight?

You stared at your phone in mild offence.

who have you been talking to?

Jack:

No one...

Lucky guess?

You were almost annoyed he had you figured out already.

three hours early

and the itinerary is only to get the most out of the vacation

everyone is grateful for it ok

A blue haha appeared over the middle text.

Jack:

Knew it

alright then, mr knows absolutely everything

tell me something about yourself i couldn’t POSSIBLY guess

The typing bubble must have stopped and appeared ten times before finally-

Jack:

I’ve never seen Titanic

Woah too far. Is this a red flag?

get out

Jack:

Never seen Star Wars either

i don't care about that one but titanic ???

where have you been

your name is literally jack did people not taunt you in the 90s

Jack:

They did and that's exactly why I haven't seen it

Fuck that movie, I've heard there was more than enough room on that door

The conversation drifted on from there. You told each other all the important stuff: Jack's first concert was Pearl Jam, the story where you totalled your first car at seventeen, how Jack is a military man but has a deadly hatred of fish.

You'd laughed hard at that. He got you back when you confessed once peed your pants at a Dairy Queen over the age of twenty. He asked for more details and you obviously declined.

Before long, another hour has passed. It felt strange, the idea that you were getting on so well with this man after a mere two days of texting.

You’d never met him.

You still had no idea what colour his eyes were, whether he was tall or short, whether he gestured when he talked or smiled with dimples or laugh lines.

And yet, somehow, the faceless contact labelled Jack was becoming the person you found yourself looking for whenever your phone buzzed.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ °❀⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ᢉ𐭩 ˙⋆✮ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ .✦ ݁˖ ⋆˚࿔ ° ❀⋆ ⋆✴︎ ᢉ𐭩 ˚｡⋆

wednesday

T-minus four days until the wedding of the century.

When you’d first started texting Jack, it had been because Katy insisted the bridal party got acquainted before Saturday but now, neither of you had mentioned the wedding once.

Your phone buzzed just after seven.

Jack:

Morning

Hope your coffee’s better than mine...

A photo followed. The paper cup balanced on the nurses’ station looked as miserable as the coffee inside it probably tasted.

You laughed to yourself before replying with a picture of your own mug. Unlike his, yours was pink with little blue flowers painted around the rim.

Jack:

Much better

Jealous already

You didn’t know it, but Jack found himself smiling at his phone before he’d even looked at the mug. Instead, his eyes had landed on your hand wrapped around it, the neat manicure and silver rings on your fingers, the tiny glimpse into the life of someone he’d somehow become accustomed to talking to.

Wednesday slipped by in the same easy rhythm the last couple of days had settled into.

You learnt that Jack worked nights, meaning his first message usually arrived just as he was finishing his shift. Every morning you’d remind him that drinking coffee immediately before bed was a terrible idea.

Every morning he’d ignore you.

When you sent him a photo of the sandwich you’d picked up from the deli opposite your office, he told you it was his favourite lunch spot whenever he found himself nearby.

Later that evening, he sent a picture of his dinner.

The logo in the corner of the takeaway bag made you laugh.

no way. that's my favourite thai place!

Jack:

Good taste

i'd say the same to you

It was strange how often your lives seemed to overlap. Favourite cafés and the same takeaways. The same terrible habit of skipping lunch when work got busy.

None of it was particularly significant on its own, but each little coincidence felt like another thread quietly weaving the two of you together.

By the time evening rolled around and Jack was on shift, his messages became less frequent.

You understood that and yet you caught yourself glancing at your phone more often than you cared to admit, almost expecting it to light up.

It didn’t.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ °❀⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ᢉ𐭩 ˙⋆✮ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ .✦ ݁˖ ⋆˚࿔ ° ❀⋆ ⋆✴︎ ᢉ𐭩 ˚｡⋆

thursday

By Thursday morning, reaching for your phone before you’d even opened the curtains had become second nature.

Usually, Jack beat you to it.

Today, he didn’t.

You decided to take advantage of the rare opportunity.

had the most boring evening last night because SOMEONE decided not to text me

You hit send before you could overthink it. Thirty minutes passed before your phone buzzed.

He was probably drifting in and out of sleep after another night shift.

Jack:

I can only apologise

Think half of Pittsburgh decided to walk into the ED last night

Your smile softened. It was easy to forget sometimes.

Over the past few days, Jack had become the man who complained about hospital coffee, debated which movies were actually classics and spammed your messages with a whole lot of Hahas.

Then he’d casually remind you that his day (or night) job involved keeping people alive.

It was… admittedly rather attractive.

suppose i'll forgive you

The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.

Think it means I owe you a drink?

You grinned.

at the free bar on saturday?

don't spend all your doctor money on me sir

Jack:

I wasn’t actually thinking about the wedding...

Your thumb hovered over the screen as you read the message again.

And then one more arrived.

That’s assuming you don’t hate me in person

If you don’t… I’d quite like to take you out properly

You stared at the words for a moment longer than you’d care to admit.

A week ago, Jack had been nothing more than a name in a WhatsApp group and now, somehow, the thought of meeting him had you smiling at your phone like an idiot.

Then you realised you hadn't replied.

The truth was, you didn’t know how.

One minute you were debating favourite vacations and celebrity crushes, the next Jack was talking about taking you on a date. It wasn’t exactly the direction you’d expected the conversation to take with a man you’d only known for four days and only through a phone screen.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard. You typed then deleted it. Tried again and deleted that too.

Eventually, you settled on the approach that seemed to define the two of you best.

Light-hearted sarcasm.

bold of you to assume I’m even going to like you in person?

Jack:

I’m choosing to ignore that

A smile tugged at your lips.

you should x

Jack:

Good

Because I’d already started thinking about where I’d take you

You let out a quiet breath, suddenly very aware of the warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Before you could dwell on it too much, you steered the conversation back onto safer ground.

you're terrible at this flirting thing you know

Jack:

Who said I was flirting?

oh pleeeease

Jack:

Fine

Maybe a little

You spoke again that evening.

Jack was already back at work when another photo dropped into the chat. This one from the ambulance bay.

Darkness had settled over the hospital, the glow from the automatic doors spilling across the wet tarmac outside. He wasn’t in the picture, not really, but when you looked closer you caught the faintest reflection in the glass.

Just enough to make out the outline of his figure standing with one hand in his pocket.

A flash of metal hung around his neck, catching the fluorescent light. His stethoscope, you assumed.

looks exciting!

Jack:

Don’t jinx me

sorry

hope your evening is full of stubbed toes and minor headaches

A blue Haha reaction appeared before his reply.

Jack:

That’s oddly specific

i'm just trying to manifest an easy shift for you

Jack:

Much appreciated

The conversation drifted on long after that, jumping from one meaningless topic to the next any time he managed to sneak a break with his phone.

The last thing you sent him that night was a rambling commentary on the sitcom he’d admitted to watching whenever his head was too fried after work to concentrate on anything else.

You’d finally given it a go and apparently it did the trick.

You never saw his reply.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ °❀⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ᢉ𐭩 ˙⋆✮ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ .✦ ݁˖ ⋆˚࿔ ° ❀⋆ ⋆✴︎ ᢉ𐭩 ˚｡⋆

friday

You’d booked the day off months ago.

Between the salon appointment, packing an overnight bag for the wedding hotel and making sure everything at work had been handed over before the weekend, there was plenty to do.

For the first time all week, you let yourself sleep in.

It was nearly nine thirty when you finally reached for your phone to see two unread voice notes from Jack. Both sent at 7:16 a.m.

A smile found you before you’d even pressed play.

Voice message (0:12)

“Just driving home from the hospital. Figured this was easier than texting…”

“You can thank me later for recommending that sleep-inducing TV show.”

You could hear the quiet hum of the engine beneath his voice, punctuated every now and then by the steady click of his turn signal.

For a moment, it felt strangely intimate. Like you were sitting in the passenger seat beside him.

The second voice note was even shorter.

Voice message (0:15)

“One more thing…”

There was a pause, as though he’d almost forgotten.

“Hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes tomorrow.”

You heard him laugh quietly to himself.

“Matt sent me the wedding playlist. I'm definitely stealing you for a dance.”

You replayed that one. Then, before you could stop yourself… you played it four more times.

You texted him back to tell him your heels were six inches high, but you’d endure the pain for him.

There was no reply.

Jack was almost certainly asleep by then, finally home after another night shift, so you slipped your phone into your bag and got on with your day.

There was plenty to keep you occupied.

You packed your overnight bag, headed to the salon for your hair appointment and fielded what felt like a hundred phone calls from Katy, each one another last minute check to make sure everything was exactly as she’d imagined.

Not that there was even much left to organise.

By that evening, you’d checked into the hotel where the bridal party would be staying. Tonight was reserved for celebratory drinks; tomorrow morning would begin before sunrise with hair, makeup and enough champagne to calm eight nervous women before the biggest day of Katy’s life.

Jack, meanwhile, slept through most of the afternoon and thankfully had the night off.

The last thing you wanted was for the best man to arrive straight from the ED looking as though he’d survived the apocalypse.

Matt had organised beers with the groomsmen instead, the plan being for them all to arrive fresh or fresh enough on Saturday morning.

Tomorrow.

The thought made your stomach flutter and now because of the wedding. Tomorrow, you’d finally see him. The anticipation was equal parts exciting and terrifying.

Your phone lit up later that evening.

Jack:

Think I’ve had enough sleep to last me a lifetime today

Consider my wedding prep complete

From your hotel room, you snapped a quick picture of your fresh manicure wrapped around the handle of your overnight bag.

mine too!

A moment later a little pink heart appeared on the picture and you paused. He’d never reacted to one of your pictures before.

Jack:

Is it crazy to say I’m really excited to see you tomorrow?

Your heart gave an inconvenient little flip even though you wanted to play this cool.

i have that effect on people

A few seconds passed before you sent another message.

but seriously… i'm excited to see you too

i's say we’ve followed katy's orders pretty well. hopefully we know each other well enough to survive walking down the aisle together

Somewhere along the way, you’d both forgotten this conversation had started because someone else told you to.

An hour later, you found yourself surrounded by six bridesmaids and one very emotional bride.

The hotel bar buzzed with conversation as spicy margs appeared one after another, glasses clinking together in toast after toast.

To Katy. To Matt. To the years that led them here.

Stories were shared, embarrassing memories dragged back into the light and every so often Katy dabbed at the corners of her eyes before insisting she absolutely wasn’t crying.

You were having a wonderful time.

Even so… your phone remained face up beside your glass.

Every time it lit up with Jack, you found yourself smiling before you’d even read the message.

You spent the evening updating each other from opposite sides of the wedding.

He complained about the groomsmen and you sent him photographs of increasingly chaotic bridesmaids.

He rated the beers. You rated the cocktails.

By the time midnight rolled around, you’d both had enough drinks that the conversation lost some of its usual sarcasm.

A new message appeared.

Jack:

There’s something I should probably tell you before tomorrow

Your smile faded.

Jack:

It’s always the awkward part of meeting someone new… but I’d rather you heard it from me than saw it

A knot tightened in your stomach. Your mind immediately leapt to every worst-case scenario imaginable. Secret girlfriend. Children. Something that would make the last week feel very different.

You swallowed.

okay…?

The typing bubble lingered for a long time.

Jack:

You know I was in the military. Two tours overseas

Well… I was medically discharged after I lost my leg

It’s amputated below the knee

I get around fine, but I limp if I’ve been on my feet too long

I just didn’t want tomorrow to be the first time you noticed

You stared at the screen. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, your eyes stung. Not because it changed anything but because it didn’t.

You wished, more than anything, that he wasn’t several miles away.

jack :(

if you think that’s going to make me like you any less, you’ve got another thing coming

thank you for telling me. i can’t imagine that’s an easy conversation to have with someone you’ve only just met

if anything… i think you’re even braver than i already thought ❤️

His reply came almost instantly.

Jack:

First of all…

We’re not strangers anymore

You smiled.

Jack:

Secondly…

If I’d known losing a leg was worth a red heart, I’d have mentioned it on Monday

The laugh escaped before you could stop it and a few heads turned around the table.

“Sorry,” you grinned, quickly setting your phone face down. "Carry on.”

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ °❀⋆ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ᢉ𐭩 ˙⋆✮ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ .✦ ݁˖ ⋆˚࿔ ° ❀⋆ ⋆✴︎ ᢉ𐭩 ˚｡⋆

saturday 💍

You were awake before dawn.

Champagne flutes filled, music drifted through the bridal suite and someone was already laughing before hair and makeup had even begun. Katy was first in the chair, as she’d insisted, while you floated between topping up glasses and making sure everyone had actually eaten something.

When she finally stepped into her dress, the room fell quiet.

You’d seen it at every fitting, pinned and clipped and half-finished, but nothing compared to seeing it now.

Pearls scattered delicately across her collarbones, the corseted bodice cinching perfectly at her waist before falling into a lace train that seemed to glide across the floor behind her.

For a moment, all you could do was look at your best friend.

“You are absolutely not crying before I walk down that aisle,” Katy warned, catching your expression in the mirror.

You laughed, blinking quickly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m… emotional.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately.

“You’re going to ruin your makeup before I ruin mine.”

The bridesmaids slipped into sage green dresses that morning, soft satin catching the light as everyone fussed over zips, earrings and bouquets. Yours skimmed perfectly over your figure, the colour making your eyes appear brighter than usual.

The morning passed in a whirlwind and you barely looked at your phone. There simply wasn’t time.

Somewhere amongst the chaos, Jack arrived with the other groomsmen an hour before the ceremony, but the two of you remained on opposite sides of the hotel.

The calm disappeared as bouquets were handed out and the mother of the bride burst into tears.

As maid of honour, you became the unofficial shepherd, ushering everyone towards the courtyard before anyone had the chance to wander off.

Only when everyone was lined up did you finally stop moving.

You straightened Katy’s veil one last time, adjusted a bouquet and took a steadying breath.

A quiet cough sounded behind you.

“I’m looking for the maid of honour.”

The voice was instantly familiar. Youturned.

Oh. So this was Jack.

Silver threaded through dark hair, a perfectly tailored suit sitting effortlessly across broad shoulders, the sage green pocket square matching your dress exactly. A dusting of stubble framed a smile you’d already decided was dangerous.

He looked every bit as confident as he sounded over text. Maybe more.

His gaze met yours with unmistakable recognition, lingering just long enough to make your stomach flip.

“Heard I’ve got the best seat in the house,” he added. “Walking down the aisle with her.”

You smiled before you even realised you were doing it.

“Ah… my mystery man.”

Stepping towards him, you extended your hand.

“Nice to finally meet you.”

He looked at your hand, then back at you, a grin spreading across his face.

“I think we’ve earned more than a handshake.”

Even so, he took it. His hand was warm.

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

Before either of you could say another word-

“Places!” Katy’s wedding coordinator clapped her hands and everyone hurried into position.

Jack offered his arm without a word and you slipped yours through it instinctively before instrumental version of Bittersweet Symphony floated through the speakers.

You glanced sideways.

“Very Katy.”

He chuckled. “I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

Then the doors opened and you stepped forward together.

Petals lined the aisle, every familiar face turning to watch as you walked towards the ceremony.

Halfway down, Jack leaned in ever so slightly.

“And she thought this was going to be awkward.”

You laughed under your breath.

“Shows what she knows"

The ceremony passed in a blur.

You watched Katy and Matt exchange vows through misty eyes, smiling as Jack stepped forward to hand over the rings.

Every so often, you’d glance across the altar.

Every time, his eyes were already on you.

Then the reception arrived in a flurry of hugs, photographs and champagne.

You barely saw Jack for the next hour.

There were veils to collect, makeup to fix ans guests to direct. Only once everyone had settled into the reception room did you finally escape to the bar.

“Spicy margarita?”

You turned and smiled.

“You remembered. Bourbon?”

His smile widened. “You remembered too.”

The bartender slid both drinks across and for moment, neither of you spoke. You simply looked at each other.

“So?” Jack asked eventually.

“So?”

“Does the mystery man live up to expectations?”

You pretended to think about it.

“The jury’s still out.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Fair.”

“And what about you?”

He took a slow sip of bourbon.

“I think she’s even better than I imagined.”

Heat crept into your cheeks. Thankfully, the music swelled before you had to answer.

Jack set his glass down.

“Come on.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Dance floor.”

“Bossy.”

“So I’ve been told.”

You laughed and followed him anyway.

The song wasn’t anything special, just another upbeat wedding classic, but somehow that didn’t matter.

His hand settled carefully against your waist as yours rested on his shoulder. Your fingers intertwined.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week,” he admitted.

“What? The questionable DJ?”

His smile softened. “No.” His eyes held yours.“You.”

The word settled somewhere hot in your belly.

“You must’ve had a very quiet week.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.”

He smiled again.

“I still meant it.”

You looked away, suddenly fascinated by the fairy lights overhead.

“You’re a good dancer.”

“I practised.”

“You practised?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to let you down.”

His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your waist and you felt your heart responde immediately.

Everything around you seemed to fade into the background. The music, conversations, clinking glasses.

There was only him.

His eyes drifted to your lips before meeting yours again. You smirked when you caught him.

“You’re even prettier than I pictured.”

Your breath caught.

“I could say exactly the same about you.”

He laughed quietly. “Best compliment I’ve had all month.”

Several songs later, applause interrupted as speeches were announced.

Reluctantly, you left the dance floor as champagne appeared in your hand and guests settled into their seats.

Then, without a word, warm fingers slipped between yours. You looked down. Jack gave your hand the gentlest squeeze before nodding towards the hallway.

Questioning, you followed.

The noise faded with every step until only distant laughter filtered through the closed doors behind you.

He stopped, turning to face you.

“Jack…” you whispered. “What are we doing? Katy’s going to come looking for us.”

He took one small step closer.

“I’ve wanted to do something for a while.” His eyes dropped briefly to your lips. “I just couldn’t do it in there.”

Your pulse hammered. “Yeah?”

His smile was almost imperceptible.

“Yeah.”

Jack closed the distance between you, soft lips grazing yours in a kiss that felt both so gentle and hot. His thick hands snaked around your waist, pulling your body in and he almost gasped when your fingers found his curls.

He pulled away slightly, forehead resting against yours, lips stained with the pale blush of your gloss and you could've sworn you heard him utter an almost silent fuck under his breath.

"Been thinking about that for too long." He confessed.

"So since Wednesday?" You jibed.

He shook his head, laughing softly.

The main doors burst open, music flooding the hall again.

"We better get back." You didn't want to. You could've stayed here all night with Jack, savouring his taste.

He reluctantly agreed, following you back inside.

The wedding was everything Katy had imagined it to be yet it had been even better for you.

Everyone grew drunk and leery, the music became more danceable and empty shots lay littered across white table cloths.

It was around 1am when Jack walked you to your room. You were tipsy, not drunk, swaying nicely through the hotel lobby with your heels hooked through your fingers.

You stood side by side in the elevator, watching the floors pass in silence, the brush of his arm against yours covered them in goosebumps.

Then you were there, outside your hotel room, fishing for the plastic key strewn into your clutch bag. The door flashed green as you swiped, pushing the handle to open it just a crack.

After everything you'd learnt about Jack, the thing that stood out the most was his chivalry. The true definition of a gentleman. He walked you up here without even a hint at wanting to come inside, no matter how much he hoped you'd ask.

You stood, lip bitten, studying his face with such intent.

Then you kissed him again. This time different to downstairs, hotter and messier, you gripped his shirt until your knuckles paled. Even then, he didn't push you into the room, letting you lead, looking into your eyes for acceptance when you pulled away.

"Need you to come inside." You panted. "Please."

You didn't have to beg, he thought it sweet that you did anyway.

Then you were walking backwards, lips locked, until your calves hit the bed frame and you fell back to sit. Jack towered over you, his hand rising to cradle your face, thumb sweeping from your jaw to bottom lip.

"Beautiful girl."

You sucked his thumb into your mouth, hand lazily draped around his wrist as you pushed it in further. "And a dirty one too." He half laughed before his mouth fell open, watching you work your tongue.

You pulled it out with a pop. He was hard against his trousers, you could see that. Thick outline straining against the material and he jolted into your touch when you started to rub your palm right where his cockhead was.

"Fuuuuck," his head fell back despite your touch being so gentle. You wondered how he'd react when you took him in your mouth.

"Can I?" You whispered, hand tugging at his belt buckle.

He nodded, eyes dark, pupils blown.

You made short work of it, pulling the buckle open to release the buttons and slowly draw down the zip. His shirt was untucked and you could see the light dusting of hair leading south. Suddenly you were aware of the slickness between your own legs.

You freed him from his boxers, a little taken aback by the size of him, swallowing thickly as he stood in front of you. Hard and girthy, tip reddened from your teasing.

With a few slow strokes, you leant into him, tongue darting out to lick the head. His hips jumped, hand in your hair as you took your time. Your tongue trailed down his shaft, swirling the precum away. Saliva fell from your lips and you coated him entirely before taking his cock in your mouth. You held him at the base as you adjusted to his size.

"Jesus Christ baby," your head bobbed slow and deep. "Want me to cum right now? Fuck." He laughed weakly, fist tightening in your hair when he felt the back of your throat tighten around him.

You moaned at the feel, a gargled noise vibrating against skin before you sped up. He tasted so good and filled your mouth completely. You got so carried away, getting your throat fucked he had to pull you off.

"Not gonna cum in your mouth the first time baby," he panted. "Need to feel you properly."

It was the best sex you'd ever had. He undressed you so tenderly, peeled away the sodden panties, not before bringing them to his face, taking all of you in. Fingers danced over your slit, spreading your wetness until your pussy was shaking for something more.

"Jack!" You gasped when strong hands hooked under your thighs, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

His tongue found your clit with ease, licking clean circles so tightly you were panting his name and practically humping his face. You came at the first feel of his thick fingers inside you, he'd worked you so good and proper with his tongue that all it took was a deep curl of his middle finger to send you reeling, back arched, heels dug into his back.

He gave you a minute to come round, hands stroking your thighs, wandering over every inch of skin.

"That was so good baby," he cooed. "So fucking good."

"Need you to fuck me," your breaths were still shallow and hard. "Please Jack, need you inside me."

How could he refuse?

"I'm gonna baby, gonna make you feel so good." He kissed your stomach, hands ghosting your sides and making you shiver. "Just a sec okay?"

Jack turned to sit on the edge of the bed. You didn't realise until he removed his pants the rest of the way, letting them pool to the floor and reveal the prosthetic attached at the knee.

He removed it with such ease, setting it aside and rubbing the skin where it had sat.

When he turned to you, his expression was different.

"Does it bother you?"

You wanted to hold him and never let go.

"Not in the slightest." You came up to your knees, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Your lips ghosted the shell of his ear. "Want you so bad..."

Jack fucked you til you were shaking. You took him so well, legs wrapped around his back, cock so deep it felt like he was pounding the inside of your stomach.

His moans made you wetter, the way he'd grunt on every thrust, snap his hips into you and cry out, your name being whispered over and over.

"That's it baby, just like that, so fuckin good oh my-" he stuttered, body tensing as he felt his release building. You were closer, seconds from the hardest orgasm you'd had in years, hips jolting up into him, nails dragging down his chest.

"M gonna cum Jack, you're gonna make me c-cum..."

He held all his weight on one hand beside you, sinking into the mattress. The other found your clit again, circling it frantically and in rhythm with his cock slamming into your cunt.

"Come on baby that's it, cum for me, beautiful girl, come on-"

Your vision blurred, muscles clenched, pussy throbbing around his cock. You came on him with a long drawn out cry, head pressed back into the pillow.

You were a sight for sore eyes, pussy oozing, dripping onto the sheets. Jack felt it, pulling out to fuck his fist until he was spurting hot and white over your stomach with a deep, throaty groan.

You could've cum again just from that. The way he pumped his fist, mouth agape, eyes burning into you.

It took a while to catch your breath. Both of you. Then you were laid, head on his chest, on the hotel bed. Your wedding attire strewn across the room, curtains half shut. He kissed your temple and nursed you to sleep with the soft stroke of his hands against your shoulder.

You had the best sleep of your life that night.

Oh well. It didn’t matter that you could barely think. Not when you were so cozy, sitting on Andrew’s lap, passing a blunt back and forth with Deran.

There was a movie playing. You’d long since forgotten the name of it, but every so often something silly would happen on screen and you’d giggle. Andrew didn’t seem to find it funny, though. You hadn’t heard him laugh once since the movie began and you and Deran had sparked up. In fact, he seemed pretty tense. His hands were tight where they cradled your hips, fingers digging in through the tiny jean shorts you were wearing. He’d declined a hit every time you offered, although, in your defense, you kept forgetting that you’d already asked if he wanted some.

You shifted slightly as you leaned forward to pass what was left of the blunt back to Deran. Andrew’s hands gripped you even tighter as you moved. You didn’t realize why he had a death grip on you, until you moved to lean back against him. Beneath your ass, you could feel just how hard he was.

The wiggling of your hips was involuntary. You just couldn’t help yourself. For a moment, all you could think about was how easy it would be to shimmy your shorts down and take Andrew all the way to the hilt. And you were about to do it, until Deran coughed and you remembered he was there. You probably shouldn’t get naked and initiate sex around your boyfriend’s brother. That might be frowned upon.

“Andy,” you whined, laying your head back on his shoulder and arching your spine. You ground down against him again, one hand coming up to tangle in his curls.

“What?” Andrew sounded gruff and frustrated. His hands pulled you into him, making your back flush to his front and stopping you from moving. 

“I want you, pretty boy,” your head tilted and your teeth caught the lobe of his ear. Andrew’s breath hitched as you wiggled against him as much as his hold on you would allow.

“Turn around,” he was already twisting you in his lap as he spoke, helping you swing your leg over his hip and settling you face to face. You giggled, the living room spinning around you. Your arms hooked around his neck, fingers back to playing with his hair.

Andrew didn’t say anything else. He stood, making sure to keep your legs tight around his waist as he carried you away.

“Where’re you goin’?” Deran called after you.

“Bye-bye,” giggling again, you waved at him over Andrew’s shoulder as he carried you away and deeper into the house. Once Deran was out of your line of sight, your attention shifted to Andrew. How his hard body shifted against yours with every step he took and just how pretty his eyes looked in the low light. Every nerve ending in your body felt like it was standing at attention, hyperaware of just how good he felt pressed against you.

Andrew kicked open a door, carrying you through and dropping you onto bed. You had no idea where you were, all you knew was that you needed his body back on yours immediately. 

So you reached for him, your uncoordinated hands missing the hem of his shirt on the first try. You dissolved into laughter, finding your little mistake hilarious. Andrew sighed before stripping it off himself. The planes of his hard stomach came into view, extinguishing your fit and focusing your mind back on the task at hand: getting the two of you naked and feeling every inch of him.

He didn’t wait for you to try disrobing him again, hands yanking your shorts and underwear down your legs and pushing your shirt up high enough to expose your breasts. Those same hands immediately came to cup them, squeezing softly. You moaned much louder than was called for, arching up into the sensation. You just felt so damn sensitive that the feeling of his skin on yours already had you gasping for air.

“Need you,” your voice was high and whiny, your hands pawing at his jeans. He pulled them down his thighs, just enough to free his hard length from their confines. “Please, Andy. Now!”

He shushed you, pulling you down the bed until your ass was hanging off the edge. Your legs tried to wind around his waist and drag him closer, but you nearly kicked him in the stomach in your intoxicated state.

“Stop,” he grumbled. His fingers swiped between your legs, finding you more than wet enough to take him straight away. Your whole body jerked and spasmed at the lightest touch. “Hold these f’me.”

Andrew pushed your legs up and back, pressing your knees to your chest. You were slow to process what he wanted, though, so he sighed. He grabbed each of your hands, guiding them until they were wrapped around the backs of your thighs. Your lips parted in an ‘O’ when it finally clicked what he was asking for.

“Sorry Andy,” you pulled your legs closer to your chest, trying not to wiggle too much in anticipation.

“S’okay,” his hand stroked once over his length before he was lining the tip up with your entrance. “Ready?”

“Please please please don’t make me wait any longer,” in your contorted position, you couldn’t really push back against him, but boy did you try.

Andrew shushed you again, finally pushing in. Your head fell back against the sheets and a long, loud moan erupted from your mouth. You could have sworn you head a muffled “for fucks sake” from deeper in the house, but you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was Andrew’s thick cock, sliding into your soaking depths. He met no resistance on the way, bottoming out and taking a moment to breathe.

You didn’t like that. You need him to fuck you right now, so your whining grew louder and your body writhed beneath his.

“So fucking desperate,” Andrew growled through gritted teeth.

But you got what you wished for, and his hips reared back, slamming home hard and fast, over and over. Every thrust felt like it was knocking more and more of the scattered, half formed thoughts from your mind, until all you could think was Andrew Andrew Andrew.

He was leaning down over you, so you let go of your legs, letting them rest against his chest and over his shoulders. That left your hands free to rake your nails down his forearms braced on the bed beside your waist. 

“Fuck,” one of his hands shot up, snatching both of your wrists and holding them down over your stomach. “Hurts.”

“So-sorry,” you really weren’t. His pain tolerance was high, and you liked seeing the marks you left on his beautiful freckled skin. Your hands pulled against his hold, but he was stronger, holding you in place as he kept pounding away at you.

You were getting close, much faster than normal, your sensitivity turned up to 11. 

Your eyes slipped shut, completely lost in the sensation of Andrew filling you over and over. Everything felt hazy, like your brain was full of cotton and your ears had been turned off. Nothing mattered except him deep inside you.

When you came, you froze for a moment, body locking up tightly before you were screaming his name. You hadn’t exactly been quiet before, but this was something else.

Your walls spasmed around him, clenching tight over and over, drawing him in. It rolled over you and smashed through the last remaining vestiges of clarity in your mind. You were a mess, shaking and jerking in his hold, helpless to do anything but take it as he kept fucking you through your orgasm.

And the whole time all you could say was “more more more.” And Andrew never was good at saying no to you.

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Pope remembers when he met you for the first time, June 1st 2012. You were eighteen and bright-eyed, happy, smiling. Precious. Catherine needed time to herself, needed help with little Lena, two years old at the time and you were there. The babysitter. 

            He met you when he went over to talk to Baz about a job and found that Baz and Catherine were out and you were there, holding Lena on your hip. 

            “Hi,” you had said, your expression concerned, drawn together, suspicious, your body put between him and your charge, the door not entirely open. “Can I help you?”

            “I’m looking for my brother, Baz,” he had replied and your eyes had narrowed in that analytical way you have, the one he didn’t know then, but he grew to know. Grew to love. “Where can I find him?”

            “Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell have gone out. They won’t be back for a few hours. Should I take a message?” You were perfectly polite, but all he’d done was shaken his head, angry at the stone wall you’d put up, the impenetrableness of the force which you created. 

            “I’ll be back later,” is all he’d said, storming off, walk rigid like always. He’d been told by his brothers that he didn’t walk like a human and when he’d reached his car, he’d glanced back, noticing the door still open. You were watching him, making sure he left, protective of Lena. Of the girl you were tasked to look after. 

            That was the first time he met you, but it was not when he fell into deep, sickening love, a kind of love that others would call obsession, stalking. That time came later, after you’d been introduced to him by Catherine and Baz and he became Mr. Cody, someone okay to be around Lena. 

            You were always there, watching over Lena, your laugh always echoing, infectious. A college student, he’d been told. One studying science, but no one ever told him what science, only that you were quite good, quite skilled at what you did. What you were studying. He could sometimes see you doing complicated equations while Lena scribbled with crayons. 

            But he did not fall into his love (obsession) until October 27th 2012, a date seared into his memory. He’d been tasked with checking on Lena, a task from Smurf who didn’t like Catherine and he knew that you were watching her, most likely at the park. 

            He’d shown up, lurking in the trees, watching as you played with Lena in the sand, pushed her on the swings, looking for all the world like a young mother or older sister. There was just something about you that made him feel you truly cared for the girl. He watched and he felt something shift inside of him, like the compass in his chest that was always steered to Catherine now steered towards you. 

            You’d looked up at that moment, your body haloed by the sun, attention on him. You had noticed him and waved him over, calling out “Mr. Cody!” Lena had grown excited and he complied, standing there awkwardly, standing there unsure what to do, unsure what to say the way he always was. 

            He did not know intimacy. He did not know love. He knew what had paid for, had been purchased, bought, and expected of him. He did not know what it felt to have someone entirely his to be someone else’s entire. He knew what it was liked to be used, forced and hurt. 

            He knew heartbreak. 

            But you made him want more. You made him want love. Especially because as Lena fell asleep against you, the three of you sitting on a grassy knoll, watching the birds as you explained that Lena liked to do, you had been at peace. You had not been scared of him, ashamed. You had felt comfortable, safe. 

            And you read him like an open book. 

            “You’re in love with Cath,” you had whispered and he remembers that he looked at you with shock, surprise. You had smiled at him, the kind of smile that came from being used to people’s surprise. “You don’t hide it, Mr. Cody,” you continued, the smile turning sad. “I just wish more for both of you.”

            “What do you mean?” he had asked and you sighed, your hand stilling on Lena’s head from where you had been smoothing down her ever-growing dark hair. 

            “I mean that Cath deserves someone who loves her wholly and you deserve to love someone capable of loving you back, Mr. Cody.” He had wished that you would call him Andrew, called him by his name, but it seemed like you were incapable of that, a line drawn between professional and personal. Except for Cath, it seemed. 

            “You call her Cath,” he had said, unsure of how to ask, unsure of what to say and you had looked at him with softened eyes and a smile, one nostalgic. 

            “Because she asked me too,” you’d whispered. “She said that I’m more like Lena’s older sister than her babysitter and that I should call her Cath.” He had wanted to ask you what would happen if he asked you to call him Andrew, but he understood then that he was not Cath. That Cath was Cath and he was Mr. Cody, a line forever drawn. 

            But he didn’t want that line there. He just wanted you. You as his and he as yours. A part of him thought you wanted that too. 

            And then he fell headfirst into loving you, learning your music preferences, your favourite colours and foods and days. It didn’t matter, what you loved he knew about. He just wished that he made it onto that list. 

            When he was arrested in 2013, you were the person he thought of, cared about. Worried for. You visited him once at Folsom, a backpack on your shoulders, your body tense and rigid as you stepped into the visiting room, putting the phone to your ear as he did the same on the other side. 

            “I heard Mr. Blackwell and Deran talking about you being here,” you had said and he’d swallowed hard at your words, at this admission that he mattered enough to you for you to do that. “I thought I’d come by.”

            “Why?” he’d asked, watching as your face shifted, shuttered, eyes darting around, refusing to settle on him. 

            “Because I figured no one else was.” It was true, the truest truth he’d heard since…well, ever and it did not surprise him that it came from you. You seemed honest to a fault. “And Lena wanted me to tell you about her ballet recital.” You had pulled your phone out, putting the screen against the dividing wall so he could watch as his niece toddled around the stage in a glittery blue costume. “Made the costume myself,” you’d told him and he felt his heart pound and pound and pound harder and harder because you were so…perfect. 

            You came every so often for a visit, some update about Lena over the three years he was away, but you mainly wrote him letters, keeping him apprised of her daily life, but never you. It was still a line drawn between you and him and what you could be. 

            But in the walls of Folsom, he pretended that the wall did not exist, spoke of you to the inmates as his wife. His, his, his, his, his. He wanted you to be his. So badly. 

            When he got out, the first person he went to was you, your apartment number burned onto his mind and he stayed in the rental vehicle he’d gotten, watching you through your curtains, watching as you moved around. Alone. 

            Blissfully alone. 

            He knew then, that night, his first of freedom, that you would be his. 

            He just had to wait until the time was right. 

            “Are you crying?!” Lena cries, standing up from the couch, her little face twisted into an expression of shock and disgust, hands on her slim hips. 

            “No,” you lie, looking away, your hands pressing against your eyes, moving from in to out, wiping away your tears. 

            “You so are! Why? That movie’s just weird,” she says and you can hear her grab her glass from the coffee table, small feet making a surprising amount of noise as she stomps to the kitchen. 

            “The Notebook is not weird, you little gremlin!” you call out, your voice teasing despite the thickness still there. The movie reduces you to tears every time, the way that love wins and yet it doesn’t. The way they fight for their happy ending and yet lose it so quickly. 

            “He’s so obsessed with her!” Lena calls out and you roll your eyes, untangling your legs from one another and the fluffy blanket you’ve curled up under, planting your feet flat on the hardwood floor, pushing up to a stand, grabbing the popcorn bucket and your glass, walking through the living room, back towards the kitchen, the movie’s credits still rolling. 

            “And what?” you ask, stepping in, walking to the sink while Lena pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s wrong with him being obsessed with her like that? I think it’s romantic.”

            “He never moves on,” Lena says, her spare hand held up, index finger of her right hand, the one currently wrapped around the bottle ticking down the reasons, folding each finger. “He, like, falls apart and is all unkempt because she’s gone—”

            “He did survive war too, you know,” you interrupt, but she waves you away, silencing your protests with an enthusiastic wave of her hand. 

            “He builds the house for her,” she says. “And he fights to have her even when she’s marrying someone else!”

            “That doesn’t count!” you exclaim, turning from her to the sink, running some water in your glass, the one that held you cream soda. “She wasn’t in love with him. She loved Noah the whole time too.”

            “Yeah, but,” Lena continues, “she was moving on. And Noah ruined it! Besides! Lon’s way cuter!”

            “You take that back!” you cry, spinning around, eyes wide as they settle on the child who has completely and totally destroyed your faith in humanity. “Ryan Gosling is way hotter than James Marsden! That rain scene, man!” Lena’s laughing so hard that it’s more a cackle, her seven, nearly eight year old body, convulsing with her laughter while you roll your eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands splayed flat on the cool, smooth granite. 

            “I just,” she says, now that she’s calmed down, “think it’s creepy how in love with her Noah was. You know.”

            “I don’t know,” you muse. “I think it would be romantic to have someone…willing do to anything for you—like the house. I think…ah, man, I think I would want that.”

            “You’re weird,” she says, tone flat and thick black brows drawn together, her expression so stern and serious that it’s now your turn to laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in your stomach, rumbling through you. 

            “Yeah,” you tell her, amidst the laughter. “Don’t listen to me, kiddo. Now, go get ready for bed.” She runs past you, up to the stairs, her feet padding on the carpet noisily despite the fact that it’s carpet and she’s no more than 60 pounds soaking wet. 

            You can’t help but laugh again, the sound more of an exhalation than any real laugh, as you run some water in the sink, adding soap, knowing that Mr. Cody prefers his house clean, obsessively so. 

            A part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t bother to clean, what he would say, but you know there’s no use going down that path, even if you sometimes wish that he would speak to you. Look at you. 

            But that line of thinking leads nowhere. 

            It’s best to just close it down. 

            Pope’s heart is in his throat, pulsing and pounding erratically, his lungs tightening and clenching, constricting and burning. He heard you, those words I think it would romantic to have someone willing to do anything for you…I think I would want that still echoing around him, surrounding him, choking him. 

            He’s been waiting for the right time, the right way and here it is. He just has to show you that he’ll do anything for you. 

            And he can do that.

            The club is loud, music pulsing in the air, almost in a way that you can see, the sound so loud, more noise than music. Your friends are laughing, yelling at each other just to be heard over the music, but you’re quiet, hand turning your glass in circles, a single shot of tequila downed. You’re not much of a drinker, never have been, preferring to stay present in your mind. Preferring to stay present. 

            “YOU OKAY?” Jonathan yells, his voice still just barely audible as you turn to him, shrugging. 

            “IT’S TOO LOUD,” you reply and he nods, looping his arm through yours, his touch gentle and kind, sweet in his way. Jonathan is sweet though and pretty, bright green eyes set in skin the colour of toffee, dark hair curling down his forehead and a smile even and pretty. Not crooked in the slightest. Not like…nope, you won’t go there, not even in your own mind. 

            “Better?” he asks, pushing out of the club, the autumn breeze cool and crisp, tinged with cigarette smoke and car exhaust, yet still better than the sweat and alcohol smell of the club that mingles with mildew and broken leather. 

            “Much,” you tell him, sighing and leaning against the brick wall of the club, your head falling back against it, a buzzing in your jacket pocket. “One sec,” you tell him, walking a ways away, pulling your phone out, noticing LENA in all caps on your screen. “Lena?! What’s wrong?”

            “Uncle Deran fell asleep before he could help with the bedtime routine!” she cries, her voice thick and pained and you sigh, your eyes closing for a minute. The bedtime routine became sacred after Cath left, an open sore, her disappearance still a question of what? Where? Who? When? Lena needs to see her door close, needs to know someone is there, the way Cath isn’t. 

            You wanted a single Saturday night to yourself, with friends. You wanted to have fun, to return to a world that wasn’t full of the Cody’s and the Blackwell’s, but rather the life you could have had if you had never accepted the babysitting gig that your friend, Elizabeth, skipped out on seven years ago. 

            You wanted to forget and be someone young. You wanted to act your age. But you just can’t get that. 

            “Hey, I have to call it a night, Jonathan,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket after assuring Lena that you’ll be there, just wait for a bit, you’ll be there, always. 

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, hands tucked into his jean pockets, cheeks darkening from the cold. 

            “My…Lena needs my help,” you tell him, your lips twisting into an apologetic smile, but he shrugs, eyebrows rising. 

            “I could give you a lift and then, you know, when you’ve helped her…maybe you and I could grab something to eat or…something,” he says and you can feel something inside of you, some kind of feeling that you don’t entirely know rise as you nod and he smiles, a bright kind of smile. 

            “That sounds good,” you tell him, mind only half here, the other part on Lena and who was supposed to be watching her. 

            Why wasn’t Mr. Cody there?

            Where is he?

            Did Lena lose another person again?

            You fumble with the keys that Mr. Cody gave you, the ones needed for the days that you pick Lena up or for the occasional times that you have to take her somewhere and lock up and unlock it again to come back. 

            They’re slipping through your fingers, chiming and clinking against one another as you finally slot it into the door, unlocking first the deadbolt then the knob, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. You step into a quiet house, still except for the sound of snores coming from the couch. 

            Deran, the fucker. 

            “Deran!” you hiss, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary, delighting in the way he jumps on the couch, hissing shit in a startled voice, head swivelling until he sees you, standing, arms crossed, no doubt a seriously pissed off look on your face. 

            “What are you doing here?” he asks you, blinking, sleep still heavy in his eyes, in his voice. 

            “I’m here because Lena called me, fucking crying because you fell asleep before the bedtime routine could happen,” you hiss, watching as realization dawns on his face, his hand coming up, scrubbing down his face as he murmurs “shit” for a different reason now. “And where the fuck is Mr. Cody? He’s supposed to be here watching Lena.”

            “He left real fast. Said he had to check on some girl,” he answers, his voice becoming more alert as he sits up and you grit your teeth together, turning to dart up the stairs, taking them two at a time, conscious of the fact that Lena’s up there, she’s sad and scared and her routine has been thrown out of order. 

            “Lena!” you call out when you reach the second floor landing, pushing open her partly closed door to see her sitting on her bed, face stained with tears. “Lena,” you whisper, “let’s do the routine, okay?”

            “Okay,” she whispers, standing and walking over to you, her face brightening at your presence. “You look fancy,” she says, “were you out with a boy? And did he look like the love of your life Ryan Gosling.”

            “Oh ha-ha, little one,” you say and she giggles, heading across the hall to the bathroom to rewash her face and brush her teeth, but in truth…Jonathan kinda does look like Ryan Gosling. But even as you think that, you swallow hard because that’s not exactly what you want. You want someone older, you want someone rougher around the edges who never looks at you and is awkward and someone you should never want, but do. Someone with dark auburn curls and hazel eyes…you blink, refocusing on the here and now and the nice boy waiting for you who has never seen the inside of a prison. 

            “Okay,” Lena says, bounding into her room, her face clean and words trailing minty breath. “I’m ready.” She runs across the room, leaping onto her twin bed, disturbing her piles of stuffies, tucking herself in as you cross the room towards her, kneeling down and smoothing the hair back from her face. 

            “I miss, Mommy,” she whispers and you can feel something crack inside of you. Something you’ve kept inside, locked up tight. 

            “She was a good woman,” you whisper, feeling tears in the back of your throat as you press a kiss to Lena’s forehead, tucking her blanket in tight all around her and rising, swallowing hard. Lena really does look like Cath, does carry that bit of her. 

            “She liked you,” Lena says and those words threaten to bring you to your knees. 

            “I liked her too. She was my friend.” Lena nods, satisfied with your answer before snuggling deeper into her blanket, eyes still open, watching as you click off her lamp and walk to the door, pulling it closed while you mouth good night. You know as the door clicks shut, the light flipped off that now she’ll fall asleep. Because she saw you leave. 

            You didn’t disappear in the dead of night. 

            You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head against the onslaught of tears that threaten you, bounding down the stairs preparing to rip Deran a new one, except…the living room is empty. You glance around, seeing nothing of Deran, instead just Mr. Cody standing there in the entrance way, his hazel eyes on you. 

            “Where’s Deran?” you call out, watching as Mr. Cody walks towards you, his presence making your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, his walk like that of a predator. 

            “I sent him home,” he says, his voice husky, rough. Dark, in a way that you like but wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t like him; you can’t like him. You are nothing if not professional. 

            “Well,” you say, nodding once and moving to step past him to the door. “I best let you get on with your night. Lena’s all tucked in, Mr. Cody.” You begin to walk, but he catches your wrist, his fingers calloused and warm against your skin in a way that feels good, feels nice, but no, stop that. You can’t think that way. 

            “It’s late,” he says. 

            “I know,” you answer, keeping your gaze trained straight ahead. “But I have a ride waiting for me outside.”

            “The boy?” he asks, his voice darkening, deepening. Primal in a way, if a sound can really be primal, which, you think it can. 

            “Yeah, Jonathan…why?” you ask, feeling a small bit of fear like ice creeping up your spine, goosebumps spreading along your skin. 

            “I sent him home,” he says and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you know his body is far too close, but you also don’t want him to step away and god, you’ve always had that line of professionalism, but this man…since Cath disappeared, he’s been the best with Lena and you never expected to feel anything for him, but…you do. 

            “Why?” you whisper and then he’s tugging on your wrist, turning you around, pulling you against him, his broad chest against yours. 

            “Because it’s late,” he whispers, his words actually rumbling through his chest, echoing into your body. “Because you’re already home.” You swallow hard at his words, at the way he’s just said that this…his home…is yours too. 

            It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before on nights when you’ve been told that no one will be watching Lena and you’re needed for a few days, but calling it home…that’s different. That’s making it seem like he likes you, that he caresfor you. 

            “I’m not home,” you whisper, looking down at the ground where the toes of your shoes are against his. You forgot to take your shoes off in the rush to get to Lena and you never do, but he’s forgotten too. 

            “Eyes on me,” he says, two fingers under your chin, tipping your head up, your gaze landing on him because how could it not? Everyone else is afraid of him, but how can they be, when he’s kind and caring and sweet and he’s quiet. He doesn’t just speak what’s on his mind, he looks at a room and decides what to do from there and god, professionalism. Professionalism, you remind yourself even as his proximity is fraying the last of your control because his lips look reallysoft and kissable. 

            Oh god, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?

            His stare is unrelenting, tracing every part of you as if he expects to find some damage on you, but you’ve been safe all night. 

            “Why were you gone, Mr. Cody?” you whisper, noticing the way his jaw tightens at your words, the way his eyes darken and the grip on your wrist tightens. 

            “Andrew,” he spits out, “call me Andrew.”

            “Why were you gone, Andrew?” you ask and he drags his fingers from under your chin to trace your lips, the digits replaced by his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip, a pressure that has a fevered feeling growing beneath your skin. 

            “I was watching someone,” he whispers, his voice husky, watching every bit of your face for a reaction. For a response. 

            “Who?” you ask, the word just slightly muffled by his thumb digging into your lip. 

            “Who do you think?” he asks and Jesus Christ, has his voice always been this hot, this capable of getting a reaction out of you? And you really need to leave now, really need to get going, but with the way he’s looking at you, the closeness of your bodies, you press your thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

            But of course he does. 

            Because he’s Andrew fucking Cody. And he notices everything. And really, where does he get off on ruining your professionalism, on breaking that line you’ve built, a tentative wall? Where does he get his attitude? And what deity decided that making your boss look like that was fair?!

            You hate your life right now, but also not because as he presses his body against yours, the hard lines of his body fitting against the soft lines of yours, you realize that everything you’ve imagined is not even close to reality. 

            God did not make everyone equal because Andrew Cody might be the hottest man in the entire world and you are so fired if you don’t end this now. 

            “I have to go!” you blurt out, pulling back and sliding your wrist from his hold, running from him to the front door, but he’s faster than you, putting his body between you and the door. 

            “No,” he says. 

            “Why?” you ask him, swallowing hard feeling both serious lust and fear inside of you, the two warring together and yet working together at the same time too. 

            “Because you said you wanted this,” he whispers and you can feel confusion added to the choking mix of emotions, your throat tight, lungs burning and chest constricting, heart pounding, pounding, pounding almost as odd a beat as “Edge of Seventeen”’s drumbeat. 

            “Wanted what?” You don’t want the answer, you’re slightly afraid of it because you really don’t know what he’s talking about, only that he’s blocking an exit.

            “Someone willing to do anything for you.” His words ring in the room where just yesterday, in the kitchen, you mentioned that to Lena, how you thought Noah was romantic and Jesus! He was there the entire time. 

            “That’s…that’s out of context,” you tell him, blinking fast, trying to see him while also not see him at the same time. 

            “What context did I need?” he whispers, stepping towards you, steps slow and quiet as if he’s afraid that you’re a doe he’s about to startle before he can get off the killing blow and should that idea really turn you on as much as it does? “Because I would do for you anything that Noah did for Allie? You want a house like he fixed for her because I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”

            “What?” you whisper, confusion winning out over fear because those aren’t the words of someone who only wants one thing. Those are the words of someone in love. Those are the words of someone who wants you for more than sex. 

            “Don’t you get it?” he asks and honestly, not really, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to you before. “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.”

            “You don’t talk…to me,” you whisper, turning from him, from the words he’s saying that sound pretty and honest but at the same time like lies and you walk, your shoes dragging against the hardwood floor, your steps slightly off-beat towards the kitchen, the tile floor. 

            “What was it that Noah said?” you hear Andrew whisper behind you. “‘So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day. You and me…every day.’”

            “What did you memorize the movie?” you whisper-yell, spinning around, taking note of his relentless proximity to you. 

            “Maybe,” he whispers and the sheepish expression on his face has you laughing, but not a laugh built of humour, more of someone delirious and surprised and horny, yeah, horny too because he has no right to look that good. 

            You can feel your knees giving way, this night having been too much, too much and you slide down the counter, the handles of the cabinet digging into your spine as you sink down, your head landing in-between your knees. 

            “June first,” you hear him say, his body landing beside yours. “Twenty-twelve. The first day I met you.”

            “What?” you whisper, your head pressing against your left knee as you tilt your head, looking at him. 

            “Yeah,” he says, “I was looking for Baz, but you were there, Lena on your hip, watching me until I disappeared.”

            “No way you loved me then,” you whisper, your arms wrapped around your knees, body folded into a self-contained unit. 

            “No,” he agrees. “That came later. October 27th 2012. You invited me over when I was lurking and I fell in love with you because you were the first person not afraid of me and you talked to me. And I didn’t want to live without that. And then…you visited me in prison and wrote me letters…and…you love me too. I know you do.”

            “Mr. Cody,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes darkening again. 

            “Andrew,” he hisses, “call me Andrew.”

            “You’re my boss,” you cry. “I can’t be with you. That breaks every moral and ethical code I have!”

            “But do you love me?” And for once, you fall silent, the answer in you truth, the answer resting on your tongue a lie and you don’t like to lie. 

            “I knew it,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you, shifting you, your body coming to rest on his lap, straddling him as he kisses you relentlessly. He kisses like he stares, deep and dark and predatory. It’s not a battle or a conquest, but a claiming, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, his tongue controlling yours, sliding along it and leaving you breathless, his hands everywhere, hips moving up into yours, the bulge pressing into you, telling you just how much he wants you. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, pulling back from his lips as best you can, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. “We can’t do this. Lena’s home.”

            “I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous and so unfairly hot. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

            “Andrew…” He’s kissing you again and you don’t want to fight this. You don’t want to stop, you want this closeness, you’ve wanted this for so long, but you need assurances. You need to know that this isn’t going to ruin the babysitting job. “Pause,” you murmur against his lips and he listens, his head falling against yours, forehead pressing against you, eyes on you. 

            “What?” he asks, his voice not curt, but concerned. 

            “What does this mean for me? You’re my boss, Andrew,” you whisper and then he’s shifting again, rising, pulling you with him and shoving your hips into the counter, the granite digging into the small of your back, his body pressing into you, caging you in. 

            “Be Mrs. Cody,” he whispers, one hand tracing your face with a feather-light touch. “Be Lena’s aunt…just,” he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder, “be mine. Please.”

            “I don’t have a ring,” you whisper, “but alright.” And then he’s lifting his head and looking at you, deep and dark and now you understand that expression he’s been giving you for years: love. He does love you. 

            Then his lips are on yours again, tongue sliding along yours as he guides you up the stairs, his hands firm on your hips, guiding even as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth sinking down onto it, your gasp muffled as you bite your tongue, skin fevered. 

            He pushes you down the hall, to the very last door and inside, shutting the door with his foot, hand leaving you. You can hear the lock flip and then Andrew is walking you back to the bed, his hands drifting to the front of your hips, fingers pulling open the button of your cutoffs, undoing the zipper and they drop to the floor. You step out of them and you want him now, want this relentless ache and throb to end, but he’s someone who seems to savour, his mouth trailing over your neck, teeth sinking into the skin every few minutes, tongue lashing out to soothe the bite marks. 

            He pushes you back, your body landing on his bed and he’s rough, but at the same time gentle as he kneels on the ground, sliding your underwear from off your hips, down your legs, set aside. He pauses for a moment, folding your cutoffs and underwear, setting them aside, his room obsessively neat, something you appreciate. 

            “God,” he whispers when he turns back, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, “so pretty.”

            “Andrew,” you whisper and he looks up at you, eyes black with desire. “You’re too dressed up.” He stands, taking his shirt off and god you wish you’d said nothing because who made him look like that? He’s too attractive for his own good. It’s highly unfair. 

            He unzips his jeans, folding them and his shirt, setting them in a pile beside yours, boxers still on, just like your baggy shirt is still on. He kneels again, a coil in your stomach tight, yet not tight enough, your legs on his broad freckled shoulders. He presses a kiss against each side of your arousal slicked inner thighs before, pulling you closer to him, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, the fucker locking eyes with you the whole time. 

            He knows exactly what he’s doing and where the fuck did he learn to do this? Because the way he circles your clit with his tongue, doing figure eights, his one hand sliding along your thigh, long fingers slipping along them, into the space between. He teases two fingers between your folds, scissoring them apart before plunging both of them inside of you, sinking them up to the knuckle and scissoring you open before pulling them out, knuckles dragging along your walls. 

            “Jesus—Christ!” you cry as he continues to finger you, tongue never stopping its ceaseless rhythm on your clit, little figure 8s which stop every time that he pulls his fingers out, rather his tongue pressing against your clit, against the swelling pearl. “Andrew! Fuck!”

            You can feel his chuckle against your clit, your pussy and you want to hit him, but also not because that coil in your belly is winding tight, tight, tighter and it’s about to burst and his mouth and hands are really unfairly good at what they’re doing right now. You’d hate to mess up his—rhythm. 

            He has four fingers inside of you at this point, all his extremities pumping in and out of you at a faster and faster pace, knuckles dragging down your walls one by one, each finger leaving you at different times, his index finger the last to leave always, the slowest drag against your walls, stimulating every part of you that it touches. 

            It’s not long before he has you coming apart, your orgasm ripping through, that coil snapping as he pushes all four fingers in again, his tongue pressing against your clit. He holds his fingers still while your cunt trembles with aftershocks. 

            “I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers against you, his breath causing you to hiss as he pulls the four fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours as he steps out of his boxers, cock hard and the tip leaking, a bead of precum sitting on top, sliding down, a vein bulging. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, “how’d you get so good?” He comes to sit beside you on the bed, pulling you up, holding you, his lips on yours for a moment and the kiss is sinful and oh so hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

            “When they…” he looks down at his hands for a moment, “when they paid for women to sleep with me, I learned what they liked because I…I never liked anything.”

            “Andy,” you whisper and his head jerks to yours, “what do you like?”

            “You,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours again and your body is flat on the bed, his cock teasing between your folds, kissing against your entrance as his tongue slides along yours and he murmurs, you, you, you into your mouth. 

            He slides his cock from your entrance to your clit like he did his tongue, circling your clit with his tip once before sliding back down and pushing inside, sinking into the hilt with a single thrust. He moans at the feeling of you all around him, a kind of whimper that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is. 

            “You’re okay,” you whisper when he pulls back from the kiss, his eyes closed. “Keep going, Andy. Use me.” And he does, pulling out and slamming himself back in over and over in a brutal rhythm that has your entire body moving with each thrust, his mouth hot on your neck. 

            “You’re so perfect, sweet girl,” he says, his words slightly unclear, but you know what he means, can hear it, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Give Lena a cousin, maybe?” He’s hesitant in his words, but you nod and he looks up at you.

            “Go ahead, Andy,” you whisper and his pace picks up, relentless and punishing and delicious, his one hand on your waist, the other resting on your mons, thumb circling your clit, drawing you to orgasm at the same time he does. His release is thick and hot inside of you, cock pulsing and then he’s collapsing beside you, his body pulling yours tight against him and you’re not aware of much, except that he pulls the covers over the two of you and you fall asleep to his kiss against your neck. 

            “Good night, Mrs. Cody.”

            “I knew it!” Lena screams the next morning, taking in the sight of you and Andrew both in the kitchen, making breakfast, your body in his clothes, a ring on your finger that he went out and bought for you. “You’re gonna be my auntie!” And then her stick arms are around you and holding tight. 

            “Yeah, bug,” you whisper, your hand smoothing down her hair, the pancakes in the pan, “I am.”

            “And hopefully,” Andrew chimes in, “you’ll have a cousin soon.”

            “Andrew!” 

            Lena giggles when you hit him with the oven mitt and his response is to press a kiss against your cheek and you feel a contentment you’ve never felt before. 

            Because…wasn’t this what you wanted all along?

            You think it is.