Espressheauxs - Say You Can’t Sleep

NOAH WYLE as MICHAEL “ROBBY” ROBINAVITCH The Pitt | 1.04

officially beekeeping age 🐝

This is my plea to all LH writers:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE indulge us and give us the gift of mob boss Lewis fics and smut

NEW - Pedro Pascal at the Ballerina after party.

Stellaaaaaaaaa…. That new pic has killed me!

Jack Abbot in glasses and he’s all shy and embarrassed about it in front of his younger girlfriend bc he didn’t used to need glasses, it’s a sign he’s getting older and it reminds him of the age gap…

But his embarrassment doesn’t last long when she forces him to keep them on and watch her worship his old man cock and balls with her pretty young mouth

Ok I’m getting carried away, time to crawl back into my gutter!

IM SICK. Him laying next to you in bed…. with his glasses at the tip of his nose… yeahhh

Tossing and turning because you can’t sleep. Twisting over in bed to see Jack sitting up next to you, his back against the headboard with glasses at the end of his nose, silently reading in the dim light of the bedroom.

He could hear you rustling, eyes gazing to his right to find your face smushed against your pillow with heavy lids, watching him intently.

His glasses came off in one quick sweep.

Folding the arms of his readers one at a time, before swiftly placing them on his bedside table.

You'd seen him wear them before, mostly at night when he read, or sometimes he’d bring them out to look at something you were showing him on your phone, griping because “the font is so small, who the hell can even read that?”

He made it a point not to keep his glasses on for extensive periods of time when you were around. He made a joke once that they were his "old man glasses" and you wondered if Jack abbot— the confident and headstrong emergency department attending— maybe had a slight insecurity when it came to his age, especially in comparison with yours.

"Can't sleep?" His voice was low with a gentle scratch as he dog eared a page of his book before allowing it to rest on his lap.

You shook your head from side to side against the fluff of your pillow.

"Can't get comfy." The words were hollowed out by a sleepy rasp as you threw him your best over-exaggerated frown.

"Can I help?" It was a genuine inquiry, but the smirk on his lips gave away his true intentions. His hand slid across the sheets, finding your waist underneath the covers. But, before it could trail any further, you sat up slightly.

"That depends..." You began to respond with a smug grin of your own, leaning up on your elbow, reaching across his body to grab the glasses from his bedside table.

"you wanna put these back on?"

His eyes were glued to the readers in your hand, just sitting in your grasp as you held them out in front of him.

"My glasses?" There was a subtle laugh in his words as his brows knit together in confusion.

He didn't take them from your hand, just stared at them in amusement and disbelief.

You sat up further, taking the book from his lap and tossing it to the end of the bed, your body replacing its position as you straddled him, sitting back on his thighs.

"I like them." The tone of your voice was soft and slow as you took it upon yourself to place the readers back on the bridge of his nose.

"I think they're sexy."

"You're funny sweetheart." He was trying not to scoff as a shy grin stretched across his face, his head shaking subtly in disagreement.

"Don't believe me?" You shifted your weight, crawling down his body until your careful kisses found the skin just above the waistband of his boxers.

His hand moved, fingertips adjusting the glasses that were now sliding further down his nose as he watched you between his legs. You caught it out of the corner of your eye— his hand toying with his readers— and for a split second you thought he might take them off again.

"They stay on, or I stop." The threat sounded harmless as it purred into his lower abdomen, your fingers slowly pulling at his underwear.

He playfully raised his hands, surrendering to your command.

"Yes ma'am." He smiled as he spoke, but the sound of his voice was far raspier than it had been all night.

With hooded eyes hiding behind the black frames of his readers, he brought a hand down to tangle in your hair as you dragged his boxers down just enough to take the tip of his cock into your mouth.

His head fell back, thumping against the headboard, as he made a mental note to start wearing his glasses a little bit more.

Your head bobbed at his hips as you took him deeper toward your throat, causing a muffled groan to break free from his chest.

Okay, maybe a lot more.

Early Spring Snow

Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

You didn’t mean to end up in your own ER after a grueling day shift. There had been an early spring snow in Pittsburgh a couple of days ago, and the daytime sun and nighttime freeze caused black ice to form everywhere. The Pitt was slammed with broken bones from slipping and falling. And you were about to be one of those patients.

You had originally planned to go back to your apartment, but your boyfriend, Jack Abbot, insisted that you go to his house while he was at work. If the weather continued to fluctuate, he wanted you to have access to his backup generator that would keep the electricity going. So you agreed, and you had picked up some groceries to cook breakfast for him when he got off his night shift.

You were double fisting the grocery bags as you walked up the sidewalk. Jack had salted the concrete to prevent black ice, and you could hear each crystal crunch under your shoes. You made it to the front door before realizing you left your keys in the car. With an annoyed huff that you could visualize in the icy air, you set the groceries down, and turned to run back to your car to get out of the cold as soon as possible.

And that was your mistake. Your foot found the singular patch of ice on the sidewalk that had evaded Jack’s salting efforts. You had no time to react, and instinctively, your hands braced your fall as you fell hard onto the concrete. A string of curse words hissed from your mouth as you unsteadily rose to your feet. You brushed off the salt from your knees and upper body, but there was an odd pain coming from your left arm.

Because of your puffy coat, you couldn’t initially see that your forearm was going in a direction that it shouldn’t. In fact, the lower half of your forearm didn’t seem to be connected to your upper half.

Fuck. You knew the endorphins were gonna wear off soon, and you wanted to be under a considerable amount of pain meds when it did. Drunk with adrenaline, you got back in your car and drove to the Pitt, ditching the groceries at Jack’s front door.

When you arrived at the parking lot of the Pitt, you were grateful to find it generally unbusy. You walked through the front door and passed through the waiting room. Mel King was the first one to spot you. She grinned and waved eagerly.

“What are you doing here?” She asked excitedly.

You smiled at your friend’s enthusiasm, but the pain in your arm reminded you of your reason to visit. “I think I broke my arm.” You replied.

Mel’s smile quickly vanished, and she began to usher you towards an empty room. “Oh, that’s not good. Let’s get you checked out.” She said.

You entered the room and began to take off your puffy winter coat. You tossed it on the chair in the room, and you heard Mel gasp. Her eyes were locked on your arm, and you saw for the first time how bad it was. Definitely broken.

She sat you on the edge of the bed and immediately began a physical exam of your wounded arm. “What happened?” She asked.

You sighed, feeling embarrassment course through your veins after teasing patients all day about this very thing. “Slipped on black ice.” You responded.

Mel nodded, not an ounce of judgment on her face. What an angel. “I’m gonna go get you a sling and get you in line for an x-ray. I’ll order some morphine, too.” She said, about to run out of the room, but hesitated for a second. “Any chance you’re pregnant?” She asked.

You felt the default answer of “no” in the back of your throat, but you stopped yourself. You had irregular periods, and you and Jack weren’t the best at using protection every time he wanted to fuck you. Although you were confident that you were not, you found yourself answering “I don’t know.”

Mel nodded, taking the information the best she could. You could see from her reaction that she was a little surprised. “Um, okay! Let me get you a sling and we’ll do a urine test before we send you off to x-ray.” She said.

And you were alone in the room again. You shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed and wondered if you should tell Mel to get Jack. The only person on staff that knew of your relationship with him was Robby. There wasn’t much opportunity for others to speculate because day shift rarely interacted with night shift. You decided against telling Jack as you vaguely remembered seeing a mass of doctors and nurses in Trauma 1.

Mel soon returned with the sling and urine cup. “Alright, let’s get you in this sling.” She said.

She guided your distorted arm into the holder of the sling, making sure you didn’t endure anymore pain. Once the strap was adjusted, she handed you the urine cup. “You know the rules. Wipe front to back with the sanitary towel, pee for a few seconds, then collect the specimen.” She instructed.

You smiled slightly. “Thank you.” You replied before heading to the bathroom.

Getting your dirtied scrub bottoms off with one hand was much harder than you thought it would be. Bits of salt were still buried in the fabric, and they began to fall onto the tile floor of the bathroom as you shimmied out of the pants. You followed Mel’s instructions to a T, then did your best to wash your good hand with soap and warm water.

As you headed back to your room, you caught a glance of Trauma 1. Jack was commanding the room with ease and working hard to creatively intubate the patient. Your heart fluttered at the sight, rarely getting to see your boyfriend in action. You reentered the room, and Mel was there waiting for you.

“Why aren’t you in Trauma 1?” You asked.

Mel took the cup from your hands and immediately dipped a pregnancy test. “Oh, they have too many people in there already.” She answered and placed the test and cup on the counter behind her. “Plus, Doctor Abbot is scary in trauma situations.”

You giggled and sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, he can be pretty fierce in a high stress situation.” You replied, trying not to let on the extent of which you knew him.

Mel nodded and leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You know, I’ve heard Princess and Perlah mention that he has a girlfriend now. He’s been a lot less mean.” She added.

Your face flushed, and you prayed the fluorescent lighting wouldn’t highlight the redness. “Oh, seriously?” You tried to fake.

“Yeah. She works on the day shift I think. I don’t know who it is. Do you?” She looked to you, genuinely curious.

You shrugged nonchalantly, honing in on your best acting skills. “I don’t think so. But now I’ll be on the look out.” You replied.

Mel turned slightly to look at the test. “Oh. Um…let me get another test.” She said before hurrying out of the room.

You raised an eyebrow but figured she may not have saturated the first test enough. When she returned, she dipped the second test in the cup and placed it next to the first one.

“I’m gonna get you some acetaminophen for the baseline pain.” She said and disappeared again.

You let out a disappointed sigh. Acetaminophen wasn’t going to do shit with your broken arm. Morphine would work a lot better and faster. Mel returned with a couple of pills and a small cup of water. You downed the pills, hoping they would provide some relief.

Mel peered over at the pregnancy tests again, and you could see she was uncomfortable by the way she wrung her hands. “Okay, so both of these tests are positive. You’re pregnant.” She said, not knowing the exact tone to use.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You couldn’t even speak, but with your free hand, you reached out. Mel handed both tests to you. And she was right. Two lines instead of one. Pregnant. Your hand began to tremble, and the room spun around you.

Mel noticed your distress and placed a hand on your shoulder to push you back against the bed. Your head came to rest on the mattress. “Hey, it’s okay. Let’s just take some deep breaths, okay?” She tried to calm you.

You nodded, and you followed her lead in taking two deep breaths. “I’m sorry, I just-…I didn’t know.” You admitted sheepishly.

Mel nodded. “That’s okay. It’s not what you expected. Let me go get the ultrasound machine, and I can see how far along you are.” She said before hurrying out.

You were alone in the room again. Pregnant. How could you not know? You didn’t have any morning sickness. Your irregular periods made for a perfect red herring. Maybe your bras had been a little tighter, but you assumed that was from eating extra snacks in between breaks. Oh. Eating extra snacks. Yeah, that was one sign.

Then all you could think about was Jack. You had talked about the future, about kids, but that was wishy washy stuff. You expected that to be much farther into the future. If it ever happened. Not now. Was he going to be mad? Or sad? Was he going to leave?

You were brought back to reality when Mel swung the curtain open and wheeled the ultrasound in. “Okay, I’m gonna put some warm gel on your belly, could you lift up your shirt?” She asked.

You did as she asked, and your eyes were riveted on the compression marks from your scrub pants. They had been a little snug lately. Mel squirted the gel onto your belly, then took the probe to navigate.

“We may not see anything if it’s still early. I’ll have to use the transvaginal probe if it is. But…” She trailed off as she watched the screen. “It looks like we can see baby right now. Inside the uterus where it belongs.”

You looked to the screen, and there it was. Your baby. Jack’s baby. The outline of a head and body. Arms and legs compressed against it. Just a little fetus. You felt an odd feeling in your chest, a mix between anxiety and joy.

“Oh. That’s my baby.” You said, not even aware that it was out loud and not in your head.

The curtain swung open, and you flinched at the sudden sound. Mel’s hand jerked away from your belly and turned around. Jack stood there, trying to take in the sight before him.

“What are you doing here?” He asked firmly, but you could tell he was distressed in his eyes.

You looked awkwardly to Mel, who decided to present you as a patient case. “29-year-old female presenting with suspected left radial and ulnar fractures after a fall.” She stated, in perfect form.

Jack looked to the ultrasound and back to you, unable to follow based on Mel’s presentation. “So what’s the ultrasound for?” He asked.

Mel shifted uncomfortably, not sure if she should share her coworker’s business. But you were a patient now. “She had two positive pregnancy tests, and I was confirming with ultrasound before sending her to x-ray.” She explained. “Would you like to check?”

Jack had kept his eyes on you the whole time, something unreadable in his face. You had gotten pretty good at understanding the small changes in his expression. He never smiled, even when he laughed, so you had to pick up on the tiniest changes to figure out his mood. But this was new.

“Yes, thank you, Dr. King.” He answered, trading places with her on the rolling stool next to your bed.

He dragged the probe across your belly, staring straight at the screen. You watched him intently, trying to decipher his body language.

“Dr. King, can you give an estimated gestational age?” He asked.

Mel looked at the monitor, noting the baby’s features. “About 12 weeks. About to start the second trimester.” She answered.

You felt another wave of anxiety rush through you. You missed the entire first trimester. “A-are you sure?” You asked.

Jack nodded, not looking away from the screen. “She’s right. Measuring at about 5.4 centimeters.” He confirmed, voice as firm as ever.

Mel looked to you, a small smile on her face. “At 12 weeks, you can tell the gender.” She reminded you.

You looked to Jack, who was diligently studying the baby’s anatomy, making sure there were absolutely no informalities as of now. “The gender?” You repeated, and it brought Jack back to reality.

Jack turned to look at you fully for the first time since he entered the room. Those hazel eyes were welled up with tears, and he was doing everything he could from letting them spill over. “Do you want to know?” He asked, and you could hear the barely-there strain in his vocal cords.

You nodded, not breaking his eye contact. “Yes, please.” You whispered.

It took ounce of military training to hold Jack from breaking down in tears. “It’s a boy.” He answered as steadily as he could.

You smiled, then grinned, and tears streaked down your cheeks. “A boy?” You repeated.

Jack nodded, twisting his face to prevent himself from crying, grateful his face was turned away from Mel. “Yeah, a healthy baby boy.” He affirmed.

You brought your free hand to your face to wipe away some of the tears, and you laughed with a new joy you hadn’t felt before. Jack turned away from you in that moment, but still not fully facing Mel.

“Dr. King, could you go check with imaging and see if they’re ready?” He asked.

Mel nodded. “Yes, sir.” She replied, but looked to you and smiled the biggest smile she had. “Congrats on the baby boy!”

You matched her smile. “Thank you, Mel.” You replied, and then she disappeared behind the curtain.

Before you could begin to speak, Jack wrapped you into his arms, carefully cradling you to avoid your broken arm. The love you felt from that embrace had more than exceeded your expectations. “You’re not mad?” You asked, pulling away slightly.

Jack looked to you with an offended demeanor. “Mad?” He questioned while rubbing your shoulder. “Sweetheart, I could never be mad at you.” He added. “Especially over this.”

You smiled and ran your free hand through his thick, silvered curls. “You’re gonna be a dad.” You whispered.

Jack’s bottom lip quivered, and the tears spilled over his face. “I’m gonna be a dad.” He repeated.

You had never seen him cry before. You desperately wished you had two available arms to pull him tightly into your embrace. Instead, you guided his head to rest close to yours and kissed him gently. He energetically returned the kiss, fingers threading through your hair. But he pulled away when reality hit him.

“Wait, how did you break your arm?” He asked, a new wave of concern washing over his face.

You rolled your eyes at your own clumsiness. “I slipped and fell on black ice outside of your house.” You responded.

Jack huffed, disappointed that he hadn’t put down enough salt. “I’m sorry, love. I thought I fixed it up for you.” He replied.

You shrugged and a slow smile found its way to your lips. “It’s okay. Because now I’m here. And now we have a baby.”

Jack’s concerned expression melted into one of pure happiness. It was one that you had only seen a few times. But despite his tear-streaked face, the joy was unmistakable.

—

A/N: Yeah I’m a sucker for giving my favorite characters a baby, sorry this wasn’t super long, but I wanted to write it before the week started!

See now this is the disrespectful nasty but loving some some I’m talking abouttttttt 🤌🏽🤌🏽🤌🏽

safe harbor

pairing: dr. jack abbot x day shift resident!female reader

summary: you've been pining for the night shift attending dr. jack abbot ever since you started at the hospital, and when you wake up in his bed—alone—after having too many drinks in the park after a particularly bad shift, you finally do something about it.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), unspecified age gap, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, come marking, hand job, pussy job, dry humping/thigh riding, big dick/tough fit, tit play/nipple sucking, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, pet names (angel), begging, teasing, aftercare, cuddling and snuggling, drinking and drunkenness (nothing happens while reader is drunk), mutual pining. this fic is inspired by the scene of the doctors and nurses drinking in the park after work in the pitt season 1 finale, but it could take place after any rough shift.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: here's my entry for the a doctor a day writing challenge!! thank you to @letsgobarbs, @ananonymousaffair and @clubsoft for hosting this event!! my prompt was "You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss." and my color was orange—and i'm really happy with how this turned out!! technically this is my first proper jack abbot fic (though i'm sure it won't be the last), so i hope y'all enjoy ♡♡♡

The soft orange light of a spring sunrise filtered into the room behind your eyelids, and for one hazy, wonderful moment, you drifted in the contentment that only comes from the liminal space between sleeping and waking. You were ensconced in warm blankets and the smell of earth and sunshine, and you wanted to live in that moment as long as possible.

Then, an almost gentle throbbing began behind your temple, a headache blooming to life as you slipped further into waking. Unbidden, memories from the night before flooded into your mind and you had to bite back a pained groan.

You’d had far too much to drink after work. Or, rather, you’d had too many beers for how exhausted you’d been after your particularly long and terrible shift. But you’d been riding high on surviving the day from hell, and it had been a pleasantly warm evening. And Dr. Jack Abbot had been there.

It had felt like some kind of small miracle—to get to share a couple drinks with the med students, doctors and nurses in the park across the street from the hospital. You hadn’t been the only one laughing too loudly, as if grasping onto the relief of making it through the day, because the alternative was sinking into the darkness.

You’d known that if you’d gone home and dragged yourself into your cold, lifeless apartment that you never had time or energy to decorate, you’d have ended up crying yourself to sleep. Instead, you’d accepted the invitation from your attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch—Dr. Robby—and joined the others for a drink.

The amber glow of the lamplights lining the paths of the park had been welcoming beacons, and you’d felt the weight of the world slowly slip from your shoulders as you accepted a can of beer, letting the conversation flow around you. As everyone talked, sharing stories from the day, things hadn’t seemed so bleak. 

So you’d lingered in the park long after you should’ve gone home, drinking far more than you should’ve considering how exhausted you were, and letting your eyes drift to Dr. Jack Abbot far more often than they should’ve. You couldn’t help it, though. You’d been drawn to the night shift attending ever since you met him at the start of your first day shift. 

You were Dr. Robby’s resident, and he was a capable mentor—firm when he needed to be, and kind when you needed it. You’d gained a lot working with Dr. Robby on the day shift, and you’d become a much better doctor learning from him and everyone else in the ER.

Yet you couldn’t help but be intrigued by Dr. Jack Abbot. You’d always admired the older, silver-haired doctor, the way he carried himself, coming in as your shift was ending and taking over easily. You always knew your patients were in good hands when you gave them over to Dr. Abbot. 

He was so competent and capable, and always so calm, even on the busiest nights in the ER. He was like a rock in the middle of a raging, tumultuous storm. Strong and steady. Safe. 

And you wanted to climb Dr. Jack Abbot like a tree, to live in his strong and steady embrace, to allow his presence to keep you safe and sane. You wanted him to be your safe harbor—and to be his, too. You wanted to be the person he’d come home to and slip into bed with, and trust to keep him safe and sane. 

In the park, under the amber lamplights, your thoughts had drifted to the idea of sliding into bed with Dr. Jack Abbot, curling your body around his beneath warm blankets, and sleeping the entire day away as you lay entwined together. You imagined waking up together, warm skin and gentle hands, soft kisses giving way to something more…

You hadn’t realized you were staring until light brown eyes caught yours and you’d startled back into the moment, heat rising up your neck and blooming in your cheeks. You’d known you should look away, but you hadn’t been able to, not with the electric tension thrumming between the two of you like a livewire.

Dr. Jack Abbot was as calm as ever, holding your gaze for a long moment. 

His eyes were dark and inscrutable in the dim light of the park, but you noticed a glint in his gaze that made the breath catch in your throat. There was something in his eyes, something like wanting, which had your heart beating harder against your sternum and warmth pulsing between your thighs. 

Then he’d tipped his can of beer toward you and dipped his head, giving you a nod while a smirk flickered at the edges of his mouth. Something in you had fluttered, low in your belly, and you’d wanted to squirm. You’d wanted to throw yourself at him, hold his face in your hands and kiss him until you were both panting and needy.

Instead you’d looked away and taken a sip of your beer, wondering if you’d imagined the warmth and hunger hidden deep in his gaze. You’d told yourself it must’ve been a trick of the dark amber light, the result of too much exhaustion, too much beer, and too many dirty thoughts about Dr. Jack Abbot.

The night had gone on, time unspooling slowly and leisurely the way it never did in the ER, and you’d drifted along on the current of conversation ebbing and flowing around you. 

You’d tried not to look back at Dr. Abbot too often, but couldn’t help yourself. More often than not, though, you found him already looking at you, that ghost of a smile on his face and that look in his eye that had you questioning your sanity.

At some point, you’d ended up on a bench between Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot, listening as the men commended the work you’d done in the ER that evening. Their words of praise had flitted in one ear and out the other, even as you nodded along like you were paying close attention. 

The smile on your face had everything to do with their praise, and nothing to do with Dr. Abbot’s warmth seeping into your side—at least, that’s what you’d told yourself.

Your memories got hazier from there. You remembered your cheek falling against Dr. Abbot’s shoulder, and staying there as your eyes slid closed; deft fingers gently prying the half-empty can from your hands; the smell of beer and something earthy, like moss; the deep rumbling of Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot’s voices as they talked over your head.

You hadn’t blacked out—you hadn’t had that much to drink—but the rest of the evening was too hazy to make out in your mind. You’d been so tired from working a 15-hour shift, and the alchohol had only exacerbated your exhaustion, leaving you to fall asleep on Dr. Abbot’s shoulder. 

You remembered breathing in the smell of him, an earthy scent that reminded you of hiking in the woods on a bright, sunny day. It was the same scent you were surrounded by in the morning light, your eyes still stubbornly closed as a headache throbbed behind your temple. 

Rolling over and pressing your face into your pillow, you took a deep breath. The fabric smelled so much like Dr. Jack Abbot that it made your head spin with confusion. 

Even as your mind reeled, your body responded to the scent of him, the memory of his caramel brown eyes. You could perfectly picture the way his freckled arms flexed when he crossed them, his t-shirt sleeves hugging his biceps lovingly—the way you wanted to.

Heat cascaded gently down from the crown of your head, coasting down your spine and pooling between your thighs. Even with the slight edge of a hangover at the periphery of your mind, you couldn’t help the way your body yearned for the ER’s night shift attending, wanting him so badly it ached.

Your heart and your body wanted Dr. Jack Abbot. You wanted the older doctor who could be your rock, your light in the darkness, your safe harbor. And neither your heart nor your body would settle for anything less.

Your fingers were just beginning to slip down your stomach, trailing toward the needy, throbbing place between your thighs, when the soft click of a door opening sounded beyond the bed. Your eyes flew open for the first time that morning and, for one disorienting moment, you had no idea where you were.

The orange light of dawn was familiar enough, but the bedsheets and pillows looked nothing like your own. Flipping onto your back and sitting up quickly, you ignored the annoying pang of your headache to peer toward the door.

A sigh of relief gusted from your lips when you found Dr. Jack Abbot framed in the doorway, his brow creased with concern as he raked his eyes over you, as if checking for injury or illness. 

You took the moment to look around the room, taking in the comfortable, masculine decor. Warm wooden furniture occupied the space, with plants positioned around the room in places that you were sure got the most light. A thriving monstera sat in a pot beside the dresser, a goldfish in a glass bowl on top of the wooden ledge.

On the floor next to the open door, there was a camouflage backpack, the only thing that appeared to be out of place. You recognized that backpack as the one Dr. Abbot always wore on his way into work.

Suddenly, your sleep hazy brain caught up and you realized you were in Dr. Abbot’s apartment—you were in his bedroom. In his bed. 

The soft sheets of Dr. Abbot’s bed slid against your bare legs as you brought them up to your chest, his warm, orange duvet draped around your waist. It was the same color as the sunrise that lay beyond the windows, which were half covered in blackout curtains, like he wasn’t sure which way you’d prefer them. 

It was all—all of it—almost too much for your mind to process. The headache behind your temples pounded a little harder as your body caught up to your sudden change of position, and you winced.

The expression of pain on your face seemed to spur Dr. Abbot into moving.

“You’re up,” he said, his voice low and soft like he was trying not to startle you. He padded to the bedside table beside you and set down a glass of water. “Do you remember how you got here?” he asked in that same tone, which you recognized as the one he used as patients. 

You frowned as you watched Dr. Abbot open a bottle of aspirin and shake two pills into his hand. You tried to think of an answer that didn’t make you seem like a silly lightweight of a resident as you plucked the medecine from his palm when he held it out to you. 

A shiver raced down your spine when your fingertips brushed Dr. Abbot’s warm, calloused skin, delightful tingles dancing along your nerves. You attempted to hide your reaction in a shake of your head, answering his question silently. But you couldn’t hide the way your shoulders trembled, so you busied yourself with taking the pills. 

Thankfully, your hand was steady as you reached for the glass on the bedside table and swallowed the aspirin with a gulp of water. The cool water felt like salvation to your parched throat, and you ended up drinking the whole glass before you could even think to stop yourself. 

When you were done, your found Dr. Abbot watching you, a hint of a pleased smile in the twist of his lips and pride in the glint of his gaze. You had the wild thought that if he looked at all his patients that way, you understood why his satisfaction scores were so high. 

He took the glass from you, his fingers brushing against yours, the movement feeling more deliberate than before. You were grateful when he turned away to set the glass down, because your shoulders trembled with another shiver at the electricity in his light touch.

“You fell asleep in the park,” Dr. Abbot explained in a voice that was endlessly patient and calm as he set the glass down. You noticed your phone beside it on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. “You were so exhausted, we couldn’t send you home on your own. My place was closest.”

Dr. Abbot straightened as he gave his explanation, arms crossing over his chest and staring down at you in a way that made you squirm. He didn’t look disappointed or disapproving, just concerned. And the knowledge that he cared enough to be concerned sent your heart pitter-pattering inside your ribcage.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Dr. Abbot,” you murmured, dropping your gaze to your fingers, which were twisting in the blanket on your lap. “Yesterday was…difficult.” 

“Jack, please,” he said, his voice almost imperceptibly softer. 

Your eyes flicked up to him, looking at the silver-haired doctor from under your lashes. His smile was wry and your belly gave a happy little swoop—and that was before you heard his next words.

“You’re in my bed, you don’t need to be so formal.”

It was clear that he meant his words as a teasing kind of joke, but they only succeeded in reminding you that you’d woken up in his bed. Alone. Lamentably alone. The warmth between your thighs stoked higher, until his words fully penetrated your mind.

Your gaze drifted to the other side of the bed, which was still made with military precision. It was clear he hadn’t slept there, and you realized that meant he must’ve slept somewhere else…

“Oh god, I’m so sorry for kicking you out of your bed,” you rushed to say, looking back to Jack with wide eyes. “Where did you sleep?”

“I got a couple hours on the couch,” he answered, a little bashfully. He seemed eager to move on from the subject as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You should get some more rest,” he said, unfurling his arms from his chest and reaching for your empty water glass. “Your scrubs are in the wash with mine, they should be done in a bit.”

A memory from the night before surfaced in your mind: Jack standing with his back to you as you swayed on your feet and stripped out of your scrubs—leaving you in only a tank top, bra and panties. 

You’d removed your bra and left everything in a heap on the floor before dragging yourself under the covers of his bed, snuggling deep into their warmth and his comforting scent. You were asleep before you’d even heard Jack turn around.

Not only had Dr. Jack Abbot taken you to his home so you would be safe, given up his bed so you’d have somewhere comfortable to sleep, but he was washing your scrubs for you. 

There was something about the domesticity of it that pricked at your heart. You could so easily imagine throwing your dirty scrubs into the laundry with a load of Jack’s, washing them together, working side by side to put them away in the room you shared. 

You yearned for the life you pictured—and you wanted it with Dr. Jack Abbot. 

Before you could think about what you were doing, your hand darted out. Your fingers wrapped around Jack’s wrist as he reached for the water glass on the bedside table. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingertips, strong and steady, if a little fast.

“Stay with me.” You hated how small you sounded, the desperate pleading in your voice, but your fingers wouldn’t let go. Instead, you squeezed his wrist tighter. “Please, Jack.”

For a long moment, long enough that you began to think he’d deny you, Jack just stood there. Half hunched over, his hand reaching past you, he stood and looked at you. His eyes stared deep into yours, his brows pulled together over his light brown gaze.

“Are you sure?” 

The question was rough and raspy, like he’d dredged the words up from the very depths of his soul. His eyes were bright and intense as he stared at you, his gaze searching your face for any hesitation.

The sound of his voice and the weight of his stare sent your heart fluttering, and your thighs squirmed beneath the blankets of his bed. But you weren’t uncomfortable, only eager. You were excited that he hadn’t brushed you off and denied you outright.

“I’m sure,” you said, nodding your head for good measure as you began sliding toward the center of the bed, tugging on Jack’s wrist. “I want you to stay with me. Please.”

Jack stared into your eyes for a beat longer, then nodded his head. He flipped his hand around in your fingers and squeezed your wrist before pulling away and giving you his back.

You watched the muscles shift and move beneath the white t-shirt Jack wore across his broad shoulders while his hands undid the button and fly of his dark cargo pants. Before your mind could wrap around what he was doing, he was pushing them down, revealing so much more of his pale, freckled skin below the edge of his navy boxer briefs.

Jack shucked off his pants and sat down on the corner of the bed, removing his prosthetic and massaging his leg for a moment while you watched unabashedly, unable to resist the opportunity to look your fill of the doctor you’d thought about for ages. 

You wanted to press yourself against his broad back and wrap your arms around him, clinging to his warmth and burying your face between his shoulder blades. You wanted to hold him and take comfort in him, you wanted to be connected to him.

Looking over his shoulder and breaking you from your thoughts, Jack caught your eye and you could see the question in his gaze. His quirked eyebrows were asking again if you were certain you wanted him to join you.

A smile curled the corners of your mouth and instead of answering him with words, you flipped down the corner of the blankets in a clear invitation. He held your gaze for another moment, but when you remained steady and smiling, he pushed himself up and slipped between the sheets.

Immediately, you felt his warmth and you let out a happy little sound while he settled on his back against the pillows—the same ones you’d pressed your face into after you’d woken up. You waited until he’d gotten comfortable, his gaze finding yours.

His light brown eyes, looking like warm caramel in the soft, tangerine light of morning, were a wondrous sight. It was a miracle, the way he looked at you in that moment, letting you see the hesitant hope in his eyes. 

Slowly, as if seeking permission with every tiny movement, you slid closer to him. With a small, flickering smile, he lifted his arm, making space for you, and you slipped into it delightedly, making another happy sound. 

Your cheek lay pillowed on Jack’s chest, the soft curves of your body pressing into his side. Without questioning the impulse, you slid your leg over Jack’s, hooking it around his thigh and shifting even closer, until you were practically plastered to his body. 

Contentment settled heavily around your shoulders, and you took a deep breath, letting Jack’s earthy, sunshiny scent fill your senses and comfort you. As you exhaled, your body softened and you snuggled deeper into the older doctor’s chest.

Jack’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers settling on the bare skin of your arm, and you made another delighted noise. His fingertips trailed lazily up and down your arm, like he was learning the softness of your skin, and he made a rumble in his chest that sounded content.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked, his voice even deeper and raspier than you’d ever heard it.

The tenor of Jack’s voice sent little sparks of desire dancing down your spine to settle between your thighs. He wasn’t using the voice he used on his patients anymore, and you couldn’t be happier that you were seeing a new side to him, one you suspected few ever got to see.

“Mhm, sooo comfortable,” you mumbled, hiding an elated grin in his chest. 

It was true, you’d never been more comfortable, but you couldn’t seem to ignore the restless need in your body. You squirmed a little against Jack’s side, like you were trying to find an even better position, and all the while enjoying the feeling of his thigh pressing between your legs.

A soft, bitten-off whine squeezed from your throat and you shifted even closer to the older doctor, needing more of him pressed against more of you. 

“Jack,” you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his cotton t-shirt while your hips writhed against his side, your body searching for something you couldn’t quite grasp.

“You need something, angel?” Jack asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. When you lifted your head to pout at him, his eyes were hooded, and his mouth was curved into a knowing smirk. “You need some help before you can settle down and sleep?”

The hint of patronizing teasing in his tone was like a drug, making your mind go hazy and soft while your body melted in his strong arms. Your lashes fluttered as you fought to keep your eyes open, biting your lip while heat flooded your cheeks.

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded in answer to Jack’s question. 

Jack’s eyes dipped to your mouth, the warmth in your face cascading down your body until it settled heavily between your thighs. You could feel yourself growing damp, your nipples hardening and pressing against the thin fabric of your tank top. 

But all you could do was stare at Jack’s mouth, framed by grizzled cheeks and freckled skin. How many times had you thought about kissing that mouth? Too many times to count. And you could hardly breathe when it seemed you might finally get to make your dreams come true.

Slowly—oh, so slowly, Jack’s hand came up and cupped your jaw, his head rising from the pillows as you leaned into him at the same time. Your mouths were drawing infinitesimally closer and closer like there was some kind of magnetic pull between them. 

He tilted your face until your mouths were aligned, and then your lips brushed his. Sparks zinged through your body and you sucked in a sharp breath at just that little touch, your exhale slipping from your lips in a keening, desperate sound. 

Whatever was left of Jack’s self-control seemed to snap, and he crushed his mouth to yours, as if intent on drinking down that needy sound while a hungry groan rumbled in his chest. Another whimper was silenced by his mouth, and you pressed even closer, like you wanted to crawl inside his heart. 

Your first kiss with Dr. Jack Abbot was hungry and greedy, with an edge of mutual adoration that made you light-headed. 

Jack’s hands on your body were strong and steady, but for the slight tremor in his fingers, his mouth careful and hot as he explored yours. When his tongue licked into your heat, dragging a moan from you, he huffed a pleased sound, angling your face so he could kiss you deeper, more thoroughly. 

Your hips rocked against the older doctor’s thigh as you tried to squirm closer, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and clinging to him while you whimpered into his mouth. Jack responded by trailing his hands down your back, curving around your ribs and dragging your body more on top of him.

“Oh god, Jack,” you panted, gasping for air while his mouth trailed kisses down the line of your neck. You tipped your head to the side, giving him more access as your wanton moans filled the room. “I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea.”

The confession spilling from your lips had Jack slowing, and even though you were practically on top of him, he eased back into the pillows so he could catch your eye. The light in the room was shifting from a honey orange to a golden yellow, but Jack’s eyes were still bright and warm like caramel as he stared into yours as he spoke.

“You are my heaven, my obsession, my prayer and bliss.”

The depth of emotion in his words, the evidence that he felt the same way you did, brought unexpected tears to your eyes and you cupped his face. His silvery stubble was rough against your palms as you surged forward, capturing his mouth in a rapturous kiss.

“You’re mine, too,” you mumbled against his mouth before pulling away to look at him so he could see the honesty in your gaze. “You’re my calm, my safe harbor, my happiness and heart.”

“Angel.” 

The endearment was rough and ragged, an undercurrent of pleading in Jack’s tone as he wrapped his hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in. He kissed you harder, stealing the words freely given from your lips and locking them away in his heart—just like you’d done with his.

Emotion swirled in your chest and you nearly sobbed with need at the wet slide of Jack’s tongue between your lips, your mind going hazy as an aching need pulsed between your thighs. A desperate whine built in your throat, your hips squirming clumsily against his thigh. 

Jack’s hands trailed down your spine, deviating from their path to slide beneath your tank top and curl around your ribs, his thumbs brushing the soft mounds of your tits. You huffed a needy whimper, feeling him smirk against your mouth, before his hands slid lower, his strong grip guiding your body to writhe against his thick thigh.

Your hips rocked in time with his guided movements, grinding your core against him while you whimpered into his mouth. You were so far gone in a pleasant haze of your desire, that you didn’t pay attention to what you were saying when you whined, “Daddy, please.”

There was the briefest stutter in Jack’s movements, and then his hands gripped you tighter, his thigh pressing deeper between your legs. Against your lips, his mouth curved into an indulgent smirk. 

“Please what, angel? Tell daddy what you need.” 

The patronizing teasing tone had slipped back into his voice, and it made your core throb between your thighs, a whimper escaping your lips before you could bite it back. It had been a slip of the tongue that you’d called him daddy, but to hear it echoed in his deep, raspy voice was another thing entirely. It was exactly what you needed.

Your fingers gripped his shirt tighter, your body squirming harder in his hands, rolling your hips and grinding against his thigh while you finally responded to his command.

“Need you,” you huffed, as if the answer was obvious. 

A gruff chuckle rumbled in Jack’s chest and his hand slid up your back, thumb skimming the curve of your breast so teasingly, your body chased his touch. Arching your spine, you pushed your tits against his chest, but Jack’s hand kept moving. His calloused palm followed the line of your arm until his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist. 

Gently, he moved your hand down his front, over his soft belly, until your palm settled against the twitching bulge in his boxer briefs. He felt so thick and heavy already, even though he wasn’t fully hard yet.

“This is what you do to me, angel,” he rasped, breath ghosting over your cheek, his mouth moving against the corner of your lips. “You have me—any time, any way you want.” 

Your fingers wrapped around his girth through the soft cotton of his briefs, squeezing him gently and learning the weight of him in your hand. You stroked your palm up his length, thumb swiping over the tip and feeling the wetness of his arousal.

Jack grunted, his hips rising up off the bed to buck into your touch and the movement had his thigh flexing and pressing between your legs. You moaned into his stubbled cheek, the sound mingling with his heavy breaths as you stroked his length and rocked against him. 

“Jack.” His name was a gasp for salvation, a desperate plea on your lips that had him shuddering under your touch.

“Nuh uh, angel,” Jack chided in an endlessly warm tone, his smile pressed into the corner of your mouth. “Don’t stop calling me daddy now—not when it makes me so fucking hot for you.”

“Daddy, daddy,” you babbled breathlessly into his scruffy cheek, your desire thick in your veins at the teasing command in his tone. “I need you inside me, please—please, I need you so bad,” you whined, your fingers squeezing his cock through his boxers.

“Christ, you’ve got me, angel, just take me out,” Jack rumbled, his hips rocking up against your palm while you worked his length. 

Not needing more invitation than that, you reached into his boxers and pulled out his cock. He was still hardening and thickening beneath your touch, the velvety soft skin growing taut the tighter you stroked him. 

Jack groaned at your pleasurable attention, and the sound went straight to the slit between your thighs, your arousal leaking into your panties. You were so drenched, you were certain he could feel it against his thigh, but when you rubbed your pussy against him, he only grunted, his cock twitching in your hand.

“Want more,” you keened against Jack’s stubbled cheek, both your heads tilted to stare down your bodies and watch your hand pump adoringly up and down his length while he grew harder beneath your touch. “Want your fat cock sinking into my needy pussy, daddy, please.”

“Fuuuck,” Jack groaned, the edge in his voice almost pained. His hips bucked off the bed as he fucked into your fist, precum beading at the tip and leaking down the side, slicking your strokes. “Keep talking like that, angel, and I’m gonna blow my load before I even get inside you.”

“But daddy, we can’t have that,” you whined teasingly, laughing softly as you turned your face and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Then you were pulling away only long enough to shove your panties down over your ass and thighs, kicking them off into the sheets at the base of the bed. Once done, your hand wrapped around Jack’s cock again, greedy for the feel of him, loving the weight and warmth against your palm. 

Sliding your leg over both of Jack’s thighs, you moved your body until you were straddling his hips, your hand guiding his cock to press between the slippery folds of your slit. Your wet pussy pressing down on the length of his thick cock, your clit bumping against the ridged veins lining the shaft, had both of you moaning.

Jack cupped your jaw and guided your face back to his, his tongue sliding along your plump lower lip and licking lovingly into your mouth. He kissed you deeply, devouring your sounds of pleasure and groaning his own satisfaction like he’d never tasted anything as sweet—and he couldn’t get enough.

His other hand slid beneath the soft cotton of your tank top, his thumb brushing over your nipple and teasing the sensitive bud until it tightened into an achy, needy peak. Heat and desire pooled between your thighs, leaking from your pussy and coating his length as you rocked against him.

You broke apart only long enough for Jack to tear off your top, tossing it somewhere in the room you didn’t see because you were too busy slanting your mouth to his and greedily kissing him again. Your lips were swollen from kissing, but you couldn’t stop, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough of him.

It felt like the opposite of standing in the calm center of a storm—your body was a riot of pleasure and sensation, desperately rocking against the man between your thighs while the bedroom around you remained undisturbed, the light shifting and glowing brighter as the sun rose outside. 

And Dr. Jack Abbot was still your rock, your tether to the earth, grounding you with the rasp of his calloused hands over your soft curves, his expert fingers plucking and stroking your nipples while his hips lifted from the mattress to grind his hard cock into your cunt. 

You were so wet for him, so empty and aching, your pussy pulsed against his hard length, your desire coating him from root to tip. A sob was lodged in your throat, your hips working against his thick shaft in increasingly desperate movements. 

“Jack,” you cried, the sound pitiful even to your own ears. You needed him, you needed him more than you needed your next breath. And you knew he could hear it in the ragged edge of your voice as you sobbed his name. 

Thankfully for you, Jack Abbot was just as much of a competent, capable man as he was a doctor. He heard the anxious wanting in your tone and knew exactly how to handle you. He stroked his hands soothingly over your ribs and down your spine, cooing soft sounds of comfort against your cheek. 

“Take me inside your sweet pussy, angel,” Jack rumbled, the steel of his order softened in the honeyed warmth of his tone. “Let me feel you—need to feel your heat hugging my cock.”

“Daddy, yesss, please, can I?” you babbled, burying your face in the weathered skin of his neck. His scent was stronger there, and you huffed greedily, breathing in the smell of sunshine and earth on his skin. It filled your head with amber clouds of comfort. 

“Go on, angel, you’ve got this,” Jack murmured encouragingly, the calm warmth of his voice settling around your shoulders like the coziest blanket. He pressed a kiss to the pulse at the base of your throat, sending shivers down your spine.

“Yes, daddy,” you breathed on a exhale, shifting your hips until the tip of his cock caught at the entrance of your leaking hole. Sitting up on your knees, you lifted your hips and guided his cock to line up with your pussy. Then you pressed down determinedly.

A breathy cry burst from your lips when the fat tip of Jack’s cock pushed into your tight channel. He was thicker than anyone you’d taken before, and your heart fluttered against your ribcage in panic, the devastating thought occurring to you that he might not be able to fit.

“Oh god, fuck, you’re so big, Jack, I don’t know if I can—”

“You can take me,” Jack said firmly, interrupting your panicked babbling as he sat up to face you. He caught your wobbling chin in his steady hand and guided your eyes to look at him. “You can take me, angel,” he repeated, ducking his head and looking at you with confidence and pride written in the lines of his face. “You can do this.”

The belief Jack had in you—even about something as base as taking his cock—was enough to have tears gathering in your eyes. Your lower lip quivered and instead of giving in to the spiraling thoughts about how no one else had ever believed in you the way Jack did in that moment, you surged forward and kissed him. 

You kissed Jack Abbot the way you’d never kissed anyone before. You kissed him like he was your past, present and future, like he was the calm in the storm of your life. You kissed him like he was your safe harbor, the steady dock under your feet and the man who was your home. 

All the while, Jack kissed you in return, meeting the fervor of your lips with an adoration that had your heart singing in your chest. With every sweep of his tongue and nip of his teeth and pull of his mouth, he exulted your existence and promised devotion for as long as you’d have him. 

“Jack,” you gasped his name, wrenching your bee-stung lips from his as you pressed down further on his cock, incandescent pleasure radiating from where you were joined through the rest of your body.

“Feel so good, angel,” Jack rasped, kissing his way down the curve of your throat and past your collarbone. His mouth left goose bumps in its wake as he trailed kisses down to your chest. “More, angel, you can take more.”

Jack’s words were muffled in the plush curves of your tits, cupped in his big, strong hands. His head ducked down until his tongue was lapping at their tightened peaks, torturing the sensitive buds while your head tipped back and you moaned. He sucked one of your soft tits into his mouth, tongue swirling teasingly around your nipple.

Your back bowed and you thrust your chest into Jack’s face, your fingers sliding into his curly silver hair and clutching his head tight. A cry of pleasure tumbled from your lips, the sound devolving into a filthy moan as you sank down on his cock, taking half of him inside you. 

“God, daddy, you’re breaking me in half,” you whined, your hips writhing in his lap, lifting up and pushing back down for more of the stinging stretch. The pleasure bordered on pain, but it felt so good, you couldn’t get enough, pressing even further down on his hard cock.

Jack chuckled, pulling away from your chest with an obscene wet sound, your tit falling from his mouth while he looked up at you. His brown eyes were sparkling with mischief in the bright daylight.

“You love it, don’t you, angel?” Jack teased, in the warm, patronizing tone that sent your belly swooping. “You love the feeling of my fat cock sinking deep into your pretty cunt, splitting you open and spreading you so wide, huh?”

The filthy words went straight to your pussy, your tight hole pulsing around Jack’s hard shaft while you nodded your agreement. “Yuh huh, I love it, daddy, it’s sooo good,” you babbled, your fingers idly twisting in Jack’s hair as you clung to him and pressed your hips down on his thick length.

A small grin pulled across his face and he caught your eye, wrapping his lips around your other nipple and sucking hard enough to wring a squeal from your mouth. Your body bucked on his lap, and it was only his sinewy arm around your lower back that kept you anchored on top of him.

Spreading your knees wider on the bed, you pressed down hard on Jack’s cock until you were fully seated. The full, fat length of him was buried inside you to the hilt, stretching your tight cunt and punching the breath from your lungs. 

A surprised yelp slipped from your lips at the sudden, overwhelming fullness, but the sound soon dissolved into a deep, dirty moan when the slight sting gave way to scorching pleasure. Your body melted against Jack, his head lifting from your tits to take in the look of ecstasy on your face. 

“There we go,” Jack rasped, one of his hands pressing to your lower back, keeping your bodies locked together and still for a moment. “That wasn’t so hard, huh?” he teased, capturing your lips in a playful, nipping kiss. 

You huffed a laugh against his mouth, and shook your head good-naturedly, your arms tightening around his shoulders as you clung to your strong, steady doctor.

Jack pressed his forehead to yours, his voice lowering to deep rasp. “You’re taking me so good, angel—you’re such a good girl.” He brushed a kiss to the apple of your cheek, and it was only then that you realized you were smiling, pleased by his praise. “Are you ok, does it feel good?”

“Mm, yes, daddy,” you murmured, sinking into the feeling of having Jack’s thick cock seated inside you, pleasure pulsing from where you were joined. “Feel so good filled up with your cock—you fill me up so good, I wanna stay right here forever.” 

Your mumbled words were half lost to a moan as you rocked your hips gently, feeling his shaft drag ever so gently against your inner walls. It was intense and wonderful and felt so good, you couldn’t stop. 

Jack’s hands fell to your hips, and he gripped your soft curves, helping you grind down on him. 

“That’s it, just like that,” he urged, his own hips rolling beneath yours, bringing your bodies together in a delicious push and pull that wrenched a pleasured grunt from him. “Fuck, angel, you’re so tight and you feel so fucking good—so wet and warm. You’re making daddy feel so good.”

“Daddy, daddy, daddy,” you chanted, lips parted and breaths panting against Jack’s grizzled cheeks as you bounced on his lap. Still, you wanted more, and you knew Jack would give it to you, all you had to do was ask. “Will you suck on my tits, daddy, please?”

“Fuck, of course, angel,” Jack rumbled in response, his head ducking down, mouth latching onto a nipple and sucking until your hips gave a reflexive kick. “Ya like it when daddy sucks on your tits, angel? Your perfect fucking tits.” 

His words were muttered, almost like he was talking to himself, and he didn’t wait for an answer before burying his face in your soft mounds. His lips and tongue worshiped your tits, showing you just how much he adored your body.

“Yes, yes, daddy, I love it,” you cried, rocking your hips faster, rolling them in a steady rhythm that had your clit grinding against the base of him. The pleasure was building fast in your core, until you were suddenly on the precipice. “Please, Jack, ‘m so close.”

 “Come on my cock, angel—fuck, I wanna feel you clench around my fat cock while you’re screaming my name,” Jack rambled in between wet, suckling kisses to your soft flesh. His hands cupped your tits, thumbs stroking maddeningly over your nipples before pinching them roughly. “C’mon angel, give it to me, show me what a good girl you are and come for me.”

“Jack—JACK!” 

His words and his cock and his hands and his perfect mouth sent you tumbling over the edge of your release, making you come on his cock. Your hips worked furiously as pleasure crashed over you in waves, helpless moans and cries spilling from your lips while Jack held you tight and thrust into you from below. 

He was hot and hard and everywhere, his thick cock still deep inside you, his arms wrapped around you, his chest and belly pressed against your soft curves. He was the calm in the center of the storm that was your release, and he carried you through it, whispering words of praise in your ear. 

You were still coming down from the height of your pleasure when Jack rolled you onto your back, his hips sliding between your thighs and thrusting his cock deep into you. It felt so good that you moaned loudly, your arms and legs wrapping around Jack and holding him as he fucked you, chasing his release. 

“You’re such a good girl, angel, taking me so well and coming on my cock like such a pretty slut. Fuck, I’ve never seen anything as beautiful as you, never felt anything as perfect. You’re perfect, angel, so fucking perfect—fuck.” 

Jack bit off a groan and pulled his cock from your tight cunt. He stroked himself to completion, his come spilling across your belly and mound between your thighs while you watched pleasure contort his face. 

He let out a fierce grunt, his shoulders shaking and arms shuddering as he hunched over your body. The hand not wrapped around his cock was gripping your thigh tightly—like, for once, you were his rock, his anchor tethering him to earth.

Bathed in the bright golden light of morning filtering into his bedroom, he looked magnificent, and you couldn’t help yourself. You grabbed Jack’s face and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting the pleasure from his tongue. 

His knuckles brushed your bare skin, more come leaking from the tip of his cock and onto your belly. He was covering you in ropes of his come, but you didn’t care, not when his lips were moving against yours in a sensual slide, his tongue slipping possessively into your mouth and groaning his pleasure.

With a final pull on his cock and one last kiss, Jack rolled off you, collapsing onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes while his chest heaved. He was still wearing his t-shirt and you pouted at it.

Still gasping for your own breaths, you slipped your hand beneath the hem of Jack’s shirt and raked your nails through the hair dusting his belly. He let out a shuddering breath, his cock twitching as another drop of come leaked from the tip of his softening length, seeping into the cotton shirt.

If you weren’t so limp and sated—and you weren’t afraid of making a mess of Jack’s bed with the come slowly drying on your skin—you would’ve leaned over and licked him clean. But that could wait for another time, when you both weren’t so tired.

Jack settled a hand on the back of yours, stilling your fingers where they were softly stroking his belly and giving them an affectionate squeeze. 

After a few moments of catching your breath together, he heaved himself up and reached an arm over his shoulders to yank off his shirt. He rolled onto his side and used the soft shirt to clean you up while you giggled happily.

“You good, angel?” Jack asked, his face hovering above yours, dark caramel eyes searching your expression for anything amiss.

A soft smile curved your mouth and you reached up to cup Jack’s grizzled cheeks, thumbs stroking over his skin. “I’m good,” you murmured, lifting up and pressing a sweet kiss to his mouth. “Thanks for pulling out—I can’t believe I forgot to tell you to use a condom.”

Jack made a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, but it was softened by the teasing smile on his face. “Not very responsible of you, doctor,” he said in a deep, playful rasp that had you laughing.

“Don’t act like you didn’t forget, too, Dr. Abbot,” you retorted, batting good-naturedly at his shoulder. He laughed along with you before sitting up and moving to the edge of the bed.

“Do you need anything while I’m up?” he asked, putting on his prosthetic then standing and tossing his soiled shirt into the laundry. He paused at the foot of the bed to wait for your answer.

Lifting your arms above your head, you stretched languidly in the warm sheets of Dr. Jack Abbot’s bed, smiling like the cat that got the cream as you reveled in the feeling of him watching you unabashedly. 

It felt like warm, orange flames of flickering heat licking at your skin, his eyes bright and intense in the morning light as they trailed over every inch of your bare skin and naked curves. That adoration you’d felt in his arms was clear in the gleam of his eye and the slightly awed smile on his face. 

“I could use some more water,” you finally answered, exhaling deeply as you relaxed and settled into the bed. You were eager for him to return so he’d wrap you back up in his arms, and you could snuggle together.

“You got it,” he rasped, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Then he wrenched his eyes away from you and seemed to force himself to walk out of the room. 

While he was gone, you got up and went to the bathroom, cleaning yourself up a little better. When you were washing your hands, you heard a knock on the door before it opened a crack.

“Got you a shirt if you want something to wear,” Jack said, opening the door only enough for his arm to slip in. He hung a t-shirt on the hook by the door and then closed it again. 

With a smile, you dried your hands and slid the soft cotton shirt over your head. It was plain white like the one he’d had on earlier, but clean, and it smelled like his earthy, sunshiny scent. You took a deep breath of the fabric, your nipples tightening and pushing against the fabric as warm pleasure flooded you down to your toes.

But then you remembered the man himself was waiting for you, and you eagerly exited the bathroom, finding Jack reclined against the pillows on his bed. He was sipping a glass of water, another full glass on the bedside table for you. You picked it up and drank half before setting it back down and climbing into bed.

Without hesitation, Jack lifted his arm and you slid into the space next to him. The two of you settled beneath the blankets together, your head laying on Jack’s chest, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Your fingers idly traced the veins and freckles of his other arm, brushing through the hair dusted across his skin.

Outside, the soft, suffused orange light of dawn had given way to the bright, blinding light of morning. The sun was still climbing higher in the sky, but you and Jack needed rest. 

So your bodies relaxed together, laying entwined in each other’s arms. You drifted to sleep in the calm, still bedroom while the rest of Pittsburgh carried on in the world beyond. 

From that day on, Dr. Jack Abbot was your rock, your calm in the storm, the man whose arms were your home. He was your safe harbor. And you were his.

Pedro has arrived in Cannes!!

He’s always so stunning and perfect. This man is the death of me.

Ow??? 😭😭😭

This City Holds My Heart | J. Abbot

summary: He hears you are coming back to Pittsburgh for the weekend. Maybe the reunion will wash away the pain that’s left inside him after your paths divided.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, right people wrong time kind of thing, p in v, exes reunion, mentions of suicidal thoughts, ex!fem!reader, neurologist!reader, Jack’s prosthetic leg, reader is nondescript except that she has hair (long enough to frame her face), reader has a nickname, mentions of PTSD & trauma, widowed!Jack, sad people in love, alcohol consumption (a few drinks), protected sex, lots of tears, JACK’S POV!!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 10.3k+ (BEAR WITH ME OKAY)

an: HI this is my piece for A Doctor A Day challenge hosted by these amazing people [ @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair & @letsgobarbs ]! I’m so excited to know your thoughts on this piece🥹 I poured everything I could into this fic, smut, fluff, angst etc and I really want to know what you guys think!

Prompt: "I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?" + Orange

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate something; was it the banana Shen forced him to take a bite from, or the granola bar Dana shoved into his hands when she came to take the shift? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  Jack pushes his fists into the pockets of his cargo pants, his tired gaze moving from the edge of the rooftop to the building in front of him, watching as sunrise hits the streets of Pittsburgh slowly, crawling its way between the cars and the old bricks of the walls.

  He replays the shift in his head, trying to figure out what he missed that led to three code blues. Each case had its own story, each patient had a unique experience, and families begged him to save their loved ones, but he couldn’t. 

  He brings his fists out of his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the peachy sky, watching how another day starts. Some people don’t get to see this anymore, he thinks bitterly, some people don’t get to start a new day. They are stuck in yesterday while he moves forward as if nothing’s happened.

  He looks back at the edge, he takes a step closer, gazing down at the people who move around, getting ready to battle through another twenty-four hours. He wishes he was this free, to walk down a street without the responsibility of the Emergency department, without the little limp in his leg and reminder of how long it took for the soft tissue of his leg to heal.

  He has been tempted before to jump, but nowadays he does not even have the motivation to do that. He is numb and has been like this for a good six years, worse after the Pitfest casualties. That was a year ago, how time passes in the blink of an eye, like the sunrise he watches daily.

  He throws his head back, listening to the birds chirping. They made a nest a few weeks back, usually coming to their home around the time he walks to the rooftop. They have a life based on instinct, just as he does; he eats, sleeps, goes to work, and then repeats.

  Robby calls him a soulless soldier— he is just as bad as Jack, if not worse — because most of the time, there is no smile on his lips, and his tone drips with sarcasm. 

  Pittfest changed everyone, including the ER cowboys more than others. Robby broke apart with Jake’s withdrawal, and Jack… Jack tries to survive, day by day, and shift after shift. He still finds joy in little things; when he saves someone’s life by his sharp mind, when a procedure is successful, when he argues with Walsh.

  There is still an ache inside him from years ago when his wife died, and it only got worse six years ago, and now? All he is a great doctor and nothing more.

  He says nothing when he hears the familiar footsteps on the tiny rocks of the rooftop, his stethoscope moving against his chest as he shifts his weight on his good leg, sighing in relief when the tension is halfway gone from his knee.

  “Haven’t jumped off yet?” Robby leans on the railing behind Jack, looking as the sun rises slowly from behind the buildings, “Thought you’d done this time.”

  “Why? I don’t think I’ve managed to get more depressed since yesterday,” Jack replies, resting his elbows on the metal railing behind him, looking from his peripheral vision at Robby who smiles and shakes his head.

  “A trauma came in just a few minutes ago, an attempt or pushed, we don’t know but he was the same age as you. Nearly sent me to cardiac arrest,” Robby drops his head on the back of his hands, “You better not jump, you didn’t do it last year, don’t do it ever.”

  “It’s exhausting, brother,” Jack sighs, tilting his head back as the sunlight hits his face finally, the warmth of it spreading on his skin deliberately, “Coming back here, watching people lose someone they care about, calling us names because they don’t know medicine has its limits. And yet, we come back, for what? I don’t fucking know.”

  “You have me, I’m here, I’ll never leave you hanging all by yourself,” Robby nudges his forearm, looking at his face with a pleading look, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “You’re not lonely,” Jack shrugs, “You have Collins. Who do I have? Fucking Shen? I’m living in a loop, man. Every day is the same old same old. I miss my wife, I miss her, there is not a day that I wish I got the help I needed sooner, but even my therapist can’t do shit nowadays.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself, brother,” Robby straightens his back, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder as they both look up to the sky, “Besides, I might have… some news about—“

  “Who?” Jack’s ears perk up, his posture growing rigid as he turns his head to look at Robby, “Who?”

  “Her,” Robby says with a small smile, “Your Clementine.”

  “Don’t say that stupid nickname,” Jack groans, shaking his head as he takes a step back, resting his waist against the cold metal bars, “She hated it.”

  “I think she liked it,” Robby shrugs, looking down at his shoes before he starts talking again, “There is a neurology congress tonight, and apparently a follow-up gala on Saturday night with the Head departments PTMC invited.”

  “So?” Jack tilts his head at the older doctor, scoffing when Robby raises his eyebrows at him, “You’re telling me you’re invited to a stupid gala that has nothing to do with me?”

  “For a medical genius you sure as hell are dumb,” Robby watches as Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m saying she’s coming back to the city.

  Jack’s heart drops to the bottom of his ribcage. This has to be a cruel joke, it must be. He doesn’t know how to react; be happy? Why? The last time you saw each other was to say goodbye. Be sad? He already is for ten thousand different reasons. 

  So when he looks at Robby with his eyes widened in shock, he knows that he is still deeply into something he has tried to bury for years, ever since he watched you board that plane.

  “What?” He sounds so small, like a kid lost in a playground; everything feels natural yet so off, like a distant dream turning into a nightmare in the back of his mind.

  “She has kept in touch with Dana,” Robby sighs and tightens the grip he has on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles gently to make sure Jack doesn’t get lost in his head again, “Dana told me her plane would land around… yeah, seven-thirty, eight at most. Which is now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Jack asks, pressing his lips into a flat line, his hands shaking as his chest begins to rise and fall faster. He rests his sweaty palms on the railings behind him, closing his fists around the cold metal.

  “I don’t know,” Robby shakes his head, staring into the distance as the sun finally rises into the blue sky, “I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks, brother, now I won’t be able to get a lick of sleep knowing my ex is in the town,” Jack snaps, running a hand down his face as he grits his teeth, all to stop himself from tearing up.

  “I didn’t say it to—“ Robby cuts himself off with a deep breath before he pats Jack’s shoulder and takes a step back, “Take it easy, man. I’m gonna go.”

  Jack listens to Robby’s footsteps; it takes ten large steps to reach the door, and he stops Robby by the eighth one, shocking both him and his friend to his dismay.

  “Is her number still the same?”

  Jack’s voice is shaky like he doesn’t trust himself to say it loud enough for Robby to hear, but his friend does, stopping in his steps to glance back at Jack with a small smile.

  “Yeah.”

  One, two, and Robby is out of the door, leaving Jack heaving with each breath. Jack dodges the railing and steps on the safe side just to lean over the metal bars, his lips parting as he gasps for air.

  You are back to Pittsburgh, you are in the city he watched you leave, the same city you made so many memories with him in the streets and bars. The same city that he broke your heart in, the very same one you told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

  He lets out a shaky breath, reaching for his phone absentmindedly. One call wouldn’t hurt, right? It wouldn’t tear his heart and break his bones surely. People call their ex-lovers every day, why shouldn’t he?

  He opens the list of his contacts, scrolling until he sees your name with a red heart next to it; he didn’t have it in him to change the name, nor could he delete your number. 

  That is why his fingers are trembling over your phone number, trying to make up his mind before he does anything stupid. But luck is not on his side today it seems — not like it ever was — and his finger slips accidentally and presses the call button.

  “Fuck, fuck—“ he yells, putting the phone against his ear quickly, his hand going to his hip as he starts pacing the rooftop, his heartbeat racing with each beep of the line, “What am I doing?”

  He doesn’t know if he wants you to pick up the phone or not, he probably does but the thought of talking to you again after the farewell you had makes him anxious. What would he say? Hello? How are you doing? Aren’t these too cliche when you are calling your ex?

  The beeping finally stops, and he can feel his heart stopping for a second before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hi! Thank you for reaching out, please leave your message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” 

  Your voice… fuck, your voice is still as sweet as he remembers. He calms down instantly, a tired smile covering his face as he listens to the voicemail repeating itself. You sound so beautiful, so free as if you didn’t cry hours in his arms as he pushed you away once more, as if he never happened to you.

  After the third repeat, he remembers he can leave you a message, hoping you still have his number and he isn’t just an unknown caller.

  “Hey,” he clears his throat, running his free hand through his unruly curls, “Hey, um, this is Jack! Y’know, Jack Abbot? Yeah well urm… I heard you are back in town, yeah, Robby said something about a congress you’re attending. I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?"

  Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck—

  He hangs up immediately, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly he thinks it might break. What did he fucking mean he’d love to see you? He is a fucking idiot, a total moron, a dumb piece of scum, but when his phone dings a few minutes as he is near going into a full panic attack, he stops.

  “Jack, hi! I’m exhausted now, but I’d love to meet with you before my congress! Our usual cafè near The Pitt?”

  He nearly drops the phone, opening the text in the blink of an eye, rereading the message over ten thousand times to make sure it is really you. And when he opens the contact, he sees that it is true, you have texted him, accepting to meet up with him, at the cafè you usually went to after the night shifts.

  “Yes, of course. See you at 6?” 

  He presses send and starts pacing again. Waiting for a reply after six years makes him nervous to the point he thinks he might drop dead on sight.

  “See you, Jack!”

  He sighs in relief when he reads your reply, chuckling dryly as he rereads the conversation, not truly believing how he is going to meet with you again.

  He walks downstairs with flushed cheeks and a heart beating in anticipation. When Robby and Dana see him walking inside The Pitt, he rolls his eyes at them and nods when Dana raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

  It is going to be a crazy day for sure.

  He dresses up as best as he can; a navy blue button-up with worn-out jeans and his black sneakers. Which is so… not Jack. He feels like he has put on a persona he didn’t know he had, his walls slowly building up with each step he takes toward the location.

  He thought walking would be a good idea because now his nerves are making him sweat, his palms growing more clammy with every step he takes. 

  What will he say? Will he ask about how you have been doing? How you are doing? Do you have anyone waiting for you at home—

  The thought makes him shiver, stopping him midway to open the door of the coffee shop. He hates the idea of you with someone, he despises it, he fucking loathes it. Even the image of someone holding your hand makes his eyes tick, and his fingers shake over the glass door, but he has to pull through.

  The bell over the door dings when he steps inside, memories flooding his mind as he looks around, remembering all the exhausted morning dates after the shifts, all the cries and hushed arguments you two had here.

  Bittersweet yet wholesome. He misses the days he could hold your hand, but he gave up as soon as everything got serious.

  He rounds the corner to the spot you would always sit, and when he does, his eyes fall on you. He freezes, hands dangling on his sides as he stares at your silhouette.

  The orange hue of sunset shines through the windows on your face, your hair framing your face just as beautifully as he remembers if not more. Your hand is tucked under your chin, looking down at the marble table, tracing the shapes mindlessly.

  You are ethereal.

  Jack feels his lungs are about to collapse when you turn your head and find him standing there, and he watches how your lips stretch into a soft smile, steading yourself with your palm on the edge of the table as you stand up.

  He licks his lips and glances down for a brief moment to catch the breath you are stealing from his lungs from a few meters away. He looks up quickly, crossing the remaining distance slowly before he stands in front of you, his eyes swimming with various emotions unknown to him — is it love? Longing? Sadness? He doesn’t know.

  “Hey,” he greets you quietly, hazel eyes locking into yours as he waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything. Instead of talking, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you mumble a ‘Hi, Jack!’ Into his shirt.

  Hugging. You are hugging him after years of no contact. He can’t think even if he wants to. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you close by muscle memory, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your hair, trying his best to not cry right here and then.

  He lets go of your waist when he feels you lose your grip on him, slowly pulling back to look at his face, and he takes his time memorizing every up and down, every corner of your face.

  He thinks of the days he used to kiss every single inch of your face when you were on rotation and he was getting ready to go to the hospital. He remembers how he used to caress your cheek when you fell asleep on his chest on his old couch during movie nights.

  He also remembers the days you tried to not let your sadness show on your face when brought up his wife again, putting the bricks of the protective wall on top of each other to shut you out.

  “Shit, sorry,” you chuckle awkwardly, pulling away and he misses the weight of you in his embrace, the warmth you provide by just existing and breathing the same air as him, “Please, sit! I know you’ll be back in The Pitt in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, urm, yeah…” he huffs a slight laugh and walks around you to pull your chair out for you, “Ladies first.”

  “Ever the gentleman,” you tease him, thanking him as he pushes your chair in when he knows you are secured and smiles at you before he walks towards his own chair and sits down, “What are you having?”

  “Well… something highly caffeinated,” he shrugs, looking down at the wedding band he is wearing—

  Fuck, he totally forgot to take it off. Did he though? Did he ever want to take it off or did he think about it but didn’t ponder over it, like a passing joke in his head?

  He looks up instantly, finding you already looking at the black ring before you tuck your hand under your chin again, meeting his eyes with a small smile before you look away and gesture for the waiter to come and take your orders.

  “Espresso it is then,” you try to break the ice he notices, but he has already started to fuck everything up again from the very first second. He covers his left hand, nodding at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips while he feels as if he is about to vomit his heart out with how insanely fast it is beating.

  “Welcome, what can I get you?”

  “A cup of tea with carrot cake and,” you look back at him, smiling before you glance back at the waiter, “A shot of espresso.”

  “Coming right up!” 

  He watches you closely — he is staring but that’s a creepy way to put it — and he nearly melts when you turn to look at him with the softest smile he has ever seen.

  “Carrot cake? Really?” Jack grins when he watches you grimace, hiding your face in your hands as you look at him from between your fingers, “Never thought I’d see the day that you will eat a carrot cake.”

  “You’re insufferable!” You chuckle, resting your chin on the heel of your palm, and he watches these micro movements with such an endearment it makes his heart clench, “It’s just a newly formed habit in the hospital. My assistant brings me tea and her very sweet orange carrot cake every evening. Who am I to say no to a home baked sweet treat?”

  “Understood,” he nods and smiles, taking a deep breath to calm himself without making a mess of himself. Your laugh is still the same, even more beautiful than he remembers and it feels so good to be there to witness it again, “How’s Boston?”

  “Oh, you know, colder than here but I enjoy it,” you explain, resting your elbows on the table as you look at him, “The bars are pretty amazing! Not that I have much time to explore them because of the hospital and applying for a fellowship. But… it’s okay, I guess.”

  “Wow, you’re thriving,” he grins, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Jack,” you reach across the table to hold his hand — a habit you had when you were nervous, and he quickly realized his touch grounded you when you needed it the most, “Enough about me, how have you been?”

  “Same old same old—“

  “Don’t do that!” You squeeze his hand, glaring at him before your eyes soften when you notice his defeated ones, “You know I hate this phrase, Jack. Come on, tell me about The Pitt!”

  He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, running a hand over his face as he notices the waiter coming with your orders to the table.

  You pull your hand back, letting the waiter put down your cups and plate, asking if you need anything which Jack replies with a quick ‘no, thank you’ before he looks back at you.

  “I’m sure Dana is keeping you updated—“

  “I want you to tell me,” you cut him off with a soft frown he knows so well, you always gave him this expression when you knew he was dodging the question poorly, “How’s Robby?”

  “He is great,” he shakes his head and chuckles, briefly thinking about how his friend has gotten his life together before he focuses on you again, “He is in a relationship with one of the new attendees, Heather Collins. I don’t know if you know her…”

  “Dana said something about Robby dating a resident after I left but that’s it,” you reply, taking a sip of your tea, “But please tell him I’m so happy for him. He went through a lot and deserves to have an amazing life.”

  “Will do,” he nods, drowning all the espresso shot in one move, kissing his teeth as he looks back at his ring again.

  “Take it easy, soldier,” you push the carrot cake plate towards him slowly, handing him a fork to eat something sweet, “How are you doing, Jack?”

  “Me?” He chuckles dryly, trying to come up with a sarcastic reply but when he sees how worried you look for him, “I’m fine.”

  “That’s it? Six years and you don’t have anything to tell me about?” You press the matter, giving him a teasing look but he has none of it.

  “We had a mass casualty last year, Robby lost his stepson because he couldn’t save Jake’s girlfriend—“

  “That’s Robby’s story to tell, I’m interested to know—“

  “Know about me?” He looks at you as if you have hung the stars, as if every moment he spends looking at your face illuminated by the dark fading orange light of sunset doesn’t make his heart stop, “Well, I go to the rooftop every day thinking I might jump this time, and when I look down I feel numb, maybe the therapy is working because I can’t do it. I see my wife in my sleep, I imagine the life I could have had with her.”

  You take a deep breath at the mention of his late wife — or wife as he always calls her — you take two large sips of your hot tea and he mentally face palms himself at rambling all these shitty thoughts to you. 

  “You still go up?” You ask, your voice small and trembling, thinking of all the kisses and fights you shared on that damned rooftop.

  “Yeah,” he looks out of the window, his eyes filling with tears before he wipes them quickly, enjoying the cold sensation of his ring over his heated eyelids, “It’s the only place that isn’t corrupted by death.”

  “Cut it some slack, our first kiss was on that rooftop,” you reach for his hands again, and he hates how easily he calms down from such a soft touch, “I don’t think I can ever forget it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an easy trauma, the patient died before we could get our hands on him,” he squeezes your hands, “And you were so mad at me for not letting you go for the fourth round of epi.”

  “You had to shut me up somehow,” you laugh, looking down at your joined hands, “Fuck, I was so immature back then.”

  “No, you weren’t,” he caresses the soft skin of your wrist, his hazel eyes locking into yours with sincerity, “You were hopeful.”

  “Which was horrible for emergency medicine,” you shrug, “I still am, though. That’s why neurology was a great choice. It has death, I still feel the panic sometimes, but they don’t die while I’m operating on them. It’s such a dick thing to say but… I’m glad I’m not there to witness it.”

  “I get it,” he takes a deep breath, his eyes moving slowly from your hands up to your neck and face, falling over your lips, “That’s why the rooftop visits exist.”

  He looks down at his watch before he finds the courage to look into your eyes again, seeing how it is time to go back home and put his scrubs on. 

  Jack doesn’t wanna go, he doesn’t wanna leave. He wishes he could stay in this very moment, just in this picture pretending everything is fine and you are back, that he can delude himself into believing he has you back in his arms for an eternity.

  “I totally forgot, my congress starts at eight,” you pull your hands away from him, leaving his palms cold and itchy without yours in them, and he slowly drags his forearms back to his side, standing up to say the word he hates so much again.

  “Are you… are you leaving?” 

  “Yeah, I have to…” you pout, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss you until the pout is turned into a grin, “But there is a gala tomorrow night. Fundraising and everything, I’d be in town.”

  “Yeah, cool,” he nods, forcing out a smile, standing up after you and waiting for you to say something, anything…

  “Will I see you there?”

  Yes. Yes. He can make it work. Say yes—

  “No, I don’t think so,” he curses himself in his head, fisting his hands, nails digging into his palms, “I’m not invited.”

  “Oh,” you say, eyes widening as if you have heard the most devastating news ever, fingers rolling the band of your purse as you gaze into his eyes, “Well then… this is goodbye I guess.”

  “Yeah, yeah—“ he gasps when you wrap your arms around his shoulders for the second time in six years again, holding him close for one last time before he wraps his large arms around your back as well, “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Me too, Jack,” he nearly drops on his knees when he hears you say his name with tears stinging your eyes, “Me too.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He watches you with red eyes as you try to hold back a sob before you reach for your purse to pull out your wallet and pay for the drinks, but he stops you with a hand on your cheek.

  “I’ve got it,” it pains him that he cannot lean down and kiss you when you nod and scrunch up your nose in order to keep the tears from streaming down your face, “You’ll be late.”

  You move forward, pecking his cheek slowly, and he marvels at how soft your lips feel against his stubble, and he hopes whoever gets to feel your lips back in Boston worships you the way you deserve — the way he wanted to do but fucked it all up.

  He watches you leave, for the second time, and it ruins him, making a tornado inside him that wrecks the remaining parts of his sanity. You are okay, you are happy, and that is all that matters.

  He inhales sharply before he reaches for his phone, opening his text messages with Robby before he sends a quick text.

  “Will you go to tomorrow's gala?”

  It has been years since anyone had seen Jack in a fucking tuxedo. He thinks the last time he tried one was for his wedding, and after that, he dropped the thousand dollar fabric in the trash.

  But now? He is wearing one, with a white shirt under his black coat and a simple black tie he is trying so hard to fix. He looks in the mirror one last time, running a hand in his hair before he moves out of the bathroom, following the sound of music until he reaches the entrance of the hall.

  He feels out of place immediately. It’s not him who is supposed to be here, it’s Robby, but he can’t lose his last chance of seeing you again. So here he is, grabbing a glass of champagne as the waiter walks past him, drowning the sparkling liquor like water.

  He scans the hall, not finding you anywhere as he moves between people until he reaches the bar, ordering a Double Black Label neat while his eyes wander from one woman to another in hopes of finding you somewhere among them.

  He sips on his whiskey, leaning on his elbows on the barstool as he watches the doctors and CEOs get together in various groups. It is a ridiculous shit show, some people go to the podium to give their speech, some linger and chat, and it seems the only person he is interested in is nowhere in sight.

  He shifts his weight off his prosthetic leg, sitting on the barstool only to stare into the glass he has in hand, swirling the liquid with gentle moves of his wrist.

  It is still too far from him, but he can hear your laughter from a mile away. His ears perk up, and he almost breaks his neck when he turns around abruptly to catch you walking with a couple next to you, conversing casually before you spot him through the crowd.

  He stands up instantly, nearly losing his balance when he sees you are coming towards him, hearing a soft ‘I would like to introduce you to someone’ before you lead the couple to where he is standing.

  “This is Dr. Jack Abbot from PTMC,” he nods, smiling politely at the couple who introduce themselves as well, shaking his hand before the three of them look back at you, “I used to be his resident before I changed to Neurology.”

  Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he talks with the couple, finding out about their specialty and where they work, how they know you, and how proud they are to be represented by you in this gala.

  “Well, we will take our leave for now,” The male doctor says, shaking Jack’s hand before he shakes yours, his wife doing the same before she pulls you in for a quick hug, and the two of you watch as they walk away.

  “Hey, stranger,” you turn to him, beaming at him when he smiles back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I had to see you again,” he mumbles, his hands caressing a path from your wrist to your shoulders, feeling the bare skin of your arms and skimping down to your sides, resting over your hips with a gentle squeeze, “It didn’t settle right when we said goodbye yesterday.”

  “It will never settle right, Jack,” you look away from his intense gaze, chuckling when you notice his crooked tie, “You still haven’t learned how to do your tie, or you left it like this on purpose?”

  “Little bit of both,” he shrugs innocently, his eyes taking in your face; you are so close he can smell the champagne mixing with your perfume, your soft lashes kissing your undereye when you blink, your lips painted in a nude shade of pink, and your hair falls around your face like a curtain leading to the hanging Gardens of Babylon — you look like a goddess compared to him.

  “Good thing you have the right person to take care of you,” you whisper, eyes glinting playfully as you pull on his tie to redo it correctly. 

  Jack relishes the feeling of your touch on his collar. He feels as if his senses have heightened somehow because he swears he can literally feel every movement of your fingers on his skin through his clothes.

  He looks down at your dress, watching as the classy design clings to your body just the right way, showing off your curves and shoulders in the most perfect way.

  “You look so beautiful,” he breathes out, letting his hands wander over your back, knowing quite well that he is crossing an invisible line, but he doesn’t care now, you are here, back in his arms, exes or not he has the chance to have you all to himself tonight if you take him back for just a few hours.

  “Thank you,” he leans down to kiss your forehead when he notices how flustered you get, but his demeanor grows closed off when he notices a man making his way towards you, stepping next to you before he extends his hand.

  “Would you do me the honor and dance with me?” 

  You pull back from Jack a little, mouth agape as you look between the man and Jack, but with a little squeeze of his hand on your waist, you give him an apologetic smile before taking up the man’s offer and resting your hand in his palm.

  “Of course.”

  Jack watches from his spot how the man leads you to the dance floor as other people pair up and join you there, the band starts playing the music and to his dismay, he has to be subjected to the sight of another man twirling you around the hall.

  Even if he is seething in his seat, he can’t deny how elegant you look with your dress flowing behind you and that smile you give your partner… this smile makes his pulse quicken, a warm blush covering the tip of his nose and cheeks. 

  He watches as the man lies his hand on your waist, pulling you a bit closer, and it makes his blood boil even though he knows he has no claim over you. You are not his lover, not his girlfriend, hell you are not even his resident anymore.

  He can’t take it anymore, so as soon as the song ends he drowns the rest of his whiskey and strides towards you, clearing his throat to catch your attention.

  “May I have your next dance?” Jack asks, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waits for you to accept his offer, and you do, with a bright smile that lights up his world.

  “Yes, you may,” you turn around to the man you danced with earlier, “Excuse me, please.”

  Jack tucks you close to him when a new song starts, his hand moving from your shoulders to your hip, the other one holding your smaller hand in his as he sways both of you gently to the rhythm of the music.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, smirking when your hand wanders up to his shoulder, cupping the side of his neck gently.

  “Once or twice,” you chuckle, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he leans down to breathe in your scent, holding you close until the thoughts of you ever leaving again fade away for a few hours at least, “Aren’t you supposed to be at The Pitt?”

  “They don’t need me there,” he says, putting a distance between the two of you to hold your joined hands up so you can twirl before he pulls you in a bit roughly, keeping your chest pressed into his.

  “And you thought you were needed here?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him as his smirk widens, his band on your waist moving to your hip to squeeze you in response.

  “Am I not?” He feigns innocence, his tone matching yours playfully, “I could leave now if that’s what you want—“

  “I never said you weren’t needed,” you don’t break eye contact, and it thrills him as if it was six years ago when you danced for the first time at Dana’s wedding anniversary, “But I know a place if you wanna leave…?”

  “Tempting, very tempting,” he brings your hand to his lips, pressing feather light kisses all over your knuckles, “Are you suggesting?”

  “It might be the few champagne glasses I had but,” you break away from his grip, interweaving your fingers with his as you tug on his hand gently, “My room is on the twentieth floor if you are interested…”

  “Lead the way.”

  Your journey to your room is uneventful; you don’t have a chance to do anything because you are never alone. Not in the hallway he wanted to press you against the wall, not in the elevator bunch of people jumped into when the doors were about to close, not even as you walked on the floor because one of the doctors’ rooms was also on the same fucking lane.

  He is trying to act unbothered as you fumble with the key card, trying to open the door while Jack has his hands roaming your back absentmindedly, his touch trembling slightly in excitement.

  He is going to have you again, after all this time, he is going to hold you as if you are his again.

  You push the door open and tug Jack in by his tie, crashing your mouth into his as you press him against the closed door. He gasps into your mouth before he closes his eyes and kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to grab the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there is no space between you.

  You taste like Moet and cherry lip gloss with a hint of Vanilla in your perfume, and your hands feel warm and welcoming, anchoring him to reality because his life had no purpose before this very moment.

  You ground him, just as you have always done, with subtle kisses and tugs and a hidden hunger slowly pouring into your touch. He feels it all; the small skip of your fingers over his tux as they reach to undo the tie, the quiver of your bottom lip as they chase his chapped ones.

  Jack’s entire world has faded, and all he can see is you.

  He guides you further inside the room with slow deliberate steps, careful not to hit something and hurt you in the process. You break the kiss when you reach the edge of the bed, gasping for air before you push him down on the mattress gently.

  He sits without a fuss, his pupils blown out as he watches you take off your heels and slowly straddle his lap, pushing his coat and tie off slowly. Jack doesn’t blink, he is afraid of even missing one second of tonight. He wants to remember this forever in case…

  No. He shouldn’t go there now, he has you and that is all that matters.

  Jack’s hand comes up to your face, gently caressing your cheek, his thumb going over to your lips as he traces the edge of them while you work on his buttons, finally taking in the sight of his chest.

  He is so mesmerized by the look of pure affection you have that he doesn’t notice you have got him half naked already until you grab his hands and move them to the zipper of your dress.

  “What are we doing?” He bumps his nose into you as he asks, leaning forward to unzip your dress. Your hands roam his naked torso, fingers tracing the soft grey hair on his chest before slowly moving down to his soft belly.

  “Reliving our best memories.”

  Your answer is simple yet effective, and it awakens a deep ache inside him. He understands, he truly does. Your best memories were the ones where you were tangled under his sheets, limbs resting against each other while your mouths left soft traces of love on each other’s skins.

  It might not be the best thing to do with your ex, after six years of no contact, but Jack takes what he can because if he doesn’t, he will lose himself forever.

  You are the last string that attaches him to this life.

  His lips find your shoulders as soon as he pushes the straps of the dress down, kissing the hallow part of your shoulder above your collarbone, sucking in a red mark on the thin skin before he moves upward to your neck, licking your pulse point as he drags his tongue to your jaw.

  You whimper, you fucking whimper, and it makes his head spin with an intensity he had no idea he possessed.  He kisses a path to your lips, breathing your soft breaths while he pushes down the neckline of your dress, pulling back from your mouth only for his gaze to drop down to your chest, breasts covered with a thin strapless bra.

  His brain short circuits when you roll your hips down, grinding against the very painful bulge in his dress pants. His lips part as he huffs out in shock, totally forgetting about his not-so-little problem while he was tasting you.

  “I need you,” he whines, cupping your face in his large palms as he stares into your eyes, “I need you so bad. Please let me have you, please let me pretend I didn’t lose you just for a few hours.”

  “You have me, Jack,” you raise your hands to rest them on top of his, leaning your forehead against, “I need you too.”

  He nods immediately and takes his shirt off completely, watching as you stand up to drop your dress next to your shoes, and for the first time in years, his jaw nearly hits the floor when he finally takes in the sight of your body.

  “Fuck,” it’s a slow gasp, but you hear it perfectly, grinning before you dart toward the hotel’s bathroom, coming out with the pack of condoms in hand. He barks out a laugh when he sees what you are holding, “I’m not that young, we certainly don’t need a whole pack—“

  “Have some faith in yourself, old man,” you grin and watch as he raises his hips and takes his pants and briefs off, his prosthetic leg catching the light of the room. You move to stand in front of his greedy eyes, glancing at his leg before he guides you back onto his lap, “Does it hurt?”

  “No, not right now,” he mutters but it soon turns out into a deep throaty groan when you wrap your fingers around his cock, gently stroking him while you bring the condom to your mouth, tearing it open with your teeth, “That has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ready?” You peck his lips, rolling the condom on his cock until it reaches the base, “Cause I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Me neither,” he pushes your panties to the side, swiping his fingers through your folds, dropping his head on your chest when he feels how wet you are, “You are soaked, baby.”

  “All for you,” you whisper as you line his tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself as the fat tip breaches your walls, both of you moaning at the contact. 

  He forgot how warm you were, how world-consuming your body felt, but now that he is feeling it all again, he remembers the nights he lost himself in the sensation of your cunt wrapped around him.

  “You’re so big,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his back as you finally take all of him inside you, “Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

  He can’t form a coherent word without looking like he is having a stroke, because fucking hell he might be having one just now. Your cunt is stretched around his cock, and he can feel your pulse around his girth even through the condom.

  “Jack,” you whimper his name, grabbing his jaw so you can look into his eyes as you slowly move your hips in circles. He is pretty sure he already looks so fucked out with his lips ajar and eyes glassy with desire while he has to focus on your face so he doesn’t come too fast and embarrass himself.

  He reaches around you to unclasp your bra without looking away, short breaths falling from his lips as you begin to move up and down, and he successfully manages to get that thing off you before latching his lips to your nipples.

  He closes his eyes and groans when he feels your walls clenching around him as soon as he swirls his tongue around the tightened bud, his hands moving to grab the back of your thighs to help you move faster.

  He is so close, embarrassingly so, because he has been imagining this for so long. Jack clings to you as you ride him faster, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in his head, leaving him panting and dizzy.

  He opens his eyes and finds your head thrown back as you fasten your pace, damp hair sticking to your forehead as you chase your release.

  He is hypnotized by how beautiful you look; his body glistening with sweat and thighs shaking around his hips. He watches closely how you moan loudly when his cock nudges your sweet spot deep inside your core.

  “Fuck, fuck— I’m gonna come,” he groans out the words, and you nod absentmindedly, leaning down to press your lips to his, kissing him as you grind down harder, urging him to let go.

  “Me too, baby,” you gasp against his lips, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightens and in a blink, it breaks, waves of euphoria rushing through your veins as you release around him.

  He hugs you close, snapping his hips up one, two, and three times before he buries his face into your neck, groaning from the depths of his throat as he empties his cum into the condom.

  He holds you as he comes, wanting to carve the memory of tonight into his head so he can remember it until his last breath.

  “Jack,” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his curly grey hair, kissing the side of his face as he tries to regain his breath, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for giving me a chance,” he replies quietly, gently lowering you on the bed before he hovers over you, pulling his softened cock out of your swollen hole, “It’s been a long time…”

  “For me too,” you smile sheepishly, kissing his forehead before you sit up slowly so you can go and clean up, “I’ll go to the bathroom and order room service. What do you wanna have?”

  “Anything, I’m starving,” he smiles, flipping on his back as he watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks up at the ceiling, shuddering as it finally dawns on him what he has done. Sex. With you. After six years of radio silence. After all the arguments, after the farewell you shared at the airport, after him realizing how emotionally closed off he was — is.

  “Bathroom’s yours,” you walk back into the room, reaching for his white shirt on the floor, putting it on before you crawl on top of the bed, kissing him sweetly on the lips a few times before lying down and reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

  He turns on his side, kissing your bare thighs before he stands up and walks to the bathroom to get rid of the used condom. Jack splashes water on his face, shaking his head as he looks at his reflection in the mirror.

  Was it a mistake? Probably. But he doesn’t regret it, not now, not ever. He will forever cherish every moment he spent and will spend with you for a long time, perhaps forever.

  A deep unsettling sadness fills the pit of his stomach suddenly, and he runs a hand down his face when he remembers you will go back to Boston in a few hours. He wants to do something to keep you here, locked away from the world and its demands — just you and him.

  He cleans up quickly before the tears threaten to fill his eyes, washing his hands and wiping the sweat off his body with a damp towel while he walks to the bedroom, reaching for his briefs.

  “Greasy cheese Burger with extra fries, what do you say?” You ask, pulling back the covers on the other side so he can crawl in next to you, but before he has the chance the doorbell rings, “Let me go get it—“

  “Na uh,” he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to the bed before he plants a kiss on your nose, “I’ll get it, ain’t no way I’m gonna let anyone see you like this.”

  “Like what?” You sit up on your elbows, dragging your nose against his neck until you reach his lips, not kissing him just hovering while he breathes the warm air that you exhale.

  “All glowing and pretty,” your lips are practically pressed together, but still he doesn’t close the tiny remaining distance, “And in a white shirt only. No, this is mine to enjoy.”

  He smirks and pulls back, chuckling when you whine and drop back on the bed as he gets up to answer the door,  hiding his prosthetic leg as he pulls in the table before he shuts the door.

  “Oh my goodness it smells so good already!” You have moved to the edge of the bed, hands around your legs and head resting on your knees, waiting for him to bring the food to you.

  Jack’s stomach grumbles, making you giggle. He gives you a shy smile before he sits next to you, pushing the table closer to you. He watches as you dig in, taking a huge bite of your burger, moaning at the taste.

  “That good?” He asks, popping up a few fries into his mouth, nodding as the spices fill his tastebuds, “Fuck, yeah. It tastes delicious.”

  It doesn’t take long to finish your meal, but the time is filled with teasing and bantering, sharing bites, and saucy kisses while you eat. 

  What he doesn’t expect is to find himself on his side, with one arm under your head after you both finished your food. It feels… ordinary like he has done it every day, as if it is a routine. Domestic.

  “What happened to us?” He asks like a lost baby, his eyes exploring your face closely; from your lashes to your cheek, down to the soft small hairs on your jaw while he traces a path from your thumb up to your shoulder with his knuckles.

  “Many things,” you sigh, kissing his freckles on his shoulders gently, your hands on his chest as they wander, “You, me, your… your late wife.”

  You reach for his left hand that is touching your arm, pulling it to your face so you can look at the black ring he is still wearing. You twist the metal, and each circle twists his heart.

  He forgot to take it off again.

  “You were not over her back then,” you whisper, scooting closer to rest your head on the crook of his neck, “I don’t think you are now either. We just… became something so… good in a difficult time.”

  “I loved you,” he replies and hides his face in your hair, smelling your comforting scent before he resumes, “I still do. I fucked it all up. I… I wanted you for a lifetime but I wasn’t okay back then. I had lost my wife three years before we met and… and I tried, y’know? I tried to let you in, I tried to open up it just—“

  “I know, Jack, I know,” he lets the tears fall when you cradle his face, pulling him close until he is only a breath away, “I wanted to stay there and watch you heal, but you refused to seek any help, and I couldn’t watch you slip through my fingers any longer than I did.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined it all,” he sobs, tears streaming down his face. He reaches to mimic your position, cupping the side of your head, “I wish I listened, I w-wish I didn’t just… give up like a coward. It was not me, I never give up—“

  “You are not a coward, Jack, look at me,” he forces his eyes open, those bloodshot hazel orbs looking so devastatingly beautiful, “I gave up on you too. I pushed you too hard sometimes, I… I got jealous when you would bring up your wife. I was a fucking dick about it, so no, you didn’t ruin it alone. I had a hand in it too, a big one.”

  “You were in the right though,” he kisses the tears that fall on your cheeks, mumbling against your skin as another sob wrecks through his body, “We were happy together, fuck, how much of an idiot I was to bring up my dead wife when I had you. We could’ve had a future, we could’ve lived together and built a life, but I clawed on the past too hard that I was blinded.”

  “I loved you from a distance for the past six years,” you whisper, pecking his lips gently, “Boston… it felt lifeless without you in it. It’s not the city that holds my heart, it’s just a passing location in life. You made this city shine brighter in the mornings, made the coffee taste sweeter, but at the same time… nothing was truly okay here.”

  “It feels like a distant dream when you talk about it,” he shuffles downward a little until he can rest his head on your chest, “But we were in love, why didn’t it make a difference?”

  “Because love isn’t enough,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly as he cries softly into the shirt you are wearing, “Sleep, baby, you probably haven’t had more than a few hours to rest. I’ll wake you when I have to leave.”

  He wakes up with dread even though you are kissing his head and cooing at him. You are leaving, again. He has to let go of you for the second time, and it fills him with so much agony that his leg begins to hurt.

  “Hey, honey,” you angle his head so you can plant a kiss on his lips, grinning down at him as he blinks sleepily, “You slept like a baby.”

  “How long?” He grumbles and hides his face into your stomach, “Don’t wanna get up…”

  “Me neither,” you reply, and he can hear the pure sadness in your voice, but he doesn’t make any move to get up, instead his hands go under your shirt — his technically — so he can grope your waist, “But my flight is in an hour and a half…”

  “I slept the whole night?” He ignores your last sentence, sitting up slightly, keeping his weight on his forearm next to your chest, “I’m sorry, I—“

  “Hey, don’t be sorry!” You pull him down so he hovers over you, playing with the tiny curly hair on the nape of his neck, “I loved it. It reminded me of the time when you’d fall asleep on top of me after a rough shift. It felt so good to sleep with you again.”

  “I haven’t had a good night's sleep until… until tonight,” he confesses quietly, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips, but when he wants to deepen it, you push him away gently with your hands on his chest. He looks down at you, confused and a bit hurt, “What?”

  “Jack…” he watches you swallow the words down as best as possible, but at the end of the day, you have to utter them somehow before it is too late, “I have to go now, I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  His eyes water as soon as the words fall from his lips. He truly doesn’t want you to go, he needs you here, with him, in his bed, in his clothes. He breathes better when you are with him, he can think, and he can live.

  “I don’t want to go either,” you wipe the tears that stream down your face, “But I can’t stay, not when I have a life in Boston. Maybe one day I’ll come back, hell, maybe I’ll come back for my fellowship, but… for now, I have to go.”

  “We can get you a position in PTMC, I can talk to Gloria myself—“

  “Jack,” the way you utter his name breaks his heart into a million pieces, because he knows, deep down he knows he has to let you go. He has been denying it for hours, but in the end, he knows there is no way he can keep you here.

  “I’ll drive you there then,” he moves to the edge of the bed, taking off his prosthetic as the tears fall down softly. He begins massaging his leg slowly as you get up and pack your things, still only in his white shirt and nothing more.

  You look strikingly gorgeous; hair unruly, bare thighs, puffy face from all the crying, and he thinks he has never seen something more surreal.

  “Wait,” you halt in your step when he reaches for his coat on the floor, pulling out his phone before he takes a quick photo of you.

  “What was that?” You chuckle, moving toward your luggage to drop everything you own in it while you see Jack staring at his screen, “Baby?”

  “I… I wanted to have something from you to look at later,” he explains, his voice barely above whispers, “For when I miss you.”

  You suck in a sharp breath, he hears it clearly. But you don’t turn around toward him after it, probably shocked to your core by how raw and emotional he sounds.

  After taking out the clothes you wanna wear for your departure, you walk to Jack, standing between his legs as you slowly unbutton his shirt, taking off the fabric before you hand it to him — the last thing you had touched from his belongings.

  He takes it without a word, wearing it before he puts his prosthetic leg back on, trying his best not to break apart at how his shirt now smells like you. He won’t wash this again, he would hang this behind his door so he can smell it daily before he goes to the hospital.

  You get ready in thick silence, an uncomfortable one that you both know will break ten times worse than before eventually, and that it will lead to something far too devastating than anything you have experienced.

  He grabs your luggage, hand reaching to hold yours as he guides you out of the hotel room after you check it multiple times in case you missed something. You walk together, shoulder to shoulder, ride the elevator down by your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

  Jack watches as you check out, smiling and thanking the receptionist before coming back to him with a tired look on your face. He knows how you must be feeling, he feels even worse than you, because suddenly it is six years ago as he watches you pack your bags and ride to the airport together.

  He drives you there himself, muscle memory he thinks bitterly, with his hand on your thigh and your fingers caressing the freckled skin. He doesn’t wanna break the bubble you are in, he doesn’t wanna believe he is seeing you go again. He can turn the wheel and drive to his place, he thinks about it too, but he knows you are not ready yet, and he isn’t ready either.

  He looks down at his wedding band shining under the sunlight. The memories of your tears over this black ring rush into his mind, and he takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart — he isn’t ready for sure.

  He wants to say something, anything as he helps you through the airport, but he can’t, he doesn’t dare to utter a word and he hopes that his actions and eyes are showing what he hopes to say.

  “Don’t go,” these are the only two words he manages to let out as you look at him, hearing how your flight’s boarding has started through the speakers, “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Jack—“

  “No, no you don’t have to!” He presses his lips together tightly, his cheeks flushed and eyes red, “You just- just have to stay here, with me, be my Clementine again—“

  “You still use that stupid nickname?” You give him a watery laugh, cupping his face before you press your lips to his, muffling his sobs as best as you can, feeling how your tears mix together and fall on your chins.

  “Yeah, of course,” he kisses you back quickly, like he is in a rush to win a game, an endless competition with no victory, “I know you fucking hate it—“

  “I love it, I love you,” you peck his mouth again, “But this is where we need to part ways, Jack. It’s in our faith it seems.”

  “Curel fucking faith,” he bumps his nose into yours, hands clutching your hips so tightly as if you would vanish if he loses his grip, “I love you, too.”

  “Reach out to me when you forget to put your ring on,” you step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, “Find me when you don’t need to go to that rooftop, I’ll be waiting for you, even if it takes ten or twenty years.”

  And Jack watches you leave again, the same way you did six years ago, from the same spot. He watches you take his heart to another city, leaving him with an empty aching chest for an eternity.

  The next day, he walks toward the same staircase that leads toward the rooftop while twisting his ring, but it is not his late wife he is thinking about; it’s you.

  Today may not be the day, but someday he will find you, he is sure of it.