☾ merry 𖤓

flower gleam and glow. let your powers shine. make the clock reverse. bring back what once was mine. heal what has been hurt. change the fates' design. save what has been lost. bring back what once was mine, what once was mine.

[pedaltothepetal]

twenty 𖤓 queer 𖤓 she/they 𖤓 british 𖤓 mdni

wannabe cinephile frequent yapper pop culture enthusiast occasional moodboard maker theatre kid chronically online self proclaimed writer thought daughter 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

𖹭 never left phil's tire town 𖹭 grid girl 𖹭 trapped in the upside down 𖹭 ptmc patient 𖹭 metropolis resident 𖹭 living in harry's house 𖹭

©pedaltothepetal 2026 masterlist ❀ taglist ❀ anons ❀ rules ❀ socials

[pedaltothepetal]

𝘛𝘈𝘎𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛 ♡ ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

➺ comment 🎾 for challengers

➺ comment 📧 for dear evan hansen

➺ comment 🏎️ for f1: the movie

➺ comment 🪄 for now you see me

➺ comment 🕸 for spiderman

➺ comment 🍦 for stranger things

➺ comment 🦸‍♂️ for superman

➺ comment 🩺 for the pitt

[pedaltothepetal]

taglist is now open for spiderman!! sorry for the delay :)

[pedaltothepetal]

𝒔ex 𝒂nd 𝒕he 𝒄ity

synopsis: after moving to new york city, you develop a crush on your new hot neighbour. he's very secretive but after catching him in your clothes, you discover the truth and he does his best to distract you from it. major spiderman: brand new day spoilers ahead. cw: 18+ mdni, smut. sub!peter, oversensitive peter (spider dna reasons), no prep, cowgirl, unprotected p in v, orgasming together. wordcount: 2.7k

‘oh!’ you call cheerfully and the curly headed figure in the hall turns, ‘we live on the same floor! hey neighbour!’ 

his eyebrows knot together, a short chuckle escaping his lips. ‘cool.’ comes his bemused, barely even polite response. 

without introducing himself, your admittedly rather handsome neighbour disappeared into his apartment. your heart sank as your own key rattled in the door, stepping inside your empty apartment with a sigh. 

slinging your tote bag onto the floor, you stare at the piles of packed boxes that fill the shoebox of a home. opening your fridge, you’re greeted by day old takeaway and souring milk. 

opting for the box of noodles, you sit on the only chair you have. it’s a beanbag with half the beans spilling out of it that you’d dragged from a dumpster all the way to the top of this block. pulling your knees up to your chest as you chopstick soggy noodles into your mouth, you reach for your open laptop. 

the cursor was blinking back at you like a mantra of failure, an empty document staring you in the face. moving to new york was supposed to give you the creative inspiration you’d been searching for, having exhausted all your options in your small, middle of nowhere hometown. 

fuelled by the promise of brilliance, you’d packed everything up and left your parent’s house with minimal fanfare and now you were stuck. no friends, no meaningful career and now you couldn’t even hold a conversation with a neighbour. maybe this was all a mistake. 

you finished your meal unceremoniously, not even a hint of characters in your head or any semblance of plot for the novel you were convinced you were destined to write. collapsing onto your mattress, the springs long since died and no bedframe to speak of either. you fell into a dreamless sleep, although you were certain you woke up once, in the middle of the night, to a flash of red passing by your window. 

a few days later, you stooped to a new low. dumping your resume at every reception desk within a five mile radius had solved nothing, you were still jobless and the rent payment was slowly creeping up. 

‘please? i’ll work weekends, i’ll clean, i’ll-’ you plead with your local bodega owner. 

‘i’m not hiring, sweetheart.’ he repeated for the millionth time, shaking his head at you. 

‘come on, just one day a week!’ you groan, leaning against the counter and almost certainly blocking his business. 

‘i can’t afford it!’ he shrugs, hands tied. 

just as you’re thinking of a rebuttal, a man slides in beside you. 

‘sorry to interrupt- can i just-?’ he dropped a collection of coins onto the counter and turned. 

all the colour drained from your face, it was your neighbour. your hot neighbour with a bouquet of flowers clutched to his chest. up close, you could see the angular line of his jaw and his dark, sorrowful eyes. suddenly, you found yourself unable to speak, breath catching in your throat. 

his head tilted to the side as recognition sparked in his expression, ‘hey. we’re neighbours right?’ came the polite greeting, lips spreading into a warm smile. 

you nod furiously, hearing your own words repeated back to you is too embarrassing, although there’s no humour in his tone. 

he continues gently despite your lack of verbal response, ‘i’m peter.’ 

‘nice to officially meet you.’ you smile, finding your voice but unexpectedly having this bizarre urge to curtsey. 

thankfully, you don’t and peter’s disappeared before you can continue the awkward chat, again. the bodega owner just shakes his head at you so you snatch your resume and storm off, disappointed once more. 

after what felt like an eternity of staring at the battered four walls of your apartment and scrounging around for just enough money to live, just as you were about to pack it in and go home to your parents in defeat, you were offered a job. 

it wasn’t life-changing money or anywhere near your dream role, but it was an office job, full time with entirely average pay. you were officially an intern for the daily bugle. 

‘what’s the deal with spiderman?’ you lament to one of the other interns, lara. 

her entire face twisted into one of utter surprise, ‘seriously? he’s like singlehandedly saving new york.’ 

you glanced around the office, every tv screen had his face plastered all over them. 

‘spiderman stops fifth criminal in two weeks’ 

‘spiderman prevents major pile up in downtown nyc’ 

‘who is the masked hero bringing down crime rates?’

‘wow…’ you whisper under your breath. 

lara’s furrowed brow deepens, ‘you really hadn’t heard of him?’ 

‘superheroes aren’t really in a thing in small towns.’ comes your honest reply, ‘nothing much going on and nobody worth saving.’ 

minus the blip and the ramifications of losing half your farmers for apparently five years, but you don’t mention that part. 

even so, lara can detect the sadness in your words. ‘look… all i’m saying is that guy.’ her pen deftly points to your boss, the boss, j.jonah jameson storming through the desks with a desperate photographer at his heel. ‘would pay a lot of money to find out spiderman’s identity.’ 

you nodded, ‘huh.’

you knew she was only half serious, it wasn’t a challenge yet it sunk deep into your bones regardless. a lot of money, you could do with a lot of money. 

the subway journey home is a mindless blur, you’re too busy replaying the faint memory from a few months ago. the flash of red outside your window, you’ve dissected it a million times. it wasn’t a car light, too close and no noise to accompany it. it could’ve been long enough to be a person, in a suit, in the suit but what would spiderman be doing around your block anyway. it was in the worst, albeit cheapest area of new york and surely you would’ve heard a commotion if he had been arresting criminals. 

the memory continued to plague you, even as you stepped into the creaking elevator heading to your apartment, with it’s broken buttons and sticky floor. however, one floor up, your pondering is cut short by someone stepping in beside you. 

‘hey. sorry.’ came the awkward voice. 

your eyes widened, new york cannot be this small that you keep running into your hot neighbour, peter. 

‘it’s fine.’ you reply quickly, pulling your handbag tighter up your shoulder. 

it’s only when you actually turn your head to look at him, that you realise everything is not fine. peter is stood next to you, arm muscles rippling in a cropped black tank top and cupping his crotch in a pair of low rise sweatpants with the reddest face you’ve ever seen. the whole outfit looks familiar, too familiar. 

‘is that my shirt?’ you asked, bewildered. 

‘no…’ he lied, badly. 

looking him up and down again, you were more than certain he was wearing your clothes. the clothes you had put in the laundry that morning before you’d dashed off to the daily bugle, the clothes that you were desperately looking forward to changing into when you got home. 

before you can ask again, the metal doors slide open and he’s sprinting out of that elevator and into his apartment faster than the speed of light. his door slams shut and you’re left alone in the hallway once again, even more confused. 

scouring your wardrobe, you confirm those were definitely your missing clothes and after summoning the courage, with a lot of deep breaths and walking up to his front door only to turn around and run back over and over, you finally knock on his door. 

the minute it swings open, barely an inch and he’s stood there in his pyjamas but you start your practiced spiel. ‘look peter, i know those are my clothes. i’m not gonna ask any questions, i would just really like them back and- holy shit!’

your jaw dropped, immediately distracted by what you could spy in the crack of peter’s door. stringy webs coated his entire apartment, covering every surface and furnishing, almost like a spider lived there. 

pushing the door further open with a second thought, you’re stepping inside. if you thought your apartment was a mess, this was another level. every item of furniture was upturned, white webs falling from the ceiling and caking the apartment like a layer of dust. 

‘wait-’ peter called hurriedly, trying to step in front of you. 

‘what is this?’ you breathe, moving closer to a collection of monitors atop a desk, stray pieces of tech littered across it. 

‘i’ll grab your clothes…’ he mutters, disappearing into the next room. 

as you glanced around in wonder, the cogs in your brain began to turn. the flash of red by your window, the oversized webs strewn around his apartment. either peter was housing a family of spiders or he was…

turning around with an open mouth, ‘you’re-’

before you can get the words out, peter’s kissing you. he’d rushed over, pressed his lips to yours and dropped your laundry in the process. 

you’re overwhelmed, taken aback but you find yourself leaning in, kissing back with fervor. cupping his strong cheekbones, you’re barely breathing in between hungry kisses, stumbling back till he hits the wall. 

peter’s hands are all over you, feeling you up despite your corporate attire. eventually, you break away for good, coming up for air like a fish but you notice peter’s hardly out of breath. 

‘what… are you doing?’ you pant, gazing at him. 

‘what you want.’ he whimpers, ‘please?’ 

something in his tone makes your stomach flip and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream about this moment ever since you’d first met him. admittedly, surrounded by spiderwebs and biotech wasn’t exactly how you pictured it but you were needy and he was attractive. 

‘bedroom.’ comes your reply, a question and a statement rolled into one. 

peter doesn’t need to be told twice and with his large hand dwarfing your own as he takes it, he leads you into the alcove of his room. the bed is unmade but you don’t care anymore, especially when he pulls his shirt off in one swift move. 

his muscles are insane, bordering on inhuman. he’s stocky, a firm six pack with bulging arms and yet he’s got the most bashful expression on his face. veins run across the back of his strong hands, the ones that have currently got your delicate fingers tucked in them. 

‘fuck me.’ you whisper, eyes feasting on his build. 

‘that’s the- uh- plan.’ he jokes sheepishly, and you crack a soft smile. 

he’s back on you again, like a starved creature, kissing at your neck with unabashed desire. peter’s stumbling back onto his bed which creaks as you both tumble onto it. you break away, now sitting on top of him, feeling his semi underneath your pencil skirt. 

licking your lips in what you hope is a salacious manner, you start to run your hands along his chest. peter squirms, more than you’d expect but he’s not making you stop. 

‘ah- ah-’ he breathes, twitching as you flick his exposed nipples, standing to attention in the cold of his room. 

'you like that?' you purr, continuing to rub your supple hands all over his responsive body.

'y-yeah...' peter laughs breathily, 'feels s-so! good.'

there was curiosity on his tone rather than apprehension but you don't question it. lifting your hips, you start to pull down his tartan pyjama bottoms. with no boxers on, peter's veiny dick springs free and stands to attention.

'jesus christ...' he grunts as precum already starts dribbling out of his overly sensitive tip.

you swallow, unable to draw your eyes away from his twitching cock. even as peter pulls you down closer to him, for another kiss, you're still envisioning him inside you.

with a wry smile, he flirts, 'your turn.'

as he speaks, his thick fingers are making quick work of the buttons of your blouse, slowly revealing your comfort bra. in your defense, you weren't planning on hooking up today, you would've worn a much sexier bra if you knew.

peter doesn't seem to care, helping you tug the tight shirt off so you're just in your bra, which he hurriedly unclips so your boobs can be freed.

'wow.' he breathes, a slow open smile spreading across his face as he takes in your chest.

immediately, he presses kisses to the flesh there tenderly, like he's mapping out your body for his memory. as he continues, you awkwardly unzip your skirt and toss it, and your granny panties without him noticing for that would be too embarrassing, aside onto the floor.

peter's dark eyes are as wide as saucers, filled with adoration. 'you're beautiful.' he murmured.

'...thank you.' comes your embarrassed reply, pressing your lips together to hide your cheesy smile.

he lets you sit up, settle against his strong erection. lifting your hips, you slowly start to sink down on his length, gasping at every inch.

his face is contorting into expressions of pleasure you've never even seen before, and he's already gripping the sheets.

'fuuuck me.' he pants, sweat already beading on his forehead.

'are you okay?' you pull a face of concern, pausing halfway. your tight pussy was clenching around him hungrily as it rubbed against your gummy walls.

'never better.' peter choked out with a vigorous nod to continue.

exhaling deeply, you continue to lower your hips down till you're fully seated inside him. he's big, not thick but long and you can already feel his tip prodding that spongy spot inside you.

'okay... god you feel good. so tight, so perfect.' peter's rambling, already lost in oversensitive pleasure.

it's almost endearing how much he's feeling it, even as you start to roll your hips and his body practically levitates off the bed. with every subtle movement you make, his body jerks in response.

'yeah? is that good, peter?' you taunt, starting to bounce on his dick.

he's in awe as peter watches your tits jiggle as you move up and down. lifting his hips in tune with you, making sure he slams into your g-spot everytime.

'ah- ah- yes- yes oh god yes-' he whimpers, repeatedly till it's hardly even full words.

throwing your head back, you coax, 'that's it- fuck-'

slowing down, you let yourself feel every inch of his dick, coating into your slick walls. peter's still moving beneath you like a jackrabbit, abusing the spot inside that makes you see stars.

'peter... please... i'm close...' you crow, feeling your body start to tense.

'wait- wait- wait- i'm- shit-' he's out of it, completely delirious on the feeling of being inside you.

that's the only warning he gives before he's shooting ropes of cum inside you.

'oh god- oh god- oh god-' he moans, whole body writhing like a snake beneath you.

he's breathless, chest heaving but still staring at you like you'd hung the moon and stars. the sight is enough for you to feel yourself slip into an orgasm, soaking his already leaking cock and his thighs, and most certainly his sheets.

'jesus fucking christ.' you whimper, nearly doubling over and hands finding his rock hard abs for stability.

however, the sight of your orgasm reignites peter's own and he's busting inside you of once again, overstimulated and moaning dumbly. he's twitching, not even trying to stay still, every sensation overwhelming him.

once you finally come down from your high, you slide off him, moving to sit down beside the bed. peter doesn't take his eyes off you, even as his hard cock hits his stomach, still shooting out endless ropes of cum.

'thank you...' he whimpers, 'thank you so fucking much. that was incredible. you're incredible.'

you tilt your head to the side, you were not this good. this was some porno level behaviour. 'thanks?'

eventually, he'd stopped cumming and lay spread-eagled on the bed as he came back down to earth. even as he'd stood up to shower, his legs were shaking like a baby deer, every nerve in his body thrumming with pleasure.

you'd climbed into the single bed with him, foreheads pressed together and legs entangled in each others. he'd wiped a stray lash from your cheek and was just, staring. no words needed to be shared, it was a moment of complete and utter stillness, something you didn't realise you'd been craving till you were in it.

'wait so are you spiderman?' you ask, killing the mood immediately but curiousty got the better of you.

'shhh...' he'd muttered sleepily, finger pressing to your lips. 'save that for the morning.'

❤︎⁠ taglist: @voidsuites (to be added)

[pedaltothepetal]

omgg i almost forgot to do my monthly update !!!

ngl i've been going through it lately and tumblr is #nothelping (for once)... that and being inbetween hyperfixations is actual hell and horror

anyway !!!! working on my first ever spiderman fic after brand new day and hopefully getting that posted tonight !!!!

i'm also planning on writing some more linecook!art and some more dirty little secret so stay tuned :)

as always, any reqs are more than welcome i'm still struggling for inspo lol <3

i'm on holiday a bunch this month (one of which is camping with no signal... kill me) so may be a little inactive but we shall see !!!

[pittsick]

⏜︵ ♡ 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 : fluff thoughts ৴

“you should be more careful.” the words are leaving your mouth before peter can even think of saying anything.

a pout is on his face, making him more baby-like than he is now, reminding you of the face he had while growing up as your friend. his eyes looks down to the non-threatening cut on his forearm; one he accidentally gotten why tripping over himself. the thing is, peter could have easily gotten out of this situation… if only you knew he was spider-man. this is a conversation for another day! peter hums before deciding to reply. “i was… distracted for a second.” you look up when he says those words.

“distracted? by what?” the tone of your voice is quiet, gentle; the perfect combination to make peter’s heart skip a beat inside his chest and for a pink hue to cover his cheeks. “i don’t know… i just—i thought you looked really pretty today. i mean, you look pretty everyday! but today…” he stutter, eating his words before coughing quietly. he compliments you all the time but he still acts like you both haven’t been partners for months now. he’s sweet.

“oh! well… i thought you looked really handsome today, peter.” you reply, looking elsewhere for a second, a smile on your face and warmth inside your stomach. it’s hard to not feel giddy when your boyfriend says things like that.

“i’ll be more careful now, i swear.” he voice again, a bit amused and eyes looking down at his injury and back at your face. you hum, moving one of your hands to brush brown locks away from his forehead. peter can only lean his head toward your fingers at the touch, searching for the warmth of your body. “it’s okay if you don’t… but only if it means you’re looking at me.” the words leaves your mouth with slight teasing.

peter rolls his eyes before both his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to his body. “well, i’ll try to look at you and be careful, how about that?” you nod your head at his words, agreeing with him. another smile appears on your face, hands running through his hair now. “that’s a deal, clumsy boy.”

spider-man might be a clumsy boy when it comes to his partner.

taglist ﹏ @userhotd @sunlightkent @222col @irysque @clementinestars @ravensreadingrecs @nomajdetective @prismozo @lvve-talks @kathh01 @jclolz22 @dumbbandpoetic @hisfavoriteweepingangel @i-cant-stfu @bluestrd @coochiemama3000 @eepwtf @peachyparkerr @jiminie-08 @stqrfirez @i-t0ld-ya @cxlt-lamb1 @kill3ill @dolcefloral @heldbycas @amourflores @chronic-fangirl-222 @nerdypinupcrystal @filthgf @antlerlove @aconstructofamind @flwer555 @voidsuites @qardasngan @aerangi @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @agustd202204 @archxve @rafs127 @cup1dssorrow @mimisitaugu @cloudsincalifornia @priyesstuff @beaufire @s4yuriii @lover-of-books-and-tea @puppyinlace @m4rk-ofcain @beausling ( to be added )

all reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ

[jackabbotispunk]

OUT OF BOUNDS

Pt 2. | 1

𑣲. Pairing: Jack Abbot x Fem!Reader X Abbot!Art Donaldson

𑣲. Summary: Escaping the stress of the upcoming tennis fall season and grueling practice, Art travels to Pittsburgh to clear his head and spend some time with his dad. In some turn of events he meets you, the PTMCS night shift first year resident. Who also happens to be Attending physician Jack Abbots favorite. Not that he will ever admit he has any favorites. Will the young talented tennis player prevail or will the older hardened doctor be the one to get the first point at your heart?

𑣲. Word Count: 4.4K

𑣲. Warnings/content: MDNI 18+ ( bad explanation of tennis, reader is described to have hair long enough to put up, mentions of jacks late wife, smut lol, unprotected p in v, (wrap it before you tap it), not proof read.)

𑣲. A/n: This is my first ever attempt at writing spicy shit so like actually bear with me this time AHHH. Also, I apologize if Art is out of character.

After Tashi found out that one, Art was in Pittsburg and two, that he had sprained his ankle, she was basically giving him the silent treatment. 

A week at his dads house turned into three and eventually had turned into a month. The days were hot and the nights were humid. He had settled back into his old room, nearly forgetting he would eventually have to fly back to California. His ankle had healed and he was in good condition, passed off by his dad, to go back to practicing. 

Over this span of time, you had gotten to know Art. You noticed him coming back to the Pitt for different reasons. A follow up on his injury, a small thank you card for helping him, bringing his dads thermos, or just to speak in the small moments of calm. In between these visits you spoke about different things like how you were the first in your family to go to university, first to go into the medical field, and the oldest in your family. 

You also had found out why Art had traveled all the way to Pittsburg. Tashi had been on his ass about his shitty practices. He wasn't excited to play in the upcoming tournaments. It was starting to get suffocating and he just had to clear his head. He also made sure to clarify that he and Tashi were not a thing.

Shen and Mateo were the first few to tease you about the golden haired boy. “Looks like you still got it after all this time” Shen smirked, as if he hadn’t been the oldest of you three. There were few people who knew about your shitty dating life and they were two of them. You confided in them and spoke about how much of a fail your dates had been. 

With a job at the ER, it made it hard to develop a social life outside of your co-workers. Much less a love life. 

Maybe that was why you had developed a little thing for the pro tennis player in a short amount of time. Was it a little embarrassing? Yes. But, for Christ sake. Look at the man! He was built amazingly, when you spoke he listened. He’d ask a question if he had them or make comments if his dad had ever mentioned stuff related to the topic. He was like an endearing puppy.

So when he asked if you wanted to play a little game of tennis and you agreed? 

You couldn't have been happier. 

The courts had been baking in the Pittsburgh sun. A few people played on different courts and the sun now sinking behind the horizon and a beautiful mix of blue, orange, and pink began to paint the sky as night fell.

It was your day off and Art assured you he was going to make sure you didn’t regret spending your time with him. 

He was warming up when you arrived. His arms flexed beneath his fitted Stanford shirt. His shorts hugged his thick thighs. 

You walked up to him, clearly nervous but a smile remained on your face. Your spandex shorts hugged your hips and ass nicely, your smooth legs on display. Your simple tank top hugged your curves outlining your chest just right that it made Art's throat go dry. Your hair was styled out of your face. 

This was the body that had been hidden under your scrubs? Art wondered what it looked like beneath the clothes.

You gave him a small wave “Hey.” You halted in front of him “I hope I’m in the right attire” you gestured to yourself. 

Art didn’t waste time to let his eyes rake over you. 

“I go out for runs but that’s about it” you chuckled awkwardly 

“You’re good” he waved off “I don’t have my best clothes either” Art replied “have you stretched yet?” He asked “can’t have you get hurt either”

“Uh, yeah, I did. Figured I would have to do that.”

“That’s good,” he nodded. “I found two rackets in my dads garage” He walked to his bag and pulled out two rackets, one more childlike than the other. He handed you the one smaller one, watching how your soft hands wrapped around the base. His ears heated up.

“Wow, Jack kept these?” You looked up at him 

“I know, good luck for the both of us” Art chuckled. “So, do you know the basics?”

“Uh” You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear “I mean I know you have to hit the ball back and forth” you laughed nervously. You hadn't known an ounce of tennis or many sports for that matter. 

“Okay, I have some work to do” Art shook his head with the grin 

“In my defense, I spent half my time in college in classrooms and the other in my dorm,” you replied. You had barely any time to go out and have fun with friends. And you had spent your time as an undergraduate in hospitals. 

Art began to explain the rules. First, a coin toss, whoever won chose whether they served, received, or what side they wanted to serve from. Then came serving, hitting and rallying, etc.

You nodded your head as you listened, though your eyes occasionally trailed off to his jaw. Sharp. His blonde hair underneath his red cap, no doubt an old cap from Stanford. The bead of sweat that rolled down his temple from the heat and humidity of Pittsburgh. The grey Stanford shirt that clung to his biceps and pecks just right. His black shorts, which somehow seemed shorter and tighter than yours, displayed his toned legs. 

His voice brought you back from your thoughts 

“Sorry?” You replied sheepishly, afraid he’d caught you ogling him. 

“I asked if everything made sense” he chuckled as his beautiful blue eyes met yours. 

“Uh, yeah, no–definitely” you nodded 

After you two warmed up a little, you began to play. Art tossed the tennis ball against the floor catching it as it bounced back up to him, he caught it and placed it in the center part of his racket. He tossed the tennis ball into the air before hitting it to your  side.

Your legs shifted in place, eyes locked on the ball. You moved quickly, but not quick enough. The ball had hit the ground twice. You winced and blushed lightly with embarrassment. “Sorry” you said, picking up the ball. 

Art jogged up to the middle “Hey,  don’t worry. Let’s do a redo” you nodded and handed the ball back to him. Your fingers brushed against his. 

“Hold on” he dropped his racket, walking to your side. Art moved behind you as his hands moved to yours on your racket “If you put your palm against the bevel” His hands directed your dominant one down the neck of the racket, “Keep your fingers here,” his hands guided your fingers. 

His breath brushed against your ear, shooting a shiver down your back and a flutter in your chest “Should make it feel more natural” he said, his hands lingering for a moment before moving back.

He grabbed his racket from the floor and walked to his side. 

He repeated his movements, placing the tennis ball in the center of his racket before tossing it into the air and hitting the ball. 

This time, you reacted quicker as you held the racket in your hands how Art had instructed you to. The yellow fuzzy ball hit against the floor once before you hit it back to his side of the net. The ball landed close by allowing him to hit it back.

You twisted the racket in your hands, hitting the ball back and sending it to the corner of his side. Art grunted as he sprinted but failed to hit it.

You laughed in surprise. “Holy shit!” 

Art smiled over his shoulder, picking up the tennis ball “Wow, good job.” He tossed the ball to you. 

You caught the ball with your free hand “I hope you’re not going easy on me” You said as you walked to the back of your side. “At least try make me work for it”

“Yeah?” Art raised a brow, the corner of his lips curled up, “Is that what you want?”

You gave a nod. 

“I can do that” 

You bounced the ball announcing the score before you tossed the ball to his side, managing to aim it at the center of his side.

His racket hit the ball back to your side. The two of you starting to rally. Art grunted as he ran to hit the ball back towards you, the sweat now somehow making his shirt cling to his body even more.

Sweat dripped down your back and forehead as you panted lightly while you tried to keep up with him. 

He was pretty fucking good and he looked hot doing it too. The way his cheeks were red from the heat, his lips parting slightly as he concentrated, the way his thick fingers wrapped around the handle of his racket, and the sweat that traveled down his forehead and down his neck. 

Admittedly, you had also searched up some of his games. Learned he had played in the US open doubles with his friend named Patrick, who you had yet to find much of now. He was mesmerizing and talented. He seemed like he could give half his true effort and somehow still beat the other person in front of him. He kept his cool on the court. Wouldn't shout obscenities on the court and showed great sportsmanship afterwards, both equally hot. 

The ball landed on your side, bouncing on the opposite corner of your side. You ran, your racket reaching to hit but failed. Giving him a point. 

You let out a groan “I was doing so well”

“Come on, I know you can keep up” Art teased from his side, a grin on his face, flashing his white teeth. 

“I was” You replied as Art grabbed another tennis ball. 

You and Art were sitting on the benches near the court. 

You sat close enough that if you moved your thighs would brush against one another. 

“You’re like the real deal then” You turned your head to look at Art.

“The real deal?” He chuckled, his cheeks heating lightly. Though whether the source was your words or the heat, you couldn't tell. 

You nodded “Yeah, you went to a good school, played at a pretty impressive competition, went to Stanford, and now you're being coached by some tennis prodigy" You replied “Must be nice”

Art rubbed the back of his neck “I’m very thankful. My dad and my mom busted their asses so I could attend the same school as Patrick” 

You had no doubt that was true. You had learned what kind of person Jack Abbot was. Caring in his own way, a little headstrong, a great leader, resilient, and sometimes putting others over himself. Which is what made him such a good doctor and person. You imagined his wife was like that. 

“That's good. Means they love you” You nudged his shoulder lightly. You heard him let out a soft laugh “Have you always enjoyed tennis?” 

“Yeah.” Art nodded, smiling to himself “My mom actually got me into it”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She used to play in college. She used to be the captain of the team” Art's eyes softened as he spoke about his mom, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “She probably could have gone further, but she always said she loved teaching more than competing. She became a teacher, but when she met my dad she got my dad into tennis too” 

“She sounds great” You said 

“Yeah, she was” Art's voice was gentle, remembering his mother didn't bring that somber aching feeling in his chest anymore. It made appreciation and love swell. 

There was a moment of silence between you and Art. Nothing uncomfortable, you had gotten past that point. Rackets hitting tennis balls filled the background, cicadas spread out across the greenery of the public area. The lights of the park now on as the dark night sky spread above. 

Art cleared his throat as he looked at you “How did you get into emergency medicine?” 

You glanced forward. You gave a tiny shrug as you explained. It honestly wasn’t what you had originally expected to do. You had other plans that were different and more complicated in ways you didn’t want to think. 

But, after your father was rushed to the ER after an extreme accident, it brought a glimpse of the world of emergency medicine. The nurse who helped your father had been by your side the most she could be. Checking up on you as much as she checked up on your dad. 

The doctor had reassured you he'd do what he could to help your father. He had given you enough hope that your dad would make it. It helped you through the night which had seemed endless and it helped you now in your everyday life. Dedicating yourself to be like the same doctor who helped your father survive.

Had it not been for the doctor and the nurse, your dad would not be with you. Something inside you had switched. A calling you never thought would find you. You wanted to be there for people’s shittiest day and help them get through it however you could. 

“That’s…wow” Art said softly 

You gave a tiny chuckle, pushing hair behind your ear “maybe I’m dramatizing a little” ears heating up 

“No, I don’t think so. It’s a valid reason.” Art shook his head 

Your eyes met with his blue ones. 

They looked sharp and concentrated across the court. But, now, looking at them straight in front of you? They were soft, downturned, but understanding in a way you hadn’t felt in a while. He listened to your words thoroughly and hadn’t interrupted you. 

There was one more person who looked at you with that same understanding. 

His eyes flickered down to your velvet lips then back to your eyes. You couldn’t help but do the same.

The both of you turned slightly, your thighs pressing against each other. His hand slowly lifted to cup your cheek, holding slight hesitation until he realized you weren’t stopping him. “Can I kiss you?” He whispered, his rough hand brushed against your soft skin.

You nodded. Art leaned in and you met him in the middle. Your lips met. Moving slowly. His lips were soft and moving carefully. His tongue gently brushed against your lips asking for entrance. 

You sighed gently, giving his warm tongue entry. His tongue explored your mouth. You moaned into his mouth before you pulled away slowly when you heard people cheering on another court. 

His lips chased yours as you pulled away. Both of your eyes opened. “Sorry,” he murmured, “too much?”

You shook your head “No” you spoke softly. You glanced around before you pursed your lips. Hesitating. You probably shouldn’t say what you’re about to say. There should be boundaries, especially with the son of your attending. But the pooling in your stomach from just kissing his lips was hard to ignore.

“My place isn’t too far from here” you say, an open invitation. 

The second your door opened and the two of you walked in your lips found Arts. He kissed you with the same passion as before, this time a little harder. His hands resting on your waist as your arms draped around his neck. Your fingers finding his curls. 

You walked backwards towards your room, your back hit a wall gently. He pressed you against it, slotting his leg between your thighs. His tongue explored your mouth making you let out a moan. 

Art's hands moved from your hips to your sides, his fingers tracing the gentle curves of your body. He pulled away gently, nipping at your bottom lip before he began to kiss down your neck. “God, you’re beautiful” he whispered into your ear. 

You panted gently as he kissed your neck, finding the sweet spot and sucking gently on your soft skin. He pulled away before he could make a mark, his lips trailing downward “You looked so beautiful playing across from me” his voice was lower now. His hands moved down to your hips again. “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind” He whispered as he pressed his knee against your heat. 

You let out a soft moan, your hips instinctively rolling against his knee desperate for friction. 

“Christ” he whispered your name desperately, one hand dropped down to give your ass a squeeze “Wanna see how pretty you are. Will you let me? Please, sweetheart” he gave you his pretty puppy dog eyes. Obviously you couldn’t deny him.

You give a nod and Art lifted you up, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist before heading to your bedroom. Once inside, he laid you carefully on the soft satin sheets.

He took off his cap and kicked off his shoes before he crawled on the bed, his hands immediately finding the edge of your shirt “Gotta see what’s under this” he murmured. His hands tugged up on your shirt before tossing it to the floor. Your simple black lacy bra almost made him groan. It was embarrassing how little he’d seen of you and he could feel the tent in his shorts growing. 

His hands move quickly to remove your shoes, socks, and your shorts. Revealing the other half of your matching set. 

“Wear this for me, baby?” His hands ran up your thighs “Say you did” he looked at you with those captivating eyes. He slotted his leg between yours once again 

You nodded “Yeah” you whispered 

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your lace panties, pulling them down slowly. Revealing your glistening folds. Art let out a soft hum at the sight of you. “You’re so wet” he whispered. He trailed kisses down your neck once again, this time making his way down your chest, “Can take this off?” He asked, though his hands were already reaching for the back of your bra. 

You gave him a nod of permission and he unclasped the bra from your body and tossed it aside. The sight of your hard peaks made him strain against his shorts more. Art's lips resumed their way down your chest, kissing you softly between the valley of your breasts before he began to kiss his way to one of your peaks, wrapping his lips around your nipple. His warm tongue made you let out a soft moan. His free hand moving to play with your other one. 

You could feel yourself get more wet as he sucked on your chest and the way his hardened member pressed against your thigh. “Need to feel you” he pulls away from your nipple with a wet pop, his lips moving to the other one. His tongue swirled around your peak as he sucked gently. His other hand flexing around your breast. 

“When I saw you at the hospital” he pulled away as he trailed his mouth back up to your lips “I was so fucking jealous my dad was able to see you every night” his breath brushed against your lips “I had to make shitty excuses just to see you.” His eyes locked with yours “Did you like that? Did you like seeing me come in?”

Your eyes locked with his and you could have sworn your body squeezed around nothing. Of course you liked seeing him come in. It had been a while since any guy had shown any interest in you. Truthfully, after long fucking shifts you had let your brain drift off while you were in bed. 

“Yeah, I did”  

“I’m so happy to hear that" He whispered. 

His hand trailed downwards. His fingers brushed against your slit, making you shiver “Shit, Sweetheart.” He  murmured “Let me touch you, please.” He pleaded 

You buckled your hips, pressing yourself closer to him. 

Arts fingers gathered some of your slickness before his thumb found your bundle of nerves, rubbing small circles. Your head tilted back slightly. “You like that?” He asked, you nodded your head immediately.

He continued circling your clit before slipping one digit inside. Your warm slick walls inviting him in. He groaned as he pushed in another finger “you’re so tight.” 

Your back arched off the bed as his fingers began to move. His thumb brushed over your bundle of nerves again making you moan out his name. His fingers curl. “You sound so beautiful,” he whispers, his fingers picking up speed. You let out another cry as his fingers plunge in further, hitting that sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck—Art!” Your legs spread, your body begging him for more. His fingers looked pretty thick around his tennis racket, in you? They filled and stretched you out nicely. 

You hear him let out a quiet whine as you squeeze around his fingers. His fingers curl as his thumb presses down on your clit. You gasp softly, your hips twitching at the stimulation. You could feel the coil in your stomach start to tighten. “Art—please—“ you moan

“Yeah? What do you want me to do?” He kissed your jaw “tell me, I’ll do it”

You swear those words could have just made you come right then and there. He was so desperate to please you and it turned you on so much.

“Faster” you gasp, his slow and gentle pace now didn’t seem like enough, your hips pressed against his hand.

Art didn’t reply but happily complied with your request, his fingers now faster. Your wetness making squelching sounds and allowing him to move with ease.

His thumb continued to circle your clit and before you could let out another sound, he leaned back down and connected his lips with yours. He groaned into your mouth.

“Art” you whined between kisses “I’m—so close” you said as your walls tightened around his fingers .

“I know—“ he cooed as he kissed you sloppily “Just a little more” he said as he felt you squeeze again “Come on, I know you can keep up”

You moaned as his pace picked up even more, the curling of his fingers made you tilt your head back against your bed sheets. 

“You look so pretty like this” Art whispered softly “so fucking pretty”

Your hips buckled as you squeezed his fingers once again, begging to let you come “please”you gasped

“Go ahead.” He said “I wanna see how pretty you look” he pecked your lips.

Your thighs clamped around his hand as you came, your walls squeezed his thick fingers like a vice. Art grunted, a wet patch appearing in his shorts “holy shit” he whispered as he drew out your climax. 

“Gotta be inside you, baby” he kissed your lips gently as he pulled out his fingers. “Can I?”

You gave him an eager nod. Art cleaned his fingers with his mouth and almost groaned at the taste of your sweetness.

He shifted on top of you, his hands tugging down his shorts, pulling down his boxers along with them. His thick member sprung out. He grabbed a pillow beside your head, putting it underneath your hips “That okay?” He asked softly as he grabbed your hips 

You nodded. 

He pumped himself a few times before he aligned himself with your tight hole. He pushed past between your puffy walls, his thickness stretched you out a bit more. 

“Stretched you out but you’re still so tight” he whimpered softly. His thumbs brushed slow circles against your hips. He pushed in further before he bottomed out. Both of you moaning. “Let me know when I’m okay to move” Art said as he kissed your cheek gently 

You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm and it didn’t help that you hadn’t had much action in a while. You could feel his hands squeeze your hips as he tried to hold himself back from moving.

 “Okay” you gave a nod as you met eyes with him. 

Art didn’t waste time to draw himself all the way out before he thrusted inside fully, setting a slow and steady pace. You moaned as he thrusted. One of his hands dropped from your hips and moved to circle the bundle of nerves making you squeeze around him. 

“God, sweetheart” he groaned, his pace picked up as he began to slam into you, angling his cock to hit your g-spot.

“Fuck! Art” you moaned, your back arched off the bed and your hands squeezed his biceps. 

“Like that, baby?” He grunted as he used his hand to tilt your hips upwards, letting him plunge deeper. You moaned in response.

That familiar feeling in your stomach returned “Art—so close” you whined as your hips began to push against him desperate to chase that feeling again.

“Me too—fuck me too” he groaned as he thrusted frantically, his pelvis hitting against you, his thumb still circling your clit. 

Before you could warn him you moaned. Your walls tightened around him gripping him as you came. Your toes curled. Art groaned as he thrusted into you desperately. “Want to come inside you” he moaned “can I?” He whined 

“Yes” you managed to make out. That was all it took for him to whimper out as he spilled himself into you. 

His lips found yours and kissed you desperately. 

Pulling away for air, Art slowly began to pull out slowly before he laid beside you.

The two of you panted as you tried to catch your breath. Sweat clung to your bodies.

Art turned his body towards you, his hand reaching for your hip, rubbing small circles with his thumb “you okay?” He asked

You nodded, turning your body towards him. Your hands found their way to the nape of his neck, playing with the blonde curls that were now clinging to his skin from the sweat. 

He turned his head, pecking your arm. He kissed up your arm, then your collar bone, up your neck, your jaw, and then a quick kiss on your lips before he nuzzled against your neck. “Did I do good?” he murmured.

You held his head close, hands running through his blonde hair “yeah” you murmured

Bliss slowly turned into realization. 

You just fucked your attendings son.

This was way out of bounds.

A/n: omg I am super sorry it took me so long to write this second part. I was super nervous writing the smut but I hope it was decent enough. As I said it was my first time writing it. Hope you enjoyed ;0

[pedaltothepetal]

𝒑art 𝒇ive

request: imagine if someone asked line cook art about his and the readers relationship in front of everyone and art brushes it off and says they don't have anything going on which hurts the reader and they end up arguing back home with turns into desperate sex - anon pairing: server!reader x line cook!art donaldson cw: 18+ mdni, smut/angst. masturbation (male), hate sex (kinda), arguing, breakup. wordcount: 2.4k headcanons | pt1 | pt2 | pt3 | pt4 | pt5

your point had been made clear that night, and art was not letting you forget it. he made a show of scorning the new hire, till her cutesy giggles faded into jealous glares and art had his own satisfied smirk. she could barely stand to look at you, and maybe sometimes she’d push you out of the way to get to her section or deliberately reach over you for cutlery but it didn’t matter, you’d won. 

art, however, continued his ludicrous displays of affection even after she’d given up. he’d make a show of whooping whenever you came into the kitchen or patting your ass every time you squeezed by. although you’d glare at him with barely hidden smirks, you loved it. in fact, you’d long since forgotten what that server had said to you months ago, art was different now, you were different now. 

that was why, when you heard it, your whole world had stopped before shattering into a million pieces. 

you were taking out the trash, flipping open the cracked plastic lid and already gagging at the smell of rotting food. art was round the corner, cigarette between his lips as he lit a second for the teenage chef. every time, they managed to evade closing tasks and it drove you crazy to see the three of them slipping out to hide. 

‘so… what’s the deal with you and her?’ grunted a male voice, older than art. 

‘yeah-’ the other cook, the teenager coughed from the smoke, ‘you putting a ring on it or-?’ 

you froze in position, trash bag still gripped in your hand with a open bin lid spilling it’s stench into the air. they were talking about you, asking art about you and your breath caught in your throat for a fleeting, hopeful moment. 

‘who? that server?’ art took a long drag of his cigarette, you could tell from the pause. ‘nah, we’re just hooking up. nothing serious like that.’ 

then he laughed, art had the audacity to add a throaty chuckle at the end of his declaration and the other two cooks murmured in agreement. 

you almost puked, not from the smell this time but from his words. you were half tempted to throw the bag of restaurant trash at their feet but you couldn’t possibly reveal you’d been listening so all you could do was storm back inside and finish polishing cutlery. the wet sheen of your eyes glinted in the metal but you didn’t dare let the tears fall. 

art was waiting at his car, like always, flicking cigarette ash onto his black boots. he hadn’t noticed you yet, dark eyes still scanning the parking lot. every bone in your body told you to turn back inside, pretend you forgot something and hide out till he drives off as his dark eyes scanned the parking lot. 

however, your aching heart spurred you on, a rising fury that insisted to be contested and heard. despite the fear that made you shake, you wanted to argue with him, to fight and release your emotions. 

‘hey doll.’ he murmured, leaning in closer as you walked up to the car door. you could smell the cigarette stench on his breath and for the first time, it made you recoil. 

your reply is clipped, an attempt at casual. ‘hi.’ as you slipped into the passenger seat, suspension creaking. 

art’s whole demeanour shifted, tensing slightly as he got in and started the engine. 

‘god, what now?’ he muttered under his breath but you heard, head whipping around faster than the speed of light.

he just rolled his eyes as he pulled out of the parking lot, already fed up. 

you drove in silence for a few minutes, he hadn’t even bothered to stick an old cd on. 

‘fine, don’t answer me.’ came the grunt and you snapped. 

‘do you talk about me with the other cooks?’ you feign disinterest, voice surprisingly measured for the rage that is bubbling within you. 

art’s brow furrows and he shrugs, ‘sure, it comes up.’ 

your lips purse, ‘but what do you say?’ 

‘oh i don’t know…’ comes his offhand reply, rounding the corner. ‘the usual stuff.’ 

‘like what?’ you press, gaze solely focused on him now. 

‘christ, what does it matter?’ art retorted with a weary sigh, 

‘BECAUSE!’ you yell with such ferocity, even startling yourself. 

the car screeches to a near halt, and you almost go flying through the windscreen. art’s chest is heaving and tears are brimming in your eyes as you try to swallow them down. 

‘fucking hell, i’m driving!’ he snaps back, shooting you a dangerous look. 

‘you asked.’ you grumble, burrowing down into his seat almost childishly. 

‘i didn’t think you were that upset about it. god, i don’t even know what ‘it’ is.’ he tutted.

you take a deep, regulating breath. ‘...what are we, art?’ 

he doesn’t answer that for a long time, focusing on pulling the car into the parking space outside his dingy apartment block. 

‘you’re my… we’re…’ he stuttered as he opened the door for you, searching your face for hints, a right answer but you’re giving nothing in return. 

‘go on.’ you prompt with a scathing glare. 

art continues to mumble, even as you climb the endless stairs to his apartment, but he never gives an honest answer and every stumble makes your heart crack a little more. 

‘we’re just… you know what we are, whatever you want it to be.’ is art’s final answer and disgust doesn’t even begin to encapsulate the range of emotions you were experiencing. 

as his key turned in the lock and the door swung open, the feminine touches you’d added that used to ground you, comfort you now felt mocking, illusions of what could be. 

‘i thought we were serious.’ you frown, eyeing up his indifferent, albeit a little fearful, expression. 

he scratches the back of his head awkwardly, ‘i mean.. yeah, i’m not seeing anyone else or anything.’ art’s tone is evasive, clearly treading on unfamiliar ground. 

‘good. i’d hope not.’ you snap, turning your back to him and instead staring into the “kitchen”, which was just a line of worn down built in cabinets in the corner. 

‘fuck’s sake…’ art mutters, there’s a long deep sigh before he speaks again, ‘i know how this goes, okay?’ 

you round on him, ‘know how what goes?’ comes your snapped retort, head tilting to the side dangerously. 

‘you’re getting all mad so you can fuck your anger out on me.’ he folded his arms over his chest, a hint of pride in his expression as he waited for you to agree. 

‘no.’ you say firmly, and he visibly deflates.

‘no?’ art repeats, entire face screwing up. 

‘not this time. i’m sick of being used like that, you don’t even want to a put a label on us!’ you whine, glaring at him. 

he huffed before leaning in, ‘but baby…’ comes the flirtatious whisper in your ear. 

your frown deepens, heart crushed by his indifference, his unwillingness to even try and make you feel better. even as his sinewy arms snaked around your waist and pulled you into his chest, you weren’t comforted, distracted by the prominent semi that was pressing into your ass. 

you recoil, pulling away faster than the speed of light. ‘are you serious?’ 

art’s cheeks flushed, ‘doll i- i can’t help it!’ 

‘jesus art! just… go sort yourself out.’ you lift your hands up in exasperation, shaking your head. 

his jaw sets, as he considers your response. a studio apartment isn’t exactly known for it’s privacy, with his unmade bed just a few feet away over the kitchen peninsula. there was always the bathroom, but there was something so painfully embarrassing and deeply tragic about jerking off behind the closed door with you left outside aimlessly. 

so, he opts for flirting. his tone drops low and although he doesn’t move closer once more, his salacious words curl in the air and bring the boiling tension down to a simmering heat. 

‘it’s much more fun with you there.’ came the sultry purr. 

something in the phrase made a shiver run down your spine but an idea spark in your head. eyes narrowing slightly, your tongue pokes out and slides over your lips. 

‘okay then.’ you agree, waiting to see if he was bluffing. 

art swallows, adam’s apple bobbing but he walks over to the creaking bed anyway. you follow, intrigue written all over your expression and sit in the chair you’d so graciously gifted him from a thrift store just weeks ago. 

you’re still not speaking, watching him silently as he undresses. however, as he lays down, flat on his back, his eyes are boring into yours, a test. 

‘go on.’ you coax, curling up in the soft plush of the armchair. 

‘fuck.’ art grunts, head hitting the thready comforter. 

swallowing, your voice turns seductive. ‘let it all out.’ 

‘don’t-’ he groans but his hand in his pants away, frantically pulling down boxers to reveal his thick cock. it’s already beading with pre-cum and twitching in the cool air, desperate. 

‘don't what?’ you taunt, ‘i thought this was what you wanted.’ 

your words are slow, slipping into his mind and making every neuron fire at once. art's long fingers are wrapping around the base of his cock, gripping the quivering member with ferocity. 

his breathing is already heavy, as he slowly starts to pump his length. art’s back arches, but he doesn’t pick up the pace immediately. 

‘just- keep… talking.’ he pants.

tilting your head, you start to weave your story. ‘so there was this one table that would not stop pestering me-’

art’s head whipped up with a glare, ‘not like that! yell or something!’ he whined, cock already drooping despondently. 

a slow knowing smirk spreads across your face, ‘what’s the magic word?’ 

he glowers, ‘fuck off.’ 

‘this was your idea wasn’t it?’ you remind tauntingly, voice patronising. 

‘... please.’ comes the begrudged word. 

your smirk shifts into a real smile for a split second, just before you clear your throat and try to find the rage that had overcome you mere minutes ago. 

‘i hate the fact that you skip out on all the closing tasks.’ you mutter. 

art’s brow furrows but his hand squeezes his cock regardless, perhaps he could work with this line of argument. 

‘and it drives me crazy how much you smoke outside with the other cooks, especially during a rush.’ you bulldoze, feeling yourself getting riled up. 

‘that’s not true-’ comes art’s meek protest. 

‘shut up!’ you screech and although his jaw drops, his eyes light up with desire. 

‘i hate it most when you gossip with them, and lie!’ you snap, feeling tears welling up unbidden.

‘that’s it…’ he whimpers, increasing the pace of fisting his cock and utterly blind to your genuine hurt. 

‘telling them we’re not serious, and it’s just hookups?’ you shout, sticking your neck out. 

art pauses briefly, realisation dawning on him. ‘shit…’

‘yeah fucking right, shit.’ you retort immediately, scowling at him. ‘i heard you, out there… laughing it off.’ 

although art’s still furiously pumping at his dick, each vein bulging with effort, he did have the decency to look regretful. 

‘baby- doll- it wasn’t like that.’ art pleaded, but it was only half hearted. 

‘then enlighten me.’ comes your sharp response, even the venom in your voice making yourself fearful. 

‘it’s just jokes!’ he protest, ‘with friends! god we don’t talk about the ins and outs of relationships- fuck-’ he groans as his thumb runs over his sensitive tip, that aching slit. ‘that’s weird… we don’t-’ 

‘don’t what?’ you press but he’s gone, lost in the throes of pleasure. 

you can see in the way art’s cheeks redden, his mind reliving endless memories of your fury, your pussy, the expression on your face when you orgasm. on any other day, you’d find it hot, romantic even but somehow the whole sight is only making you more infuriated. 

‘fuck… doll, i’m so close- just- please-’ comes his moans of pleasure, a desperate plea to help him over the edge as he strokes his cock hungrily. 

swallowing down tears, you response is clear. ‘we’re done.’ 

‘oh- oh-’ comes art’s garbled reply. 

he wasn’t actually focused on what you’d said, but the anger behind the words. his orgasm came in slow waves, sputtered ropes of cum spraying out of his abused tip, coating his stomach as his body jerks in overwhelm. eventually, his body falls flat, as does his now flaccid dick, dribbling the remainders of his seed into his belly button. 

you stand, staring down at him with utter disgust at his immature attitude. 

‘i mean it art, we’re done.’ you repeat. 

art shrugs, running a hand over his sweating face. ‘yeah… okay…’ 

you pout, indignant. ‘i’m serious! you don’t take anything seriously! you can’t even answer whether we’re in a relationship or not!’ 

he blinks, processing what you’ve said as his expression darkens. ‘what? of course i take things seriously!’ 

‘look at you.’ you frown, crossing your arms over your chest. 

art sits up, looking at the flaccid dick between his legs. ‘okay so this isn’t the best example right now but c’mon! you were enjoying it too.’ 

that wasn’t not true. regardless, you still couldn’t bear the sight of him and his handsome, rugged face anymore. 

‘i’m leaving.’ you say firmly, standing your ground. 

‘c’mon doll, say you’re kidding, yeah? this isn’t funny.’ he wheedles, tone so soft it almost melts your hardened heart. 

‘i’m not joking, art. come find me when you’ve grown up a little, okay?’ is your cutting remark as you slam the door behind you. 

‘you’ll be waiting for a while then!’ art calls through the door. ‘...fuck’s sake.’ 

it’s only then that you let your hands shake, let the sobs rack through your body in the dingy hallway of all places. art had always driven you to his apartment, you had no way of getting home and you certainly had no intention of marching back in there and demanding a lift. 

once your sobs had ebbed, tear stained cheeks and sniffling nose, you trapsed down the stairs and didn’t stop till you reached a bus stop. watching the world go by, the outskirts fading into the suburbs fading into the centre of the city, you only felt more and more sure in your decision. 

you didn’t need art anymore than he seemed to need you.

< prev | next >

taglist: @voidsuites @bluberrychampagne @nozhdyved @trailerparkangell @linesfromlondon @avasarchve @scariffs @pittsick @challengers4ev @patrickzweigsdefender @linaskywalker @notoriousteengirl @ravensreadingrecs @radioharrington @slfglow @coolgrl111 @vixslsz @mfmikefaisttt1 @meetmeatyourworst @coochiemama3000 @carpenfaist @rosetintmworld @thryn-the-destroyer @multi-fandom-bi-bitch (to be added)

[pedaltothepetal]

bluntos this bluntos that... starting a petition for bluntvadi !! who's with me??

[harringtonsdiary]

I’m not saying anything else about AI and the use of it on tumblr. But perhaps learn to engage with everything you read. Reblogging is so helpful for us. Comments. Asks. ENGAGEMENT lets us know that you like what you’re reading. Because right now it all feels futile after so much work.

Popular authors that I’ve seen get thousands of notes are now barely getting anything that feels like it’s worth it. It’s not entitlement either, you don’t see our side where people message us, excited about fics or ideas, but then there’s barely engagement.

Stop expecting authors to pull out 100k words in a week. There are fast writers— I am one— but there are amazing writers that have a different timeline. AND THAT’S OKAY TOO.

AGAIN. PLEASE JUST ENGAGE WITH EVERYTHING. The like button only does so much.

[pittsick]

SAM WILSON ﹏ LONELY IS THE MUSE.

summary ﹏ After a simple comment is misunderstood, Sam quietly admits that becoming Captain America never erased his deepest insecurity: wanting to be expected, not just admired. An honest conversation reminds him that healing isn't about becoming invulnerable, no, it's about trusting someone to stay even after accidental hurt.

cw ﹏ angst / hurt&comfort + romance (if you squint) fic!!! gn!reader. inspired by the song lonely is the muse from halsey and especially the lyrics: “I spent years becoming cool, and in one single second you can make a decade of my efforts disappear. I'm just waiting at the bar and you rip open all my scars, by saying something like, didn't know you were here.” bar settings. emotional drama / vulnerability. character study. established friendship. miscommunication + learning to communicate. impostor syndrome. reassurance. gentle intimacy (hand holding, hug).

reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!

The bar was crowded enough that nobody paid much attention to the man sitting alone in the corner but Sam preferred it that way. The music was loud, glasses clinked against polished wood, laughter spilled from the pool tables in the back of the room.

It was one of the few places left where people weren't staring, whispering, pointing. Here, the shield wasn't resting against his apartment wall or strapped across his back—it didn't exist at all. He was just another tired man finishing the last inch of whiskey in his glass after another week spent smiling through interviews, shaking strangers' hands, and pretending carrying the weight of Captain America came naturally.

The bartender passed by with another drink before nodding toward the entrance. “Looks like someone's looking for a seat.” Sam barely glanced over his shoulder after the words and then he froze.

You had just stepped inside, brushing the rain from your jacket as your eyes wandered across the room in search of someone else entirely. He watched your gaze skim over faces until it reached him, and the surprise that crossed your features was almost comical.

“Oh,” you said, offering a small smile as you walked closer. “Didn't know you were here.” It was nothing; a harmless sentence, one spoken without a second thought. But something inside Sam caved in so quickly it made his chest ache.

Years.

Years spent learning how to stand a little straighter, how to bury every insecurity beneath confidence, how to become someone people could rely on without ever wondering if he needed someone too. Years convincing himself that the uncertain veteran who came home after Riley died—the man who constantly questioned whether he was enough—had finally become someone stronger.

Captain America, a leader, the guy people believed in and somehow five simple words stripped all of it away.

Didn't know you were here.

Of course you hadn't, you hadn't come hoping to find him, you hadn't expected him and you hadn't even considered the possibility. He looked back down at his drink before you could notice the way his expression had shifted. “You mind?” you asked, gesturing toward the empty stool beside him. Sam shrugged. “Go ahead.”

You settled beside him, ordering yourself something without taking your eyes off him for very long. There was a familiarity in the silence that followed, but not the comfortable kind it used to be: once upon a time the two of you could sit together for hours without speaking because words had never been necessary but now, every pause felt like something fragile balancing between you.

“You've been here long?” you finally asked. “A while.” Sam only replied, shrugging at the question leaving your mouth.

“Long day?”

“They're all long.” You smiled faintly, then. “That sounds about right.” He answered with a hum that barely counted as conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could feel you studying him, trying to decide whether to push or let him retreat into himself. You'd always been good at reading him, sometimes better than he understood himself. It used to comfort him, but tonight it only made him feel exposed.

“I watched your interview yesterday,” you said after another minute. “You looked good.” Sam let out a quiet laugh that held no amusement. “Did I?” You nodded your head at his reply, eyes shifting from his drink and back to his face. “You did.” Sam hummed once more at the words leaving your mouth. 

“I smiled.”

“That's usually what people mean.”

“No.” He rolled the glass slowly between his palms. “People confuse smiling with being okay.” Your eyebrows pinched together and you hesitated before replying, not knowing what to say back just for the tiniest amount of seconds. “I… I wasn't trying to.”

 Sam hummed at that before voicing again. “I know.”

The conversation threatened to die again, but neither of you seemed willing to let it. “I've missed you,” you admitted quietly. His fingers stopped moving. The words should have warmed him but instead they only made his chest tighten. “You miss me,” he repeated, almost to himself and you nodded your head. “I do.”

“Which one?”

You blinked at the words, not fully understanding what he meant by that. “What?"”

“Captain America?” His voice remained calm, almost conversational. “The guy on television? The one giving speeches? The one carrying the shield?” Your eyebrows furrowed once more and you were quick to defend yourself.  “What? No?” And Sam was as quick as you when it came to keep talking.

“The hero?”

“No.”

“The guy who's always somewhere else?” You frowned, confused by the edge creeping into his voice. “I just miss you, Sam.” The words left your mouth and he looked at you then, really looked. For a second, silence took over the conversation, broken by the people around.

“You walked in here,” he said softly, “and your first reaction was surprise.” Your mouth opened, then closed again, unable to give an explanation to that because in the end, he was right. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.”

“I didn't expect—”

“Exactly.” His smile was small, tired, almost apologetic. “You didn't expect me.” Silence settled over the both of you, the kind that suddenly made the music feel too loud, one that made the shame boil inside your body and you couldn’t explain why.

“I think…” Sam swallowed hard before continuing. “I think I've spent so much time trying to become someone people admire that I forgot how badly I still want to simply be... expected.” You stared at him after those words.

He laughed under his breath, embarrassed by how honest he'd just been. “That's pathetic.” You immediately shook your head before speaking up. “No, it’s not.” But Sam didn’t want to believe the words leaving your mouth and he chuckled, even though it wasn’t with humor.  “It kind of is.” He said again before shaking his head. “You know what's funny? I really believed I'd outgrown this.”

“Outgrown what?”

“This feeling.” He gestured vaguely toward himself. “I thought after everything… after the shield, after the battles, after people started believing in me—I wouldn't be shaken by little things anymore.” His eyes drifted toward the amber liquid sitting untouched in his glass.

“I thought I'd finally become…” He searched for the word before finding it. “...cool.” You couldn't help smiling a little before asking for more detail, more information. “Cool?”

“Confident and untouchable or whatever. Something like that, I guess.” His shoulders lifted in a helpless shrug. “I spent years becoming that version of myself.” He finally met your eyes again. “And then you say, didn’t know you were here, and suddenly it feels like none of it mattered.” The words hung between you, heavier than either of you expected.

You reached toward him instinctively, hesitating only long enough to let him pull away if he wanted but he didn't. Your fingers rested lightly over his hand.

“Sam.”

“I know you didn't mean it.” He replied quietly, his free fingers tightening around the glass. “I didn't.” You said, as quietly as he did.

“I know.”

“But that's not what I was thinking.” You still added just for Sam to reply with, “What were you thinking?”

You smiled sadly. “I was thinking…” You looked down for a moment, collecting the right words. “How stupid I am for not realizing this was Friday.” He frowned at that, looking at you for a second like you had grown two heads suddenly and his voice became slightly louder.

“What?”

“You've been coming here on Fridays for years.” You squeezed his hand gently. “I should've known where to find you.” His expression faltered, then, like he had realized something. “I wasn't disappointed.” You added, to prove a point that was already done.

“I know.”

“I was surprised because I haven't seen you here in months.” Your eyes lowered when you said those words, just to lift up to Sam’s face again. “And for one second…” You laughed softly through the ache in your voice. “I got excited.” Sam stared at you for a second as you spoke once more. “I thought maybe we'd accidentally found each other.” Neither of you spoke after that.

The noise around the bar continued without caring about the quiet revelation unfolding in the corner booth; someone cheered over a game of darts, glasses clinked together, a burst of laughter erupted near the jukebox. Sam felt his throat tighten as he choked out some words. “I heard something completely different… I heard…” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “...that you wished I wasn't here.”

“Oh, Sam.” You moved from your stool before thinking about it, stepping close enough that your knees brushed his, heart skipping inside your chest and not in the good way you had felt in the past when around him. Carefully—giving him every chance to stop you—you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. For one stubborn heartbeat he remained perfectly still, then every wall he'd spent years building quietly collapsed.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, and he exhaled a breath he felt like he'd been holding for months.

“You scare me sometimes,” you whispered. He managed a tired laugh. “That's a first.” You hummed before shaking your head, trying to explain the sentence that had left your mouth. “Not because you're Captain America.”

“No?” You waited a few seconds before replying to that. The words blurted out without you thinking about them. “No, because you believe the cruelest version of every sentence.” He shut his eyes at that all while you continued rubbing slow circles across his back.

“You've never needed to become someone impressive for me.” Your voice was barely louder than the music around you. “You've always just been Sam. The man who checks whether everyone got home safely, the one who pretends cooking breakfast is harder than fighting aliens, the one who answers every problem with Marvin Gaye.” 

He laughed, and this time it sounded real. “I burn pancakes.” You chuckled quietly at his sentence, nodding your head because damn, he did. “You absolutely do.”

“I've gotten better with the years, I’ll tell you that.” He tried to defend himself, which made you chuckle once more. “You absolutely haven't.” Another laugh escaped him, softer now. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were damp, and judging by the shine in yours, neither of you had escaped the conversation untouched.

“I guess…” he murmured, “...healing isn't becoming impossible to hurt.” You smiled and he kept talking. “It's trusting that someone will stay after they've hurt you by accident.” You intertwined your fingers with his without hesitation. “And reminding you that one sentence doesn't erase ten years.” Sam looked down at your joined hands before giving them a gentle squeeze after finishing his words.

For the first time that evening, the ache inside his chest loosened, not because the scars had disappeared.

But because someone had finally reminded him they were never the only thing worth seeing.

taglist ﹏ @userhotd @sunlightkent @nekkiotine @222col @irysque @clementinestars @ravensreadingrecs @nomajdetective @prismozo @lvve-talks @kathh01 @jclolz22 @dumbbandpoetic @hisfavoriteweepingangel @i-cant-stfu @bluestrd @coochiemama3000 @eepwtf @peachyparkerr @jiminie-08 @stqrfirez @i-t0ld-ya @cxlt-lamb1 @kill3ill @dolcefloral @heldbycas @amourflores @chronic-fangirl-222 @nerdypinupcrystal @filthgf @antlerlove @aconstructofamind @flwer555 @voidsuites @qardasngan @aerangi @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @agustd202204 @archxve @rafs127 @cup1dssorrow @mimisitaugu @cloudsincalifornia @priyesstuff @beaufire @s4yuriii @lover-of-books-and-tea @puppyinlace @m4rk-ofcain ( to be added )

[pedaltothepetal]

nooo little bunny (baran) don't tell the big bad wolf (robby) about your medical history !!! he'll kill you !!!

[pedaltothepetal]

scolding javadi (twin) for posting tiktoks on the clock then IMMEDIATELY letting donnie go home 'early' ... robby you're never beating the misogny allegations

[pedaltothepetal]

trying to be more active on twitter !

[pittsick]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⠀ just thinking about dennis whitaker and how he can’t stop thinking about you while being at work. usually, he’s so composed; he’s fast on his feet and attentive to what’s happening around. but today? god, today is something else.

today, dennis has some hard times focusing on anything but the thought of you and the way you rode his cock the night before. a blush creeps onto his cheeks when he thinks of the handcuffs around his wrists, how you tugged on his hair just to bare his neck, how you sucked purple hickeys onto his skin that he (thankfully) was able to hide. dennis can’t stop thinking about the whines and moans that left his mouth when you clenched around his cock, how your ass slapped onto his thighs as you bounced on him.

being submissive isn’t hard for him, and especially when it comes to you; you have something special that makes dennis just want to obey you and be good. and that gets even stronger when you whisper praise to him. “such a good boy, aren’t you?”, “you like when i squeeze your cock inside me?” or even, “fuck, i love using you to fuck myself. you’re sooo good to me.” dennis always loses his mind when you say things like that. he loves that you make yourself feel good onto him.

he loves feelings his shaft pulsate and throbs inside your warmth, hearing your moans as you clench and come onto him. feeling his load shoot inside you, filling you up without doing anything; it feels so good. feeling your hand tugging on his hair, sucking marks onto his skin, overstimulating yourself as you keep bouncing until you’re gasping for air. squelching noises echoing in the room, followed by moans and groans from the both of you.

dennis just love when you use him, no matter when or where—he is happy to be your little fucktoy.

[rosetintmworld]

Cico buff

warnings: dr. robby, ANGST (tons of it actually), hurt/comfort (not caused by jack nor reader), implied age gap, mention of suicide, mention of death, anxiety attack, overdose, medical inaccurances (I tried my best). pairing: jack abbot x indigo!reader word count: 10.1k a/n: based on this idea. hi everyone! this is my first jack abbot fic, hope you guys will like it!! I'm not gonna lie..i cried a bit while writing this, indigo reader has a special place in my heart, also I thought that it wouldn't take me so long to write but the medical part, combinded with uni exams, really kicked my ass. while reading this i reccomend listening to these songs cico buff - cocteau twins, should have known better - sufjan stevens, all of me wants all of you - sufjan stevens, teardrop - massive attack, chihiro - billie eilish, when i close my eyes - tom odell and john wayne - cigarettes after sex. remember that english is not my first language so sorry in advance for any possible mistakes that you may encounter. likes, comments and reblogs are very much appriciated. 🤍🩵 DO NOT COPY, REWRITE OR TRANSLATE MY WORK. MDNI.

٠࣪⭑ masterlist | latest work ٠࣪⭑

"Hey doc." Your attending approached you, fingers tapping on the counter slightly above you. Doc, he only used this nickname when he needed a favor, the other times he called you simply by your surname or he added the title doctor right before it. You weren’t complaining though. You didn’t want him to give you a permanent nickname like the one he’d picked up for himself; it would have made you uncomfortable and at the same time it would have pointed out even more his lack of professionalism at the workplace.

“Since things here seem to have calmed down a bit I need you to be for a little while in triage, yeah?”

Your gaze didn’t leave the screen, you kept charting. “Do I have a choice Dr. Robinavitch?” The tone was flat.

“Actually no.” He exhaled. “Make sure to say that to Dr. Mohan too okay? I can’t find her anywhere and -”

You finished his sentence before he could continue. “Yeah I’ll tell Kwon or Ogilvie to join us too, since this is a teaching hospital.”

“Perfect, you learn rapidly. See you later. Heads up Doc,” and with that he left.

You finished your chart before leaving the nurse station in search of Dr. Mohan that was nowhere to be found so, you stopped the only person who knew everyone’s business. “Princess, hi, have you seen Dr. Mohan by chance?”

“Oh you heard the rumor too? You know, I didn’t think of you as the noisy type of girl.” She gave you a playful smile and a wink. “Apparently they have been in that room for nearly an hour now.”

Your face clearly showed signs of confusion and irritation but she didn’t seem to notice at all. “What are you talking about exactly?” You tried to hide your frustration, you were wasting too much time and in a ER you couldn’t afford to.

“Well, Dr. Abbot and Dr. Mohan. I thought you knew,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I didn’t and respectfully, I don’t care. I asked you about her cause Robby needs us in triage but I couldn’t find her.” Those words slipped out before you could even think.

Princess noticed the shift in your tone from a seemingly calm one to an harsher one. She pointed out the room in which the two of them were. “Right there Doc, see you later.” You gave her a half of a smile before heading to it.

Fucking Robby.

As soon as you stepped in you saw them. Abbot was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless while Mohan was behind him, carefully taking care of what it seemed to be a wound. The two of them were too immersed in the moment and in the conversation they had to notice you. A sudden and sickening hollowness found its way into your stomach, accompanied by an unexpected strangling sensation. You couldn’t believe how much people loved wasting time as if they weren’t working in a damn hospital and patients struggling between life and death didn’t come in at any moment. You swallowed and shoved those unpleasant sensations away. You needed to get a grip, there were lives to be saved. So, you knocked at the glass door.  

“I’m not sorry to interrupt whatever is going on,” you said firmly.

They startled. Samira immediately got his hands off Jack’s shoulders, as if you had caught her red-handed.

You continued. “Dr. Mohan, Dr. Robinavitch need us in triage together with a med student. It doesn’t matter if it is Kwon or Ogilvie.”

She nodded and then placed once again her hand over Abbot’s shoulder.

“Now.” You emphasized.

“Okay, yeah. Are you sure that you can take care of this? Earlier you seemed to be struggling.” She asked him.

“Jesus I’m not geriatric yet, I think that I can still take care of a silly wound like that.”

She chuckled and you were about to too but you bit your lips, instantly.

“Okay well, let’s go then. I’ll search for Known.” Dr. Mohan informed you while approaching the exit. You followed her but as you reached the door jamb and as your colleague already headed toward triage, you turned your head in Jack’s direction. “Oh and Dr. Abbot, please put a shirt on after you finish. Patients need you.” The words that left your mouth were intended to be more stinging than they actually sounded.

A subtle smile appeared onto his face. “Yes ma’am.”

This time you were able to let out a chuckle, comforted by the fact that nobody was around. Then you went to join your colleagues in Triage.

“And all done Mrs. Fernandez.” You smiled at the patient while removing your gloves. “For the next few days you need to rest and if anything happens please, don’t hesitate to come here and ask of me.”

“I will do doctor, thank you for everything.”

“I’m just doing my job. Now carefully grab your belongings and try to get up slowly.” You instructed her, making sure that she wouldn’t hurt herself in the process. As she stood up you were ready to escort her to exit, where one of her relatives was waiting for her, but your attention got caught by Donnie calling your name.

“Yo, we need you back there.”

You nodded. “Sure. I will accompany Mrs. Fernandez outside and then I’ll be there.”

“No, I’ll do it.” He uttered with an oddly firm tone. You frowned, this was your patient not his, but before you could reply anything he began to speak. “There’s an emergency. Go, please. I’ll take care of the patient.”

“Okay, thank you.” That was all you could say before offering a smile to the old lady and rushing to the hub. The first sound that you heard once you passed the door was that of Robby’s voice.

“All right, everybody, circle up.”

Your body moved without hesitation, finding its way towards the most familiar face of the pitt.

“What happened?” You asked the night shift attending, who was standing by your side.

“System was preemptively shut down to avoid a cyberattack” Abbot casually explained.

A loud sigh escaped your mouth. “Great.”

He chuckled. “You know you’re allowed curse right? I promise you that it won’t jeopardize your career.” You rolled your eyes.

His eyes scanned you from head to toe, noticing how chest rise and fall rapidly, still not having recovered from the small run. His gaze then returned to your face and his brow arched. “Where were you?”

“Got stuck with a patience in triage. Old lady, swollen ankle, nothing too serious but she was worried. I just wanted to make sure she was doing fine of before her nephew arrived to come pick her up.”

Jack leaned over you, until his bristly chin brushed your shoulder and whispered, “You’re too good for triage, you know that?” as if he didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. You stared at the wall in front of you, unable to say anything, too focused on his close proximity, and all of the implications involved. Had somebody noticed you? If the answer was yes, would you become the protagonist of a new bet? Or worse, would they start a rumor about the two of you that would send you directly to the HR office? But most importantly, why that small and almost imperceptible contact had brought with it a sense of warmth that you hadn’t felt in a while.

In the end, Jack resumed the distance between you two. You decided to ignore the comment, filling the silence with a “You have to tell that to Dr. Robinavitch, not me,” while meeting Jack’s eyes. But deep down you appreciated both the small compliment and the way his tone shifted when pronouncing those words, and even though your colleagues knew nothing about your life nor your personality, he seemed to comprehend you somehow. That was the part that made you uncomfortable. He saw you when you didn’t want to be seen.

He winked at you, still maintaining the eye contact. “Will do, don’t worry about that.”

After that brief exchange the three attendings instructed the staff how to work without the benefits of technology.

Jack Abbot was a man of his word. As soon as all of the instructions were given, he talked to Robby and suddenly you were no longer needed in triage.

Now that all of your patients were set up, you had a moment to dedicate to charting. But right after you logged into the computer you heard the paramedics shout an “Incoming.”

You turned your head, only to see a woman in her fifties tied to the gurney, convulsing and desperately trying to free herself from the stretcher straps that held her with such a brutal force reminiscent of a lioness trying to escape her enclosure. Without any further do, you headed to the patient, followed by Dr. McKay.

“What do we have here? ” you said in unison.

“Anne Davis. Fifty three. Overdose. Her neighbor, Halimah, found her in a deep state of confusion and also mentioned that she was hallucinating once she arrived." The paramedic explained while the lady nodded. In the meantime, you noticed that the neighbor, standing on the left side of the gurney, was holding an empty yellow plastic container. You moved towards her.

“After we got her out of the ambulance she started convulsing.” The other paramedic added.

“And she overdosed on?” McKay asked.

Halimah, visibly exhausted and shaken by the situation, handed you the container.

Once you read the label your heart skipped a beat and for a moment every sound felt distant and muffled, until you swallowed all of your sensations away and uttered, “Antidepressant. To be more specific SSRI fluoxetine, Prozac. The typical dosage is between 20 and 80 mg per day. She obviously must have been taken more than that but there has been record of someone taking 8 grams of it and still being able to recover. In comparison to other types of antidepressants they are one of the least toxic in overdose. Nevertheless, we need to act now and expel all of the medication out of her body. Get her into trauma.”

Dr. McKay gave you a satisfied look accompanied by an equally satisfied smirk, and then she clapped her hands to catch the attention of the paramedics.

“All right, you heard the doctor, get her into trauma now.” She said before the four of you rushed into trauma, leaving the neighbor outside with a nurse.  

With all of your attention focused on the patient, you didn’t noticed that there was also someone else who was watching you amidst – and despite – the chaos of the ER. Jack Abbot was about to dismiss a patient and place the paper chart on the desk when he saw the paramedics reporting both McKay and you the state in which they found the woman tied to the gurney. Right after that he heard your voice, serious and professional, delivering those information in such a firm, rapid and precise way that was uncommon for a R1, and to be frank it was a quality that was rare to be found even among the most experienced residents nowadays and yet, you never failed to surprise him. Even if you had worked together for a couple of months, you had proven to the night shift attending your expertise and willingness to learn and to improve your skills. That was apparently enough to gain Jack’s trust and admiration that occasionally became known to you during those rare moments where the two of you were alone and you could discreetly accept his compliments. But his trust and admiration could be also silently seen through the way he looked at you, if only you had the courage to let yourself losing in his hazel eyes. Today it was no exception, he was watching you with the same pride and affection that his face wore countless time, before you disappeared into trauma with a more stabilized patient that didn’t require an attending supervision, and he finally put the chart on the desk.  

By the time you entered the room, the woman had stopped convulsing and before the paramedics, together with the help of McKay and Jesse could transfer the patient to the hospital trauma bed, you quickly did an airway check.

“She’s breathing, let’s move her to the bed.” You instructed.

Once the patient was settled, Cassie and you put on a new pair of gloves before she called you and said.

“Listen. I know that we didn’t quite have the chance to work together in a while, but at the same time I also know that you handled different cases of overdose in the past few weeks and from what I’ve seen so far you seem perfectly capable of taking the lead. The convulsion has stopped now so…”

The way that McKay phrased everything was odd. Too formal and unnatural for a woman like her, always sarcastic and loose. But unfortunately you did have this effect on people. You kept yourself at distance, disturbed by the fact that eventually someone could get even a slightly glimpse of your personal history and get blinded by it, instead of focusing on your skills. It was a deliberate choice, that’s true, but it still hurt when you noticed how differently your colleagues acted when interacting with you, especially those of the day shift. All of them acted as if they were a family, and while you agreed with that statement, you couldn’t help it but to think that you weren’t part of it. You felt like the moody neighbor that had just moved across the street, the one who said hi only when forced by the circumstances. But it was okay, you were there to work, to save lives, not for socializing or worse, for finding the love of your life.

You nodded and moved towards the hospital bed. “It would be a pleasure Dr. McKay, thank you. ”

“Good.” She exhaled. “Now illustrate me the next steps.”

“First we need to asses her vital signs, then her LOC, before performing a -” your explanation was interrupted by the patient, who now started convulsing again, even more violently than the first time.

Your body reacted without thinking. “We need to move her to her side now, come help me.”

Jesse, McKay and Perla came in your help and helped you moving the convulsing patient onto her left side, meanwhile some painful, yet necessary, words escaped your mouth, Facing Cassie, who was at your left. “Even though I would be perfectly able to handle this case, I’m an R1 Dr. McKay, and this is not a low-risk overdose scenario anymore. Protocol is protocol.” You then turned your head to your right, towards Perla. “Go search for Dr. Abbot.. or Robby or Al-Hashimi, an attending.” Perla looked over McKay who gave her a nod.

You were being selfish. You wanted Jack to be there because he would have let you handled the case anyways, in contrast to Robby, who somehow always seemed to underestimate your skills and knowledge.

“We need to sedate her, as soon as possible, we were lucky with the first seizure but this one could possibly be deadly.” You said while maintaining your gaze to the woman, in order to avoid McKay.

A few seconds later Perla entered into the room and said. “Dr. Abbot and Robby are in trauma 2. Dr. Al-Hashimi is nowhere to be found.”

A smirk appeared onto Cassie’s face. “I’m the boss now, so that means that you are going to handle the case. I trust you and I’ll be observing you.” You gave her an appreciative smile.

“Okay. Jesse fill a syringe with 2 mg of lorazepam diluted in an equal part of normal saline and give it to me.”

In no time the nurse handed you the syringe and you injected the medication into her right arm, the one who wasn’t getting flattened by her body-weight. In less than two minutes, the patient had stopped convulsing, and you were able to move her onto her back. Your colleagues helped you asses her vitals, and everything seemed fine since she was able to breath normally and eventually started regain consciousness.

You looked at face and at her fragile state and began to talk to her. “Hi Anne, you did something dangerous but we are here to save you. Now I have to insert a tube in your nose, it will be a bit annoying but it won’t cause you any pain, is this okay?”

The only thing that she could do was to nod.

With the approval of your senior resident you changed your gloves for the third time, to avoid potential infections, and then once Jesse and Perla passed you the supplies and placed a linen-saver pad onto the woman’s chest, you began the procedure. Gastric suction.  

You first checked which nostril was the more patent for tube insertion which turned out to be the left one then, you measured the length of the nasogastric tube and once you reached the end of the xiphoid process Perla handed you a piece of tape to note the length. After that, you generously lubricated the insertion end of the tube with lignocaine and gently began to insert the Nasogastric tube into  her left nostril and started rotating it when you were met with a slight resistance, once you reached the nasopharynx. Afterwards you continued gently pushing the tube down to the esophagus until the predetermined mark was reached, only to fix it to the bridge of her nose with an adhesive plaster. During the whole procedure the patient surprisingly remained quiet, but conscious.

In the meantime, Jesse had placed the other supplies on the Mayo table near you while McKay gave approval for your actions and attentively observed you.

You removed the syringe form the insulation bottle and inserted the it into the end of the tube, only to instill small air bolus and auscultate the patient’s stomach with your stethoscope. Once you heard the stomach gurgling, you checked the gastric residual and let the gastric content drain onto the container placed on the table. After all of the return had stopped from the tube, you began irrigating with sixty cc of saline and let the liquid drain into the belly. Then you moved the syringe towards the container and let all of the content drain back into it. You repeated this procedure several times, until the gastric contents run clear back out of the tube and removed the syringe from it, not before filling the stomach with some air.

“Okay Anne, can you take a deep breath for me now?” you asked gently.

“Yes” she said with a weary voice and you proceeded to remove the nasogastric tube while Perla disposed the linen-saver pad away.

Eventually the woman was transported into another room and immediately feel asleep.

You had saved her.

Before exiting trauma McKay gave you a pat on your shoulder and uttered. “Good job Doc. Now go check your other patients.” Those were the only words that seemed the most authentic and real. Not in terms of content but in form. Smoother than your previous interactions, more Cassie like.

You thanked her and then exited the room.

Outside trauma you were surprised to notice not only that the neighbour of Anne, Halimah, had left but also that Dana came back after finishing assisting the SA victim. She waved at you from her desk.

“Hey Doc welcome back” She greeted you while chewing a gum. You smiled politely.

Suddenly a young boy entered the bay and rushed towards the charge nurse. He put his hands on the desk and tried to catch a breath.

You moved towards him, afraid that he might be sick and needed assistance, and in fact he needed assistance, just not the medical one.

“I’m Jayce Moore.” He painted, worn out by the run he had to make to be there. “I’m umh the son of Anne Davis. My neighbour, Halimah told me that an emergency happened and she had to call an ambulance.” Slowly his breath returned normal and the painting was replaced by a tone of desperation mixed with a glimpse of hope. “Where is she? Please, tell me that nothing bad has happened to her.”

Dana was about to speak when you stepped in. “Hi Jayce, I’m the doctor who treated your mom.” You said as calmly and as sweetly as possible, in order to instill in his body some sort of calm.

He tiled his head to you and locked his glistening eyes with yours. “Is she alive?” he asked you with a trembling voice.

 “Yes. She’s asleep now. Why don’t we continue this conversation elsewhere? Somewhere quieter perhaps.”

The boy nodded and moved away from the desk. Your first instinct was that of placing a hand onto his shoulders, a simple sign that wanted to communicate to him that he wasn’t alone, even though you could only a little to ease his pain. Eventually he melted into the touch that in such a difficult and stressing moment was very much appreciated.

While heading towards the family room you turned your head towards Dana and told her, “Once Kiara is available can you send her to me?”

“Sure thing Kid.” She responded while looking at some documents.

The family room was small and cold, not in terms of temperature but in terms of atmosphere. The walls were white and there were two grey sofas placed in the middle of it, facing each other, and a small wooden coffee table. That’s it.

Jayce and you seated on the same sofa, with you deciding to keep a distance that was both appropriate for a doctor and a family member’s patient, but that at the same time communicated that you were there for him, to help him.

“So what happened to my mom?” he asked you while rubbing his hands on his thighs.

“Your mom had an overdose. Prozac. Your neighbor Halimah found her in your living room in a deep state of confusion and was also hallucinating. She called the ambulance and once she arrived here, she was convulsing. The first convulsion stopped after a minute but then she was hit with another one and we had to sedate her. Fortunately she was conscious and we were able to perform a gastric suction, without intubating her.” You explained.

He remained silent for a moment and then he dragged his hands across his face and he doubled over in tears.

“It’s my fault.” The sound of his voice was muffled by her hands.

The sight of him made your heart shrink.

While patting the space between his shoulder blades you whispered , “No it’s not Jayce.”

His hands were now holding his head. His gaze locked to the ground beneath him.

“Yes.” He sobbed. “It is. My mom is dealing with depression and instead of staying at home with her I went to a stupid fourth of July barbecue with my friends. I’ve already lost my dad a few years ago and I can’t afford to loose her too. I should’ve stayed at home…”

Chills went down to your spine. You swallowed.

“How old are you Jayce?”

“Nineteen.” He responded.

“Well it is perfectly normal for a boy of your age to have some fun. No matter how hard your situation at home is. I mean it, it was not your fault. She is safe now. That’s what matters.” You hoped that your words were comforting enough but unfortunately, that was not the case.

The boy’s sadness and tears turned into anger and guilt which weren’t directed at you, but at himself.

“No, Damn! It is it.” His fingers gripped his hair tightly. “That’s what I get for hanging out with my friends instead of looking out for her. She overdosed because of me man. Because she thought I didn’t love her or care about her.”

You removed your hand from his back, giving him space to grieve, to be angry, to feel those sensations and feelings that you knew too well, before you began speaking.

“You know…” You exhaled and continued looking at him.  “When people unalive themselves or attempt, they don’t do it to punish you. Their brain chemistry is altered in a way that distorts their perception of life. It’s not necessarily that they don’t notice how people around them care for them, but it’s more of that they can’t do it anymore.” You paused. His gaze was still focused to the ground.

You continued. “They don’t think it’s worth living life anymore. Most of the time they do it because they don’t want to be a burden to their family. In psychological terms it’s called perceived burdensomeness.”

He tilted his head to look at you. You half smiled.

“What I want you to understand is that it’s not your fault.”

His eyes started glistening again.

“You’re just nineteen Jayce. While it’s a good thing to want to care of your mom, you have the right to have fun. Your life has just begun.”

He nodded. “I know but it’s hard.” His voice broke.

“I know, but you don’t have to do everything alone. There are some grassroots organizations like NAMI which help you navigate this situation. By offering counseling and lessons meant to teach how to interact and handle people who suffer from mental illness.”

He hummed.

“Once Kiara will be here, she’s a social worker you know, she will explain to you in detail everything.”

As if to speak of the devil, Kiara knocked and entered the door.

“There she is.” You said.

Kiara sat on the sofa besides the boy and started introducing herself while you got up from it and headed towards the door and opened it. Before you could exit it though, you called him and softly said, “If you need, me go to the nurse desk and ask of me. Okay?”

His eyes met yours once again and nodded. “Will do that Doc. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” You replied before uttering.

“It is not your fault.”

Only that this time, you were saying that mostly to yourself, not to him.

Eventually he gave you a weak smile. You waved at both of them and exited the room.

To your surprise, technology was finally back in the pitt, and before you could think and replay the events that both occurred in trauma and in the small room, you took a deep breath and focused on work.

Busy with handover and charting you hadn’t noticed that it was late. Your shift nearly ended one hour and an half ago, so you decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time for a little break before clocking out. Break that Dr. Al-Hashimi was more than willing to give you, since the waters seemed to have calmed down a bit in the ER.

You headed to the bathroom near the elevator. The nearest and the quietest you could find, since only the staff could have access to it. The exact moment you stepped in, all of the noise from the ER became muffled and obviously distant. You let out a sigh, finally a moment of peace.

Everything seemed normal. You did whatever you needed to do and then you went over the sink to wash your hands, where a mirror hung over. You placed your hands to the sides of the sink and started looking at your reflection for what it seemed an eternity. You noticed your messy hair, your worn out eyes. Nothing new, it happened at the end of every shift. Not a single thought crossed your mind. It was oddly empty like a ghost town .

The water continued running from the faucet, making you realize that you starred at the mirror for too long. You turned it off immediately. Then, you lightly smiled at your own blank reflection and burst into tears.

Your mind was racing now, replaying once again the events of today. Anne convulsing onto the stretcher and then onto the hospital bed, the exhausted expression that Halimah wore, the half-empty yellow plastic container, the guilt of Jayce, the cracked and desperate tone of his voice, him putting is hands in his hair, in a sign of desperation, and the big breath that you took once you exited the room. It was all too much. To much too bear, too handle, to remember. Because all of this was deeply connected to the reason why you had left Maine, and your beautiful home near the ocean in the first place.

Tears run over your face in the same way the water was running from the faucet a few moments before. Scalding and gushing, wetting the collar of your scrub and the shirt underneath.

 You were a sobbing mess, finding it difficult to breath normally.

There was only one thing that helped you set yourself free from the intricate bramble of your thoughts. You were still in the ER, at work. This sort of thing couldn’t be possibly happen in here, where your colleagues could enter at any moment and see you.

Slowly you began to breathe with your diaphragm and started focusing on the little things around you. The muffled noise, the greenish tiles, the soft fragrance of the soap and the shocking sensation of cold water on your wrists. You repeated this little game several times, until your breath returned to a normal pace and your eyes stopped producing tears.

You splashed fresh water to your face, grabbed some paper towels to dry it, tossed them in the bin and then turned off the faucet one last time.

As if nothing had happened, you went outside, and the noise, went from being muffled to vivid.

The first person you met was Robby. Your back was facing the bathroom door. He on the other hand, was standing right in front you. Arms crossed and an expression you couldn’t quite decode. Was he annoyed? Angry? Or simply exhausted? In that position you could see all his wrinkles branch off his face and his thin chapped lips trapped by his unkept beard. He looked like a rag, even worse than you.

“Where were you?” He said with an altered tone which displayed all his annoyance.

You didn’t know whether he was tired, hallucinating, or if your level of tolerance was starting to lower to zero, as your shift was coming to its end.

“In the bathroom.” Your index finger accompanied the words that escaped your mouth, pointing out the sign RESTROOM right behind you. Your eyebrows frowned. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, a nurse needed to use the bathroom, forcing you to walk away from it and changing spot, to continue your conversation. You both went towards a slightly less busy area. Robby’s back now faced the elevator. Yours instead, was facing the corridor that lead towards central, and utility cart filled with different medical supplies was standing at your left.

“Has an emergency happened?” You resumed the conversation.

“Jesus. This is an ER, what do you think?” He let out a breathless laugh while running a hand into his hair.

You decided to not give in, keeping your composure. You found his manners rather childish and snappy. Definitely not appropriate neither for a man of his age, nor for an attending. But maybe, he just had a rough shift, like the rest of you, and definitely the fact that he was about to leave for three months didn’t help him at all.

You smiled politely, before saying. “What do you need me for, Dr. Robinavitch?”

“You know what? This is not even the point!” He shouted, causing some of the staff to look in your direction, before lowering his voice and continue. “Your shift isn’t over yet; you can’t simply disappear.” He adverted your gaze and shook his head.

“I didn’t disappear. I asked Dr. Al-Hashimi if I could take a break since my shift finished nearly two hours ago and my patients are all set up” You simply explained.

“You asked her uh?”

“Yes. She’s an attending. I don’t see what’s the problem actually.” Your tone was forcedly calm, but your body told a different story. It was tense, with your arms resting at your sides and fists clenched.

“The problem is that I’m your attending. Not her.” He emphasized his words by indicating himself. “She knows nothing about this place. Hell!” He interlaced both of his hands behind his head. “She keeps disappearing too. And you can’t hide yourself in the bathroom for fucking twenty minutes while the ER is a fucking shit show.” And then, abruptly released them.

His face was getting redder each time he uttered a word. Something had definitely happened to him today, but whatever it was he didn’t have the right to let it out on you.

He was getting on your nerves now. If only he knew why you did take a break. It was better to die and let him scream at you instead of speaking. Instead of confessing him why it took you so long in there, because you knew that eventually, he would have used it all against you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were trying immensely to keep your cool and find the right words to diffuse the situation. He, on the other hand, was studying you with a predator’s unwavering attention. His gaze focused first on your scrub top, still a bit damp from the tears and then, on your eyes, puffy and slightly irritated.

Instantly you crossed your arms and your expression hardened. A defense mechanism, to shield yourself from his actions.

He laughed. “You’ve been crying too?”

He hit the jackpot with that one. In in response, you bit your cheek, not wanting to give in to his provocations. It simply wasn’t worth your energy.

There wasn’t a single trace of amusement in his laugh, more like irritation and awareness. “I can’t fucking believe that this ER has turned into a fucking kindergarten full of whiny babies. What have you been crying on uh? You got mommy issues like Dr. Mohan too?” He snickered.

If until that moment you had decided to be the bigger person, now it was over. He crossed a line, a very important one, and you couldn’t simply stand there, doing nothing and withstanding his words. It simply wasn’t your style. Not when someone, it didn’t matter whether he was your boss or your patient, was displaying the reason of your meltdown, was making you vulnerable in front of everyone. Making you a person, not a doctor.

In a heartbeat you slammed your left hand onto the utility cart, with such a brutal force that not only made some of the supplies tip over it, but also caught the attention of those around you. Then, with your hand still vibrating from the brutal slam you pointed your index finger at him and bawled.

 “Fuck you!”

For a second the ER remained silent, until you turned around with such an intimidating look that made all of your colleagues resume their work.

Robby couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. There were rumors about you, concerning your personality and temper. People called you cold, distant and aggressive. And while he certainly he agreed with the first two adjectives, he was having an hard time picturing you for the aggressive type, at least until now.

At this new sight of you he flinched, before biting back. “There she is. The others told me you were aggressive jeez.” He paused for a second and touched his beard while nodding. “You see, I know exactly why you left the hospital in Maine now. For your behavior.”

“You know nothing about me and nor do the others. Nothing about my behavior or my problems. So cut it.” You hissed.

He wasn’t intimidated by words. “Well I know a thing or two since you were crying in the bathroom.”

You thought that it was over, that him mentioning you mental breakdown, meant that you reached the peak of your argument. But it wasn’t like that. He didn’t give in, and with a patronizing tone he snarled. “I’ll give you a piece of advice. Keep your problems out of the fucking ER. When you clock in here your life is GONE, you need to think about your patients not about your pathetic issues.”

You didn’t back down. Your resentment for him grew even more.

“Respectfully Dr. Robinavitch, you’re the last person from who I would take personal advice from.”

“Watch it kid” He warned you by pointing his finger at you.

You couldn’t care less about his warnings.

“Or what? You gonna sign me up? Fire me? Move me back to the night shift? Seems fine to me. Really.” You mockingly reassured him.

He was the one who provoked you in the first place, openly humiliating you, hinting at your weak spots in front of everyone.

“But let’s go back to what I was saying. Why would I take a piece of advice from a man who can’t separate his work life from his personal one? Come one I mean..” You paused and sneered. “You  you flirt with Noelle and everybody see that. Oh and don’t even get me started on your sabbatical. It’s been days since you’ve been talking about it and making it a everyone’s problem. You’re supposed to be happy to have the chance to rest and instead you’re nervous, irritable and moody.” You spat those words like a snake envenomating its prey.

Part of you wanted to go further. Telling him how much of a cunt he was, treating others, especially female workers like shit. But maybe it was enough because what you uttered afterwards was far worse.

“So maybe, just maybe you should be the one taking advice from me, since I haven’t caused a single problem since I’ve started working here. Here’s the piece of advice Dr. Robinavitch. Why don’t you take your fucking motorbike and go fucking…”

“Hey what’s happening here?” A third, raspy voice that came from the back, asked.

…kill yourself.

Those words died in your mouth the exact moment Jack interrupted you.

He now was standing at your right, between you and Robby, with his arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. His eyes were darting back and forth between the both of you, waiting for a valid explanation.

“Nothing Dr. Abbot.” You said in a rush, eyes locked to the ground while a wave of shame, that forced your voice to lower, rushed over you. “I was asking Dr. Robinavitch if I could take a break and he agreed. Isn’t that right?” You glanced at the day shift attending, silently asking him to forge a brief alliance to which he agreed.

“Yes.” He answered in such a fragile way that didn’t go unnoticed to you.

Your eyes scanned him. He wrapped his right arm tightly around his left hip, while he was torturing the cuticle of his left thumb, to divert his attention somewhere else because a sudden glassy, reflective sheen coated his pupils. He was about to cry.

The realization left you shocked. A part of you wanted to sink deeper into the guilt that was finding space in the back of your throat, the other part though, was proud to have made him that miserable. He didn’t have the right to publicly expose and humiliate you like that.

That corridor became rapidly an uncomfortable place to be in, you felt trapped. You needed to go away.

An half smile appeared on your face. “Now, If you excuse me.” You said, before reaching the elevator unbothered to wait for the two men’s reactions or to notice their surprised expressions.

The exact moment the doors closed, you began furiously pressing the top floor button, convinced that if you pressed it repeatedly, the elevator would have taken you to the rooftop faster. The ride on the elevator was unbearable, one of the longest of your life. His cruel words poisoned your mind, and consequently, your whole body started trembling out of rage. Angry tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You tried to stop them by violently biting your lips and cheeks that in just a few seconds were already marked by your blood.

Once the elevator opened you hastened towards the rooftop door, opened it and took a step out. There, you were met with a warm and humid wind. You first checked if someone was there, you knew that sometimes your coworkers liked to come here, but fortunately, there was no one. Your only company were the stars that decorated the dark sky, the buildings around you and a few noises coming form the street.

Comforted by this loneliness, you furiously slammed the door and let out a violent “Fuck!”. Then, you moved a few steps to the right while running both of your hands across your face, before collapsing to the floor with the wall supporting your back. Your brought you knees to your chest, without removing the hands from your face. Pitch black and hospital soap that’s what you saw and smelled in those moments where you remained in that position, thinking that all of your rage will disappear alone, but it didn’t. You needed to released it.

Quickly your hands found the lower part of your scrub top, rolled it into something that resembled the form of a ball, and proceed to shove it into your mouth. With your mouth stuffed and your eyes squeezed shut, you began to scream. A piercing, muffled, garbled sound of pure frustration and anger that filled your body with heath. You screamed with all of your force, until your gums and teeth started hurting, until drool pooled over the part of the scrub that you couldn’t hold in your mouth, until your knuckles turned white and pleaded you to let go of that piece of fabric.

Eventually you released all of the rage that poisoned your body. You won.

After that, your arms rested open to your sides, palms looking at the sky, mirroring your face. You counted the few starts that shone despite the light pollution, melting in the night stillness that you despised so much, but that now, was more than necessary.

But that sensation of relief didn’t last very long. Your brain replayed the conversation that you had with Robby and guilt washed over you. For a moment you starred at the skyscrapers in front of you, hoping to find some distraction, but you could feel remorse and shame in every bone of your body. Emotions that were slowly consuming you because ultimately, you almost said to your attending, a human being who was definitely struggling, to end his life.

You felt sick. You couldn’t feel a drop of pity for yourself. What you almost did was wicked and unforgivable. Especially because everything, starting from Anne and Jayce and finishing with that, led back to the reason why you left your home.

Instantly your hands reached the pockets of your scrub pants, pulling out three objects. Your phone, your headphones and your most beloved and important possession, a silver heart-shaped locket necklace. You left the first two on the floor, while opening the locket on your lap. You traced its rim with your fingers and exhaled, looking first at the small piece of paper that said “We love you, M. & D.”; and then, at the photo within. A younger, happier version of you at the centre, hugged by the light of your life, your parents, that now were dead and gone. You eyes lingered on the smiling face of your mother, and there, you broke.

You brought the open locket to your lips like you were reciting the rosary, and then, you whispered with a strained voice. “I’m sorry mom, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that.” Heavy and uncontrollable tears flooded your face and your breath began hitching. You repeated those words like a mantra, a mantra that accompanied your despairing wail.

Desperate for a second of calm in the midst of sorrow, you reached for your headphones and put them on. Calm music began soothing your ears while you hugged your knees and your hands still held the necklace. You stared at an indefinite point in front of your, unconcerned about the tears that were dripping from your chin.

Memories came in waves, and soon, you let yourself drown in them.

You were standing in the hallway of your childhood home. It was October. The clock on the wall read 1.23 AM. You had been awake for more than thirteen hours. Your shift had been a nightmare that day, a mass casualty  had occurred and you had to remain there until those of the nightshift could handle the patients alone. Tired, you dropped your backpack near the staircase, not bothering to switch on the lights, as the moonlight coming from the window lighted your way. You called your mom, informing her that you were finally home. She didn’t respond which was odd, because she usually stayed up until 2AM. You didn’t worry too much about it though, sometimes the antidepressants made her fall asleep earlier. She was diagnosed with depression three years prior, after the death of your dad. On your first year of medical school. He died from heart attack on his way to work, the doctors in the ER tried to save him, but it was impossible. In the end, your mom and you grieved him differently, you like a daughter and she as a wife, married to the love of her life.

You called her another time, still no response. But again, you weren’t particularly worried, as the last few weeks proved that she was getting better. “She is just asleep”, you thought. You were the one in the first place that told her that, when you had informed her of your extra stay at the ER. “It’s okay darling. I love you so much and I’m proud of you.” She answered softly.

Still, you went to her bedroom, illuminated by the same moonlight that led you there. You leaned on the jam, arms crossed. You saw her, peacefully sleeping on her left side, with one arm that dangled over the bed, no duvet on. You moved towards her, as silently as you could and sat right next to her, in the small space that her body made. Her hair was all over her face, you chuckled and whispered a sweet “Goodnight” while stroking her head. It was only in that moment that you realized she wasn’t moving, nor breathing. You swallowed, you eyes began to sting. Slowly you tilted your head to the nightstand, where the empty bottle of Zoloft stand with the lid open. You had picked up the prescription the day before. You starred at it for too long, unable to do anything. The realization hit you like a truck. She ended her life, and you weren’t able to save her, to prevent that. You bursted out crying and pulled her cold body in your arms, with your tears wetting her soft hair, unable to say a word. You remained like that until you had the strength to call your neighbour.

Three days later, after the funeral you asked for a leave of absence that eventually led you to sell your house and continue your first year of residence at the PTMC.

Your memories were interrupted by a pair of cargo pants materializing in front of you. One hand found immediately your heart, not expecting anyone to come after you. In a second, you took your headphones off and wiped out your tears, while still holding the locket in one of your palms.

You looked up and met Jack with a paper cup in his hand.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me Dr. Abbot.” You said still recovering from the little fright.

He chuckled. “I didn’t think that I was that ugly. And please, it’s just Jack now okay?”

No, he wasn’t. Even at your lowest you couldn’t help but to notice his old-fashioned beauty. It was definitely the weariness that spoke for you, because you never truly admitted that to yourself before, scared that that simple recognition led to something more dangerous and unpredictable.

“Okay Jack.” You remarked, too tired to keep your professionalism intact. After all here, there was no one besides the two of you.

That was the first time you called him by his first name. There was something in the way your voice pronounced his name that made Jack’s heart fumble.

“May I?” He asked while pointing at the empty space near you.

You nodded. Before checking in, still looking at him. “Sure your leg won’t hurt?”

“It will or maybe it won’t. Who knows.” He playfully answered while seating at your right. Cup still in his left hand. Unlike you, he sat with his legs stretched out to the floor. The wall though, kept supporting both of your backs.

Unsure of his response, you turned your head to him and with a serious voice you ordered. “Take it off. You’ve been standing all day.”

He mirrored you. In that close position you could smell the sting odor of the hospital sanitizer as well as see an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. Your shoulders were brushing against one another, mimicking the closeness you experienced earlier that day.

He smirked. “At your orders Dr. Sweetheart.” He momentarily put the cup onto the ground, taking off his leg and placing it besides him.

Dr. Sweetheart. A nickname that you hadn’t heard in months. A nickname that Jack gave you after seeing you how you treated patients, with consideration and empathy. A nickname that he used only when no one was around, because he didn’t want the others to start stupid rumors about the two of you.

You shook your head and let out a breathless laugh. “I’m not a sweetheart Jack you know it, especially after today.” Bitterness and melancholy could be found in the tone of your voice. There was a time in which you were one, at least within the walls of your house. Outside though, you had always been a bit distant to people, even though you had formed occasional friendships throughout the years. But after the death of both your parents the distance you kept with people only got bigger and bigger, and the sweetness you once were familiar with was replaced with pain.

This didn’t go unnoticed by the night-shift attending who tried, as best as he could, to diffuse the situation.

“Nah. You are one. Especially with patients, and sometimes with me.” The last words were whispered, as if he didn’t want you to hear them which in that position was impossible. He was the one who felt too exposed for once.

He lowered his gaze, lifted it again. “At least when I have a shirt on. You know.”

His witty comment earned a laugh from you, a honest and hearty laugh that you didn’t have in a while. It was the first time he truly ever saw you like this and he felt mesmerized by it, by you letting him see more of you. You were different around him, unconsciously more at ease. Funny thing was that neither of you were able to fully catch that.

Before He could forget, he grabbed the paper cup and handed it to you. “I made this for you.”

Your smile faded and your brows frowned, and took the cup.

“Shift is already over. You never leave without drinking tea.” He continued.

You swallowed, and the warming sensation you felt earlier, when Jack leaned over you in central, found its way in your belly.

You took a sip. You murmured. “It’s Jasmine. My..”

“Favourite.” You both said in unison.

You bit your cheek because suddenly your eyes were becoming a bit watery. It had been a while since someone had shown you some kindness, and care perhaps.

You adverted his gaze, as he changed the topic of the conversation.

He rubbed the palms of his hands on his thighs before gently asking, “What happened down there with Robby?”

You froze. Placed the cup on the floor and then started fidgeting with the chain of the necklace. Gaze focus on it. “We had a conversation that led into an argument.” You coldly said.

He cleared is throat, “Yeah, he informed me about it.”

“Then why asking?” You retorted, meeting his eyes again.

Jack waited a moment before answering, trying to find the right words. He knew how difficult that question was for you. How difficult it was for you to conversate about something that wasn’t work related, to reveal something of you. He only had glimpses of you, but just because it was a good observer. But right now, that question was more than necessary and in the end, instead of finding complicate ways to address the conversation and his concern for you, he opted for the truth.

“He also told me that you were crying in the bathroom. And seeing you like that, it felt weird. I-umh never saw you yelling like that. I got worried.”

You froze for the second time in a row. You felt as getting caught red handed, like you found Dr. Mohan and him this morning.

Both of the attendings knew you were crying in there. But there was something else that unsettled you even more. He was worried about you.

With your fingertip you wiped one small tear that was threating to escape from the outer corner of your eye. You then sighed. “I almost told him to kill himself Jack.” You met his attentive gaze which never stopped leaving you really.

 A quiet, breathless “Oh” escaped his lips.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, not wanting to cry in front of him. But mostly, you feared you had disappointed him with that confession.

 “If you hadn’t interrupted us, I would have told him that.” Your voice cracked, and the guilt returned stronger than ever.

You tried, so so hard not to cry, thinking that your body had expelled all of the tears possible, but it wasn’t like that. You quickly covered your face with your hands, a shield that masked your sobs and weep.

Jack at first didn’t utter a word. Both surprised and concerned, he circled your shoulders with his arm, pulling you closer to him, before placing a tender kiss between your hair; as if he had done it a million times. “It’s okay sweetheart. Even if you thought it, you didn’t say it. You were angry. You didn’t mean any of that.” He murmured, still holding you. “You’re a good person, and he’s not gonna fire you, if that’s what you’re worrying about.” He planted another kiss.

You cried even harder, not because of what almost happened with Robby, but because of that delicate touch, paired with those soft words contained in his raspy voice, that you accepted. You were crying because you was accepting was he was willing to give you: affection and care. Because you didn’t avoid his touch, you melted into it. You were crying, because you realized that you had feelings for him. Because Jack was able to find its way beneath your armor and towards your heart.

But the man didn’t know what happened inside your mind. He only saw and heard you wail and suddenly, he thought that he overstepped. He tried to fix the situation as best as he could.

“Do you want me to call you someone? Maybe a friend or your parents in Maine. Sometimes it helps hearing a familiar voice during hard times.”

But little did he know…

You knew he had good intentions, really, but your body reacted anyways, stiffening and he noticed it. You removed your hands from your face and quietly let go of his touch.

You handed him your opened locket. He grabbed it and a light smile appeared on his face at the sight of the younger you.

“The only people that I ever truly had and could call are trapped in there.” You confessed with a touch melancholy.

His smile instantly faded. He didn’t need to ask you for further explanation. He understood and gasped “I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“Don’t be.” You placed you hand on his palm, the one that held the locket. “Nobody knows.” You half smiled.

At those words he closed his fingers around your hand in a gentle motion that made your heart flutter.

Eventually you gave in, and revealed him the true reason why you left Maine. You told him everything, not because you felt obliged to, but because you wanted to.

He was the first person to know about the death of your parents and the tragedy behind it, after your therapist.

His brows frowned and he shook his head. He was visibly moved by your story. “You’re so strong sweetheart.” And his thumb softly stroked yours.

You chuckled. “Says the veteran.”

He didn’t even register your joke, because his mind was already somewhere else.

“Come back to the night shift. So far the day shift hasn’t done you any good.” He said off the cuff.

“Jack…” You rebuked, “You know I’m having troubles working at night, after my mom committed suicide it’s..”

He cut you off. “I know but, if something happens to you I can help you. Because now I finally know why out of the blue you decided to move to the day shift. You couldn’t bare it anymore.”

His hand gripped yours tighter.

You were about to speak, but he didn’t let you.

“The night crawlers miss you.”

You shook your head, adverting his gaze, but he didn’t give up.

“Ellis misses giving you unwanted gossip and gaining no reaction back. Shen misses not being the only one having a drink addiction of some type.”

You lightly laughed.

“Jeez!” He exclaimed. “Even Walsh misses you. She misses  working with a clever R1 while she’s operating.”

“Really?” You were frankly and oddly surprised by that.

He nodded. Then his voice, as well as his gaze, lowered, concentrated on the small circles that he was drawing on your knuckles with his thumb. It seemed that what he was about to say was only meant for himself.

“And I miss you. I miss having you around all the time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Not ready for that confession that came unnoticed. But once again, you didn’t escape from it. Instead you observed him. His grey curls, the freckles that covered his arm and his eyes that were still fixated on your interlaced hands.

You acted on impulse, ignoring the anxiety that tried to find space in your head, telling you to stop.

With your free hand, you lifted his chin and closed the space between the two you. You pulled him into a soft and tender kiss. After the initial shock, he cupped your face with his other hand and shifted slightly his position to have a better taste of you; and for the same reason, you adjusted yourself too. You felt the scrape of his beard on your chin, his work-worn hand against your cheek, and his slightly chapped lips melting against your equally chapped ones. It was a kiss that tasted of tears shed and jasmine tea. It was a kiss that spoke of mutual respect, trust, admiration and that silent devotion that both of you started feeling right after you arrived in the pitt, on February.

When you parted, you rested your foreheads against one another. Both smiling shyly.

“Was it unprofessional?” You asked a bit embarrassed.

“No, it wasn’t.” He whispered out of breath.

He then let go of that position, and of your interlaced hands, carefully placing the locket on the ground, and after that, he opened his arms. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate to welcome his comforting hug. With your chin rested on his shoulder and his fingers gently running through your hair he murmured, “I hate to say it but in a bit we must go. You haven’t clocked out yet. Can’t let you waste your fourth of July.” He paused for a moment. “Lemme accompany you at home, you’re exhausted. The others won’t find out I promise.”

You hummed, trusting Jack’s promise and accepting his offer, while feeling his smile against the top of your head.

In that moment there was no space for fear and preoccupation. There was just Jack and you, and a proud feeling that settled in you, for letting yourself admit your feelings and ultimately, for letting yourself set free from your own self-imposed chains, even for a slightly bit.

taglist: @goddess-of-spring

2026 © rosetintmworld / all rights reserved.

[pedaltothepetal]

𝒎others 𝒎eeting

request: here’s one more cause i’m so excited u write for jp. one where his gf is a close to his mom and they tease him together and he gets fake upset about it :) - anon / this is a repost from my old blog, not stolen work ! cw: none, pure fluff. wordcount: 1.1k

'mum? i'm home!' joshua called as he unlocked the door of her apartment, lugging a suitcase behind him, only to be met with silence.

'mum?' he called again, walking through the entryway. 'it's me, josh.'

as he treads further, he hears quiet giggles coming from the living area and his brow furrows, his mother didn't usually have guests. 

rounding the corner, he spots your feet hanging off the edge of the couch, he knew it was you because you always wore ridiculous socks, this particular pair had smiling blueberries all over them. your head was leant in close beside his mum's and you were both laughing over something but he couldn't see what.

'ahem.' he cleared his throat dramatically, and both heads turned to face him.

'oh joshua honey, i didn't hear you come in!' bernadette said quickly, rising from the couch and enveloping him in a warm hug.  

'i did shout...' muttered joshua, disgruntled. she clucked at him before heading to the kitchen to make him a cup of tea.

he leans down towards you and presses a quick kiss to your lips, 'hi darling.' he rasps. 

you grin, 'hi.'

'what's so funny then?' he frowns, arms folding over his chest, exaggerating the bulging muscles there.

'nothing.' you and bernadette say at the same time, a little too quickly.

joshua's eyes narrow as he sizes you both up, 'oh come on, what's the big joke huh?'

you bat your eyelashes faux innocently, 'nothing...i just didn't know you were such a dedicated swimmer as a child.' 

you press your lips together to stifle your laugh as his mother shoots you a warning look, though you see the smile twitching on her lips.

joshua's face drops almost immediately, his eyes wide in shock. 'no mum- you didn't.' he shakes his head, mortified.

'oh hush.' bernadette chides, shoving a mug into his hands. 'i think you look cute with those goggles, and your first fade!'

'and those swim trunks too, what was on them?' you tease mercilessly, unable to stifle giggles now.

'superman.' joshua said through gritted teeth.

'you frown too much.' his mother tuts, closing the childhood photo book, 'you ought to be pleased i'm getting on with your girlfriend.'

he shoots her a glare as he brings the tea to his lips, 'i didn't mean i want you showing her all these old albums mum! jesus, it's embarrassing!' his voice is petulant and it only makes you laugh harder.

‘and as for you…’ josh smirks, pulling your legs into his broad lap, causing you to squeal. ‘miss wore a tutu everywhere for a year.’ 

you gasp, feigning utmost betrayal, ‘i told you that in confidence!’ 

he sniggers, rubbing the soles of your feet as he places the mug of tea on the mahogany coffee table in front of you both, without a coaster. 

practically able to sense her disapproval before she speaks, bernadette calls, ‘joshua!’ and even though she’s not your mother, her tone makes you straighten too, ‘don’t make fun of your girlfriend, it’s not nice.’ 

joshua laughs breathlessly, ‘but mum-’ 

‘no buts!’ came the shrill cry from the kitchen, ‘it’s not polite, she is our guest.’ 

you shoot josh a look of pure victory, a wide grin spreading across your face as he sours, sulking like a schoolboy. kicking at his wall of stomach muscle does nothing to shake his mood, although he continues to knead your socked feet like dough in his large palms just to make you squirm.

‘man i'm hungry…’ he muttered under his breath, ‘tell me you’ve made lunch, mum. i’m starved.’ came the call across the apartment. 

‘let us know if there’s anything we can do to help!’ you add on, in your most sugary tone. 

you could see the shake of her shoulders as she laid out plates and joshua glared at you again. 

‘stop worming your way in with my mum.’ he hissed and you just grinned in response. 

her voice was clear and warm,‘oh no, it’s not a problem. come sit.’ 

you both stand up, and joshua's large muscular arm snakes around your waist and pulls you into his side, hard and causing an illicit gasp to fall from your lips. 

leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. it was his signal for comfort, for closeness like a united front. you relented, ever so slightly backing down, but not for long..

‘is this a childhood favourite of yours?’ you smile, batting your eyelashes at your boyfriend as you admired the feast in front of three of you. 

joshua's dark eyes softened slightly, and his expression shifted into one of slight embarrassment. 

‘oh my goodness, he used to love jollof rice!’ laughed bernadette, piling her plate high. ‘one time he even went on hunger strike until i cooked it for him.’

‘mum!’ josh groaned again, burying his head in his hands. 

you giggle, whole expression lighting up, ‘and how long did that last?’ 

‘oh less than a day i'm sure.’ his mother smiled at him as she shook her head, ‘he just sulked in the kitchen and he'd cry and cry…’, the words faded as the memory overwhelmed her. 

joshua had never been more interested in a plate of food than this one, although he wasn't actually eating. he was slowly pushing rice around the plate, in methodical swirls, almost mapping out a race track. 

bernadette’s voice lowers as she turns to you, ‘bless his heart, he didn’t get the growth spurt for years. gosh, i must’ve lifted him up onto those counters countless times-’ 

‘-okay! okay.’ joshua cut her off, shooting her a frustrated look. 

‘what?’ bernadette frowned, tone innocent. ‘look at you now, all muscle and towering over everyone.’ 

you swallowed, before reaching over to take joshua’s beefy hand in yours. ‘and i wouldn’t have it any other way.’ comes your gentle appeasement and you can see him visibly relax. 

‘i’m happy for you both, really.’ smiled bernadette, ‘you got yourself a good one, baby.’ 

‘jesus christ mum.’ joshua mutters, but it’s half-hearted.

‘i’m being nice. honestly, it must be the only child in you, can’t bear not getting your way.’ she shares a look with you and you press your lips together to fight your smile, ‘should’ve never put you in racecars, hm?’ 

joshua sighed, he knew his mother’s angle. ‘i’m forever grateful you did though.’ 

her grin widened and the tiny apartment radiated with her joy, ‘there’s my boy.’ she cheered, blowing him a kiss. 

the moment the car door slammed, joshua deflated. 

‘remind me to never have dinner with her again.’ he groaned, leaning as far back in the plush leather seat as it would allow. 

‘oh come on, you’re so dramatic.’ you chide, ‘it wasn’t that bad.’ 

‘easy for you to say, ganging up on me.’ joshua pouted, brown eyes going impossibly wide. 

‘it’s only teasing. believe me, i’d get way worse from my siblings.’ you shrug. 

he tilts his head, plan formulating in his mind already. ‘oh really? we’re definitely having family dinner there then.’ the words are accompanied by a devilish smirk.     

❤︎⁠ taglist: @jordiemeow @artaussi @gibsongirrl @jesuistrestriste @challengers4ev (to be added)

[pedaltothepetal]

𝒔hower 𝒕houghts

a/n: this is a repost from my old blog, not stolen content ! i have done my best to limit physical descriptions although this is about showering together/hairwashing. warnings: slight size kink, otherwise pure fluff. w/c: 1.4k taglist: @jordiemeow @artaussi @gibsongirrl @jesuistrestriste @challengers4ev (to be added)

the bathroom fills with steam as hot water starts to pour from the overly large shower head. the perks of your boyfriend being the hottest rookie of the season is that he's raking in the media payments, so you get all the fancy home renovations, including a newly fitted ensuite.

you undress slowly, letting the silk robe fall off your body and onto the cold tile, watching your reflection disappear as the mirror grows cloudy. stepping into the shower, you breathe out as the steady stream of hot water hits your shoulders, letting your thick coils of dark hair drape down your back, eyes closed as you feel the day getting washed off you.

you hear him before you see him, you've left the door open just a crack so he knows what you're up to, and what to do.

the quiet sound of him grunting as he pulls his boxers off and tosses them aside before he's in there with you, and you're grateful that there's enough room in here for both of you, remembering the days of cramming into his mother's shower, limbs tangled together awkwardly and never enough water for both of you.

'you think you can get away with showering without me?' joshua purrs in his east london accent, large muscular arm snaking around your shoulder and pulling you against his rock-hard chest.

you blush hard and press your lips together, years into dating he still makes you flustered when he acts like this. 'hm?' he teases lightly when you don't respond, lips brushing your ear and then kissing at your neck.

'here, darling.' joshua's breath is hot on the nape of your neck as he sweeps your sopping hair to the side.

his rough fingertips dig into your shoulders and you melt as he starts to massage them gently, and you melt immediately.

'ohh that's it...right there.' you whisper, eyes closing in delight.

'yeah i know my girl.' comes his smooth reply, and you can hear the smirk on his face as he says it, continuing to dig in to your tight muscles.

satisified you're fully relaxed, he leans down and reaches for the shampoo, and you can hear the squelch as he lathers it in his vast palms. then, his thick fingers find your scalp, kneading the pressure points there and you almost moan at the sensation, leaning back against his muscled torso.

he's too good at this, the way he smooths the product over each strand, twirling it round his fingers at the end. you used to find this whole routine annoying, how he'd constantly interrupt your showers, convinced he does it just to be in your personal space and bother you. now, you crave this intimacy, especially when he's gone for weeks on end, racing, and deep down, though he'd never admit it, these are his favourite moments with you, too.

joshua adjusts the shower to rinse off your long curtain of hair, now falling pinstraight. this time, the sound of lathering is accompanied by soft humming and you smile as his deep voice fills the room, fingers combing conditioner through the ends of your hair. gently, he sweeps your hair to the side so the product can work it's magic, resting it on one shoulder and let his beefy arms slide round your waist, feeling your body up imperceptibly.

'how was your day?' he croons, fingers tapping against your hips in that teasing way.

'boring.' you pout in reply before offering a playful, 'how was the interview? press still ripping you to shreds over what you said about sonny?'

'baby...' he groans, hand sliding further down your wet body, 'i don't wanna talk about that retirement dodger. i wanna hear about you...' he bites at your neck flirtatiously, '...and your day.'

'well,' you start softly, 'i think the coffee shop down the road is starting to memorise my order because i went in this morning and i think the girl recognised me...'

as you speak, joshua starts to rinse your hair off delicately, murmuring soft agreements and you don't have to look behind you to know that as he listens, he's watching you like you've just hung the moon and stars, a look reserved exclusively for you but still makes your heart skip a beat whenever you catch it.

'and then after work, i went to the gym and i did that spin class that my friend recommend and-' you prod one of his triceps, 'don't ever do those, i swear i saw the gates of heaven at one point.'

joshua laughs in response, a rare bellowing laugh that always makes you laugh too, 'noted darling,' he murmurs, 'i'll mention it to my trainer next week.'

without warning, he spins you round so you're flush against his chest and you exhale in surprise, his big hands now moving to palm your ass.

'what's next hm?' he croons, kneading your asscheeks deftly, almost soothingly.

'i've got it.' comes your soft reply, already reaching for the shower gel.

his signature pout comes out then, all big brown eyes and quivering bottom lip, 'are you sure?'

you press a kiss to his quivering lips, 'yes i'm sure.' you reassure with a sweet smile.

joshua relents, stepping back, 'i miss you already.' he jokes as he gets out of the shower.

you can't help but stare as he reaches for a towel, something about the sight of him dripping onto the tile makes your stomach flip, even now. his muscles ripple in the soft light of the bathroom and the towel hardly fits around his waist and you actually flush like a schoolgirl at the sight.

joshua exits the bathroom without ceremony and you finish your shower, the scented suds coating your smooth skin before you step back under the waterfall shower, letting the water douse you and drowning out everything else, lost in your own little world of thought.

pleased that you've successfully scrubbed yourself clean, you step out of the shower, steam clouding the bathroom that you can hardly see in front of you, hand finding the warm fluffy towels and wrapping it around your body.

you step out of the bathroom, steam enveloping you and threatening to fill the bedroom too. you hear joshua's rhythmic patting of the sheets before you even see him and you're walking closer out of routine, seeing his big grin as he perches on the edge of the oversized bed

'hi darling.' he murmurs when you get closer, as if you've been apart for days and not minutes, his hands on your wrists. 'come...sit.' he continues with that casual dominance that makes your thighs press together.

you sit between his legs, the hardwood cold on your bare ass. the relief you feel is palpable when he parts your hair, burly hands coated in hair oil as he massages your scalp again, drinking in every small noise you make in response, like he could get drunk on them. he runs his rough fingers through your thick strands, and when he's done, he presses a kiss to the top of your head that sends shivers down your spine.

tilting your head back to give him easier access, joshua starts to braid your dark locks. he's deft, all that racing training has it uses, he's got some of the quickest hands you've ever seen. silence fills the air as he concentrates and you're happy to drift back into your imagination.

'you never did tell me why you're so good at this.' you whisper after a while, head tilted towards the floor now.

'i told you, reaction times and shit.' joshua mutters, still focused.

'you know what i mean.' you pry playfully, manicured nails scratching at his leg in that soft way he likes.

'i'm a mumma's boy, ain't i?' he cracks eventually, and you can practically hear the cheesy grin on his face, 'ever since i was young, she taught me how to style my hair and then hers. said it'd be useful if i ever met a girl some day.'

'oh yeah?' you tease flirtatiously, looking up into his big dark eyes.

'yeah.' he affirms quietly, holding your gaze as he ties the hairband, all done.

you stand to crawl into his lap, 'well she's right...it's very useful.' you reply and his smile never leaves his face as you envelop his lips in a hungry kiss.

❤︎⁠ taglist: @jordiemeow @artaussi @gibsongirrl @jesuistrestriste @challengers4ev (to be added)