#hamilton film

[astralaffairs]

put a ring on it 06

title: put a ring on it 06 pairing: philip hamilton x reader words: 15k warnings: gratuitous smut, daddy kink a/n: this is the last part! excepting maybe an epilogue. we'll see on that one. i hope you enjoy it, and it feels very strange for me to be finally finishing this after 6 years. desc: You’ve never liked Philip Hamilton, and you've always assumed the feeling has been mutual. But when you’re roped into pretending to be his girlfriend for a family reunion, you feel all your truths beginning to melt away and find them instead taking form in his smile. tags: @beepbeepstop @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @superbarriobrothers @tf2germanvillain @ela-ena @abundant-stars @heytheredee-lilah @katierpblogg @thisshitfucks @celyndavies @quixoticallydelusional @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @yxseminx @sadhwstudent @aiifandomsunite @loonaynay @valleryhyde @lxncelot @checkurwindow @katierpblogg @alievans007@nyxie75 @ii-moonlight-ii @sothisishappiness @ems-alexandra @elegantbutedgy @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @someinsanefangirl @theirishhufflepuff @golddiggs-x @drreamhugs @sillyteecup @notebookgirl30 @marvelouslyemily @checkurwindow @kmsmedine 

“What do you mean, you kissed him?”

“I know.” You were in Philip’s room then, calling Patsy for the second time that afternoon. You cringed, pinching the bridge of your nose. As far as you were concerned, the world had been turned entirely on its head since you last spoke with her. “It just… I don’t know; it all happened so fast. I have so much to tell you.”

You recounted your conversation with Peggy, the debacle with your “engagement,” Philip’s reaction to it, and finally, when you found yourself alone with him up in his bedroom, holding him tightly, kissing him softly. It had been five hours since you last called her.

————

EARLIER

At first, he didn’t kiss you back.

When your lips met his, he froze — his embrace was tense, his body rigid against yours as he processed what you’d done, but it was within a moment that he was responding to your touch. He pulled you closer with the hand at the small of your back, and he held you gently, savoring the feeling of your body. That was when you realized what you’d done.

You pulled back abruptly when his tongue brushed against your lower lip, and your eyes were wide. Your words were caught in your throat; you were struggling to keep from choking on them as you pushed yourself off of him, scrambled off of his lap, and his hand was still hovering where your head had been, grasping at the cold air where your warm skin retreated from. His brow was furrowed as he watched you.

“I…” You trailed off, your attempts to speak coming out as stuttered, breathy syllables. “Fuck. I… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… fuck.”

“Wait, Y/N, don’t—” But you were already standing, fixing your dress where it’d bunched up around your waist and making your way to the door. “Y/N.”

“I’m sorry, Philip, but I can’t…” You trailed off, trying to find the words, but you let out a frustrated huff, shaking your head as you left.

“Hey, c’mon, wait.” You were still scolding yourself as he went after you, followed you down the staircase. When you neared the bottom of the stairs, his family was hovering — not waiting for you, but within earshot. Philip grabbed you by the arm. “Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about." His hold on your bicep was gentle, and you didn't struggle to pull away from his grip. You scoffed, cursing yourself inaudibly as you continued down.

“Y/N.” He had paused behind you, but when you didn’t stop, he sighed heavily, and his footsteps were hardly audible over the noise from his family as he hurried after you. He didn't take long to catch up to you, and your teeth clenched when he reached you, walking alongside you with a hand at the small of your back. "What the hell just happened?" he asked urgently.

"A mistake," you insisted, turning your head hardly enough so that he could hear you.

"Then why did you do it?"

You ignored him entirely as one of his relatives caught you by the arm, congratulating you in passing on your engagement, and you offered her a smile in return, squeezed her forearm affectionately. Philip was still staring down at you, visibly annoyed.

"Y'know, if we're gonna pull off this whole 'engaged' thing, you've gotta start acting more like my fiancé." You glanced back with an eyebrow raised.

He huffed. "Sorry if there's something else on my mind right now."

"Just don't let your family see," you told him in a sing-song voice as you caught sight of Georges approaching the pair of you.

“Hey, now there’s the happy couple.” His grin was broad as he approached the pair of you, and Philip forced a smile when Georges nudged his arm. “See, Will didn’t mess things up too bad for you. Everyone’s elated.”

You laughed, and you could only hope that he couldn’t tell that it was strained. “Thanks, Georges. Now we just have to worry about everyone nagging us to set a wedding date.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it. They’re just excited.” He raised an eyebrow, though, fixing his attention on Philip. “But I’m not gonna pretend not to be a little offended that someone hasn’t asked me to be his best man.”

“I’ll get around to it.” Despite his smile, the tension in Philip’s voice was obvious. Georges furrowed his brow.

“Is it really bothering you that much that William spilled?” he asked. “Listen, it was an accident, and—”

“I’m not mad at Will,” he cut Georges off abruptly, and you sighed. “But thanks for your concern.”

Georges pursed his lips, glancing between the two of you — apparently the pair of you weren’t playing off the events of the past few minutes as well as you would’ve hoped. After a moment of silence, Georges said, “Right. Anyway, uh, congrats, you two. I'm gonna go join Emilie outside; I guess I'll see you in a bit?"

"I, actually, am gonna go grab a jacket from my bag. It's gotten cooler out as it's gotten later." You were quick to respond, and Philip raised an eyebrow when you rested a hand on his arm, glanced to him with a strained smile. "But please, go ahead without me. I'll join you in a few."

"No, that's okay. I'll come back up with you." Philip's tone was firm, and you pressed your lips together. You were certain your discomfort was obvious, but you still had to keep up appearances.

"Really, I insist. I'll meet you back down here." Your bright smile didn't meet your eyes as you stared back up at Philip, daring him to turn this into a fight in front of Georges. He just watched you for a moment, eyeing the tension in your stare and the strain in your shoulders. Even your hand on his arm was shaky. He glanced back at Georges. He looked down at you.

"You sure that's what you want?"

"Just give me a minute. I'll be back."

He did not watch you as though he believed you'd be back in a minute. "Fine."

"Alright." Georges broke the standoff between you as he clapped a hand on Philip's shoulder, and the tension between you shattered at once as his focus was shifted. "Wanna grab some drinks? Cooler's on the porch."

Philip nodded before glancing back at you. “We’ll see you soon.”

————

That was the last thing he’d said to you before you shut yourself away in his room once more. You gave Patsy the play-by-play, and there was no doubt that you’d been gone more than just a minute.

"Holy Hell, Y/N. That… that's insane," she said, and you sighed. "Where are you now? Is everyone still around, or has most of his family gone home by now?"

"I'm in his room. A lot of them are still downstairs. I don’t have much time before someone comes looking for me, either — I told them all I was just up here getting a sweater."

"Why the hell are you in his room? Are you waiting for him?" she asked. "If you're calling me, are you sure you're ready to talk to him?"

"No, I know I'm not," you groaned. "But I don't have anywhere else to go. This is where I'm sleeping this weekend, so I don’t have any space to myself."

“Then you’d better figure something out fast.”

“I know, I know.” You sat down on the end of his bed with a huff. “But… I still don’t know how I feel about all this. Or how I feel about him. I don't know what I want."

“I think it's time to figure it out,” she said dryly. You didn’t respond, and after a moment, she asked, “Do you… regret kissing him?”

“I don’t know that, either,” you answered hesitantly.

“D’you regret running off after you kissed him?”

“God, no. I needed to — still need to — sort out how I was feeling.” You flopped onto your back on the bed as you spoke, holding your forehead. “I feel guilty about it, though. Philip obviously wanted to talk through what happened earlier, but I couldn't do it when my head was so scrambled."

"Y/N, for what it's worth, keep in mind that you called me earlier today in a panic because you thought you were crushing on him," she reminded you, "and now you kissed him. And he wants to talk to you about whatever’s going on between you. Do you really still not know what you want?"

"I…" Your voice faltered as you tried to reply. “I know what I’m feeling, but I don’t know what I want. I’m scared, Patsy. He was just trying to comfort me earlier; what if kissing him was totally out of line?”

“Did he kiss you back?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah.”

“So then who broke it off?”

“...Me.”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Y/N?” You winced at the annoyance in Patsy’s tone. “It’s been, what, five hours since we talked? Earlier, you were telling me that you thought you were only there to make his ex jealous. Now you’re telling me that even after kissing him, having him kiss you back, and you having had to have been the one who broke it off, you still don’t think he wants you? You still don’t think that’s the entire reason you’re there this weekend?”

“I…” You swallowed. “I guess so.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” she snapped. “I told you earlier that you needed to talk to him about how you were feeling, and I’m gonna say the same thing now. Don’t call me back until you’ve communicated.”

“What? Patsy, I don’t—” Your jaw went slack when the dial tone sounded, signifying that the line had dropped. She’d really had the nerve to hang up on you. And after all you’d been through.

You threw your phone onto your bed with an angry huff, and you dropped your hands onto the mattress beside you, groaning loudly.

“So that’s the whole story.” A soft voice at the door to Philip’s bedroom interrupted your pouting, however — immediately, you were shooting back up to where you sat, propped on your hands with your eyes wide. It was his sister Angelica who stood in the doorway, watching you with her arms folded. “I should’ve known you were too good to be true.”

“Angelica,” you said breathlessly. You were frozen to the spot in which you sat. She sighed, walking into his room to join you on the end of his bed. “How much of that did you hear?”

“All of it,” she admitted. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when you started talking about how, as you put it, ‘all of this was a sham,’ I kind of couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I can’t blame you.”

“Can I join you?”

“Sure.” You shifted over, and Angelica took a seat beside you. “I’m guessing you want an explanation.”

“I wouldn’t mind one,” she replied quietly. You nodded.

You gave her the abbreviated version, the gentle one; it felt merciful to omit the parts about your long-standing feud with Philip.

“I’m just here doing him a favor,” you concluded weakly, and she pursed her lips.

“Still?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I did hear that entire call,” she reminded you. Of course. “You kissed him, apparently."

"I…" You couldn't deny it. "Yeah, but… I don't know. It's complicated."

"It sounds complicated," she granted, "but I don't think you're just here doing him a favor anymore."

Your sigh was shaky. “I don’t know what you want me to say," you admitted.

"Do you care about Philip?"

"Of course." The question had you taken aback; your answer was a reflex.

"Then you should be downstairs talking to him instead of hiding up here making phone calls," she said bluntly, and your stare was bewildered. "The least you could do is have an adult conversation about what happened. Philip cares about you, y'know."

"What makes you say that?" The look Angelica gave you was disbelieving, but you didn’t think the question was out of left field. By then, it'd been reinforced by so many of his family members that you knew this was a common understanding, but you couldn't fathom why.

"We've been hearing about you in this house since you showed up as Philip's new coworker. At first it was just in passing as an update about what was going on in the office, that somebody new had joined his department, but you became a recurring character pretty quickly.” The day you’d started that job felt like a lifetime ago, both a different reality and a different version of you who’d walked into that office: recently widowed and sleepwalking through your daily life. Of course, at the time, Philip had known none of that. “I don’t know where this lie started, but Philip’s fond of you. He lights up when he’s talking about you.”

“I think he just finds me entertaining to torment,” you corrected her, but she shook her head.

“It’s always been more than that.” Her insistence was as though it were obvious, immediately apparent to everyone in his life other than you. “If you care about him at all, I think you owe him a conversation about all this.”

All you could do was nod. You wished she’d spare you the lecture, but she was right, even if you didn’t want to accept what that meant for you.

“You’re a good sister, y’know,” you said after a moment, and she smiled.

“Actually, I just like being privy to drama.”

————

You went down with her after that to find Philip — you didn’t yet know what you had to say to him, but you could at least afford him the reassurance that you weren’t avoiding him. After all, he’d done nothing wrong (if you could look past the years he’d spent spinning a lie about your workplace romance).

You found him settled in with Georges and Emilie in the midst of a heated debate over whether sushi is seafood, and he and Georges appeared to be getting worked up to a point where you couldn’t decipher which side either of them was on.

“Y/N, thank God, maybe you can settle this.” Georges was the first to notice your arrival, and your eyebrows shot up. Philip turned quickly upon hearing Georges address you.

“Hey, you came back.” Philip’s voice was soft, and you smiled as you met his eyes.

“Yeah, what did I miss?”

“Is sushi seafood?” Georges' loud voice broke any interaction you were having with Philip, and you raised your eyebrows as you looked over at him, pulling up a chair beside Philip.

“I mean, like, it doesn’t have to have fish in it. Can it be seafood if it's made without food from the sea?” you said.

“That’s what I’m saying,” an exasperated Philip piped up, and Georges groaned.

“Y’know, I hate that there’s someone here to take his side now,” he said seriously, shooting you an exhausted look. “You’re gonna be more trouble to my relationship with him than you’re worth.”

“I’m sure you must be devastated,” you replied dryly, but Emilie smiled.

“I’ve been needing someone to help me keep these two in check, so believe me when I say that I’m thrilled, at least,” she interjected. You still weren’t sure how to respond to people talking to you as if you were a new member of the family.

“Anyway, Philip, can we see your engagement ring now that the secret’s out? I just know it’s gonna be flashy,” Georges said, and Philip offered a weak smile.

“Nah, not right now.” He spared you a hesitant glance. “I don’t have it on me.”

“Where is it? You shouldn’t be leaving your engagement ring just anywhere; it’s too valuable for that.” There was concern in Emilie’s voice.

“It’s safe; don’t worry. We just packed the rings away before coming here,” he said. “I’ll show you both some other time.”

“C’mon, we wanna see it now,” Emilie said. “Can’t you just go get it? Is it upstairs with your bags?”

Philip sighed. “Emilie—”

"We'll go find it later tonight and bring it around tomorrow, alright?" you cut in, and Philip's eyebrows jumped.

"We will?"

You shrugged. "We may as well, if people are curious to see it. I think it's somewhere in one of my bags upstairs; it shouldn't take long to find."

"If you're sure," he acquiesced. You did have a ring for him, if nothing else; you just weren’t sure it would fit him.

By then, the sun was beginning to set, and you were glad that you grabbed yourself a sweater after all on your previous trip upstairs. As Philip and his friends sat and talked, you were content to mostly just listen — you didn’t have any input to offer on the stories from college you were sure they were lamenting for the thousandth time. Angelica joined you all not long after, bringing you a beer you didn’t ask for but, according to her, “you looked like you might need.” Georges and Emilie took the comment in jest, picking on Philip as your grateful gaze wandered back to Angelica. She winked.

Somewhere in the yard, one of Philip’s relatives had lit a bonfire, and after more of the family came outside, you found yourself migrating toward it with Philip in tow. He’d suggested the relocation, noticing your shivering. You’d acquiesced easily. That was how you found yourself beside him on a picnic blanket, melting into yourself where you sat with your knees folded up to your chest as fatigue ebbed at your body. Philip’s younger cousins were roasting marshmallows, and frankly, you would’ve been joining them if you had the energy. However, you were confident that you’d had a longer — and almost certainly more taxing — day than anyone around you, save for Philip. You glanced over at him.

He was watching Eliza Jr. with an amused grin as she tried to fit her small mouth around a s’more, covering the bottom half of her face in chocolate and marshmallow fluff in the process. More graham cracker was going to the grass below her than was staying in her hands, but she looked rather pleased with herself as she shuffled over toward you.

“D’you wanna come roast a marshmallow?” she asked, and it wasn’t until Philip turned to you with an eyebrow raised that you realized she was talking to you. It startled you when his eyes met yours, as though you thought he wouldn’t be able to see you watching him, and it seemed to surprise him nearly as much to see that you had been. Your face was hot when you turned to Eliza.

“I, um… I don’t think so. I’m getting tired, and you’re doing such a good job of it that I wouldn’t wanna take away from your fun.”

She frowned. Apparently your excuse wasn’t good enough for her, but she turned to Philip. “Do you wanna come roast a marshmallow?”

“Not this time, kiddo.” There was a trace of a laugh in his voice as he reached out to wipe a smear of melted chocolate from Eliza’s nose. “Be careful around that fire.”

“Can I roast you a marshmallow?” she asked, and you couldn’t help but smile. She was nothing if not persistent. Philip’s expression mirrored yours.

“I dunno; I think it would be wasted on me. I might head up to bed soon,” he said, and Eliza huffed. He glanced over at you. “You want one, though, princess?”

Eliza’s eyes were wide and hopeful as she looked at you, and you shrugged, your smile endeared. “Yeah, sure, I’ll take one. Thanks, Eliza.”

“You’re welcome. I’m gonna roast you the perfect marshmallow.” She started tottering off back toward the bag of marshmallows before she even finished her declaration, and it made you grin.

“Thanks for being a good sport.” Philip’s voice was soft, and it wasn’t until he spoke that you were quite aware of how close he was beside you. You turned to see him watching Eliza, leaned back on his hands with his legs outstretched on the blanket. “She loves when people let her make things for them. Inherited the family people-pleaser trait, I guess.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What, does it skip a generation?”

He laughed, and the sound was quiet and warm. “Man, can’t even go easy on me after the day you’ve put me through?”

His tone was light, but it held residual bitterness, and your smile faltered. You couldn’t blame him, but the tension in his jaw as the glow from the fire flickered across it had you on guard. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin your weekend with your family.”

He turned his head, and you felt hyper-aware of every twitch of every muscle in your body as he looked over your apologetic expression. “Relax. I know,” he assured you after a moment, looking around at the group. “I can’t be mad, anyway. We both know I kinda bullied you into coming here with me.”

“You didn’t bully me into anything,” you replied, and he pursed his lips. You looked down at your hands. “If I was really that opposed to it, I would’ve just gone on the work trip. It’s not that big a deal.”

“But d’you still think this is the lesser of evils?” There was disbelief in his voice. “I’d guess that you also didn’t expect this weekend to get quite so stressful. I think we both just figured it’d be a funny story to tell when we get back.”

“I can’t deny that,” you admitted, glancing around at the group to determine whether you were within earshot of any of his relatives. “But tomorrow’s our last day here. We don’t have to do this for much longer.”

“And then we can go back to being office neighbors who torment each other on the daily?” he asked, and you huffed.

“Woah, you torment me, not the other way around,” you corrected him, and the look he gave you was skeptical.

“So then all the time you spend nitpicking my habits is just, what, collegial cohabitation?” he asked, and his disbelieving tone made you roll your eyes. “You’re more attentive to my ticks than even my mom's ever been.”

“Maybe if your ticks weren’t obstructing my work day I wouldn’t have to pay such close attention.”

“Please, I’m never in your way.”

“You borrow my pens and never give them back.”

“You steal the coffees that Theo brings me.”

“You don’t even pay for them.”

Your retort elicited a smug smile from him, and he shrugged. “I can’t always help being so charismatic, princess. I won’t apologize for the things people do for me because of my natural charm.”

“Natural charm,” you repeated skeptically. “We both know Theo just has a crush on you. It’s honestly getting to be mean the way you keep entertaining it.”

“Theo has a girlfriend,” he informed you, and your eyebrows shot up. You turned your head to look at him, and he eyed your stunned look with amusement. “I’m not leading her on. She runs the coffee shop around the corner from our office, which is why she always brings an extra latte to work. She doesn’t actually drink coffee, but apparently her girl likes making it for her.”

“You’re making that up,” you accused him, but he shook his head.

“You’d know this if you actually ever talked to her,” he said, and you frowned.

“I thought she didn’t like me. She never even says ‘good morning.’”

“She thinks the same about you,” he said, and as your pensive gaze wandered, he went on, “When you started at our office, all you seemed to want to do was put your head down and work. You didn’t give anyone the time of day. I think it just intimidated a lot of people.”

“Yeah, well, I’d recently had my life as I knew it blown to bits. It turns out work is a good distraction when you’re recently widowed.”

“I didn’t know that then,” he said softly, “but it does explain some things. I know I didn’t always treat you the best when you joined staff, and I’m sorry if it made all that harder.”

“Yeah, what was all that about?” Both your and his eyes followed Eliza Jr. across the yard as she stuffed her face with the marshmallow she’d purported to be roasting for you. “We got off to such a bad start, but upon further reflection, I’ve decided you’re not just an egoistic asshole, so what happened? Was it some weird office hazing?”

He sighed. “I just didn’t know what to do when you showed up. Some big shot up-and-comer out of Columbia giving me the silent treatment for eight hours a day. Some part of me figured you thought you were better than me, and another part of me thought you might be right about it.”

“Seriously?” Your brow was furrowed as you looked over at him. “It was the start of my second job out of college, and I was working ridiculously long hours because I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts.”

“Y’know that’s still why Susan pawns my workload off onto you?” he asked. “I thought you were trying to show me up, and she ended up convinced that you were just more reliable.”

“I should start slacking now that she’s stuck with me,” you mused, and he cracked a grin.

“Maybe I’ll finally go back to being top dog around our office then,” he quipped, but you couldn’t find much humor in it.

“So, what, you were just mean to me because you were afraid I’d upstage you? It was just some high-school mean-girl insecurity bullshit?”

“Honestly, it was more because I thought you didn’t like me,” he said. “You barely said a word to me, and when you did, it was usually criticism. You greeted me in the mornings by reminding me that I was late. I remember asking Georges for advice about you, and he told me that if I acted even colder, you’d warm up ‘cause you’d see I wasn’t messing around. I believed that for longer than I’m proud of.”

“That’s the advice Georges gave you?” There was disbelief in your voice, and he just nodded. “He mentioned when we were at his bar that he’d given you some bad advice when I joined our office. When he said that, I wasn’t imagining that he was the reason our working relationship was so bad from the get-go.”

“I took the advice, so I think I’m as much to blame,” he admitted, and you shrugged. “When I started bringing you coffee in the mornings a few weeks later, I was trying to make good ‘cause I realized it was only making things worse.”

“Then I just thought you were hitting on me.”

“I was.” Your eyes widened, but his tone was casual, and he chuckled. “I get in hindsight that it was in poor taste. I think I’m starting to see why you thought I was a nuisance for so long.”

“What d’you mean, ‘thought’?” Your words were sardonic, but he couldn’t take offense at the dry quip. Despite the amusement in his smile, he looked you over with disbelief.

“When are we gonna get past this whole routine of you pretending to hate me?” he asked. You weren’t sure you were comfortable with the audible sincerity in the question; you didn’t know how to answer it. “It’s been a weird day. We both know that. But I think we’re past the point where you can claim you don’t want anything to do with me.”

Your throat was tight, and you were afraid to speak. “We shouldn’t talk about this when your whole family’s around.”

“We’re out of earshot.”

“We should be cautious.”

“Or maybe we should just go up to bed,” he suggested. You swallowed. “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” you acquiesced, your breathing shaky, “I guess it is.”

————

You lingered by the fire a bit longer before going upstairs. Eliza Jr. had made another round through the crowd, and she was giving out graham crackers as if she were bestowing awards (“it is an honor and a privilege,” she told you with no further explanation before repeating the same to Philip). You helped pack up the blankets that had been left as Philip’s younger siblings had gone one by one up to bed, and you wished Philip hadn’t been so quick to give you an extra set of hands. You’d have been lying if you said you didn’t offer to do it as a stalling tactic.

You walked together in silence back to the house and upstairs, and he took the blankets you carried to pack them into his family’s linen closet. As you returned to his room, you weren’t sure what to say. You sat on the side of his bed you’d been sleeping on and began to remove your earrings.

“So, that engagement ring you told Georges I have…” You glanced back at him with your eyebrows raised. He leaned back against his desk in the corner of his room, hands in his pockets. “Please tell me that wasn’t a bluff?”

You sighed. “No, no, I have my late husband’s. I didn’t think this through very far, so we’re just gonna have to hope it fits you.”

You withdrew the pendant of your necklace from beneath your dress, turning away from him as you looked down at yourself, but he was silent another moment. You pulled your hair aside and started fiddling with the chain’s clasp. After a moment, you huffed and glanced back at him. "Could I have a hand?"

He was watching you bewildered, and his expression made you furrow your brow. “What?”

“You sure you’re comfortable with me wearing your late husband’s ring?” His voice was soft, apprehensive, and you pursed your lips.

“It’s fine,” you said after a moment. Your voice lacked conviction, and when Philip knit his concerned brow, you gave him a weak smile. “I’m serious. He always loved a good con; he would’ve been in full support.”

“Of his wife loaning his ring out to some other guy?”

“Only as part of an elaborate hoax,” you said. He appeared tepid. “Are you helping me with the clasp or not?”

“...Yeah. Sure.” Though his words were hesitant, you turned back toward his nightstand where you sat, sweeping your hair back over one shoulder. You stood when he reached you, turned away from him, but you visibly flinched when his hands first brushed the back of your neck to take the clasp between his fingers. His movements stalled. “I can just tell my family my ring is being resized or something if this is all too much for you.”

He stood close behind you; though his voice was quiet, its low thrum felt heavy in the proximity. You shook your head.

“That’s okay. I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't alright with it," you assured him. When he didn’t answer, you turned your head to look back at him. His brow was furrowed. "I trust you with it, Philip. Just help me with the necklace, alright?"

"If you're sure." His voice was little more than a whisper, and his hands were gentle with the delicate chain you wore as you turned back around. A beat passed, and he let out a frustrated huff that tickled the hairs on your neck. You shivered. "This clasp doesn't wanna come quietly."

"You might have to wiggle it a bit if it's stuck. Don't worry about breaking it; it's strong."

"I'll do my best," he said. Another moment passed as you both waited patiently for the necklace to come undone, and you looked down at your feet.

"I really am sorry about today, y'know."

“Do you regret it?” His response was immediate, and as you felt the movement of his hands slow against the skin of your neck, your necklace going still, you were confident he was stalling.

“Which part?”

“You know which part.” The impatience in his voice made you sigh. “Do I really have to say it? Or can we finally stop pretending that things haven’t been weird between us all weekend?”

“It hasn’t been weird all weekend.”

“If everything was normal before that, why did you kiss me?”

The question was pointed and blunt, and you could feel your heart rate pick up. Philip slid your necklace off, taking both sides of it in one hand and reaching around you to set it on your (his) bedside table. You leaned away from him as he did so, giving him room to take a step toward the table, but when he did, he didn’t take a step back. He turned to you with his eyebrows raised, and your stomach turned as you found yourself trapped between him and the bed.

“Here, we should see if the ring fits,” you said, voice unsteady as you broke his gaze, reaching around him for the necklace.

“You’ve gotta stop deflecting,” he said impatiently, and you ignored it as you slid the ring off of the necklace’s chain.

“Gimme your hand; I need you to try it on.” You held the ring up to him between your trembling fingers. He eyed you with exasperation.

“Fine.” You inhaled sharply when his steady hand came to cover yours, holding it in the small space between you to still your grip on the ring, and he slid the ring finger of his other hand through it effortlessly. He barely spared it a glance as his tired stare bordered on irritation. “It fits.”

“Yeah.” The word in your anxious, high-pitched voice was barely a breath.

“Now answer me,” he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly. “You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes; your gaze was stuck on the perfect fit of the ring around his finger. “I…”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know,” was all you could say at first. Your heart was in your throat; you were struggling to speak past it. “I shouldn’t have done it. I was just… I was sad, and you were comforting me, and this is the first time anyone’s felt like home since…” You trailed off with a tired huff, dropping his now ring-clad hand. “I can’t do this right now. It’s late, and I’m not thinking straight, and I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You pushed past him where he had you cornered, and although he didn’t try to stop you, he rolled his eyes. “You can’t keep using that excuse.”

You didn’t look back at him as you walked toward his bathroom, but his words made you frown. “When have I used that excuse?” you asked incredulously.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he postured, “maybe earlier after you kissed me? You’re messing with my head, Y/N, and it sucks.”

“Like you haven’t been messing with mine all weekend?” you shot back, turning on him furiously. “You wanna know why I kissed you? Well, I want to know why you asked me to come here in the first place.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We’ve covered this.”

“No, actually, I don’t know that we have,” you argued. “I poured my heart out to you about my late husband and gave you a full explanation for why I acted how I did when I joined our office, and you haven’t even explained why you needed a fake girlfriend in the first place.”

He sighed. “I just wanted my parents off my back. They were incessant when they thought I was single.”

“Then why didn’t you change your story once they started insisting you bring me home?” you asked. “You could’ve told them we broke up and that you weren’t back to dating yet. Or that you’d met someone else. But instead you blindly agreed to bring me here before you even knew whether I’d be willing to come.”

“I just wanted them to think I was in a stable relationship,” he defended. “I’m their oldest; I’m supposed to have my shit figured out by now. Nobody wants to hear that I’m all alone with no stable plan for my future. You don’t know how much time they spent trying to control my life when they thought I had my options open.”

“Then why me?” you pushed, and he raised an eyebrow. “Why not tell them it was a friend or someone you met on a dating app? What about Henriette? I’m sure she’d be more than happy to play the part of ‘doting girlfriend’ when your family’s around. The way she fawns over you, I’m surprised she didn’t come up with this story first.” Your tone was jeering, and Philip’s eyes were narrow as he looked you over. His jaw was tense, and you were confident you’d hit a sore spot.

“Henriette’s exactly the problem.” His voice was low, and the frustration in his tone made you raise an eyebrow. “Our relationship was terrible, but my entire family kept trying to push me to marry her. Nobody stopped for even a second to consider whether that was what I wanted.”

“Then grow up and tell them,” you bit back. “Even if they adored her, bursting their bubble about what kind of person she is would’ve still been easier than lying to them for two years about a fake relationship.”

“You don’t get it,” he maintained. “My father sees me as his legacy. He worked his whole life so I could settle down and start a family, and Henriette was his ticket to seeing grandkids. When we broke up, he barely talked to me for weeks. We only started talking again when I told my parents I’d found somebody else.”

“But why me?” you reiterated. “You couldn’t have thought that choosing me was going to make your life easier. When we first met, we barely spoke.”

He eyed you with his tongue burrowed into his cheek for a moment. “I did think it was gonna be an easy out.”

“And what the hell made you think that?”

“The office Christmas party,” he said. “That’s about when I told my family I was seeing someone new.”

You furrowed your brow. “What happened that night that made you decide to tell them that?”

“You really don’t remember?” He quirked a brow, and your expression must have been resolutely blank, because after a moment, he sighed, taking a seat back on the side of his bed. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew you were drinking that night, and I didn’t exactly get a warm welcome back into the office the next Monday.”

“What happened at the Christmas party?”

“It’s more what happened after we left the Christmas party,” he said, and you frowned.

“What does that mean?” you asked, and you narrowed your eyes as you considered the implication in his words. “I’m sorry, we didn’t hook up, did we?”

His eyes widened at the question, the alarm in your voice. “Jesus, no. You were drunk half out of your mind; what kind of person do you think I am?”

“Don’t act like it’s an insane question. Do you even hear yourself? ‘After we left the party’?” you echoed, and he pursed his lips. “You must know how that sounds.”

“Fine, that’s on me,” he admitted. “We didn’t ‘hook up,’ you dragged me out to, like, three different clubs. You were all over me that night. By the time I managed to get you home, you’d pulled my shirt off of my body so that you could wear it.”

“Oh, please, there’s no way I was ‘all over you,’” you scoffed, mocking his voice. “I do remember talking to you at the party, but the rest of this just sounds like revisionist history.”

“What else do you remember from that night?” he asked, and although his tone was accusatory, the question was sincere. “Anything past leaving the office? Do you even remember leaving?”

You pursed your lips as you considered the question; you didn’t want to admit the answer. “I do remember waking up in a shirt that wasn’t mine to credit card charges from bars in the area. I froze the card, though, ‘cause I thought they were fraud.”

The laugh he huffed out sounded vindicated. "There you go."

"But that doesn't prove any of what you're saying."

"Argue all you want, but this is how I remember it," he said, "I'm just trying to explain why I did what I did. I shouldn't have dragged you into all this, but it also wasn't a plot to make you miserable."

"And it didn't occur to you to just cut it when your dad started insisting you bring me home?"

"If I'd told him we broke up, he would've never believed me about anyone else I dated. I would’ve been expected to go back to Henriette." His gaze was low; you were struggling to stay mad as he explained himself. "They can’t stop talking about it while you’re here; imagine how bad it is when you’re not."

You didn’t respond at first; you couldn’t look at him as his words sat with you, and you couldn’t help but quietly resent everyone who’d told you to communicate with Philip. The silence was heavy, but it felt clear. You walked through Philip’s room back toward your suitcase, looking for something to sleep in.

“God, I feel pathetic,” you huffed quietly as you dug through your clothes. Everything had happened so fast, and you’d made so many assumptions, all of them now seemingly incorrect. “I thought this was all a ploy to make Henriette jealous. It somehow feels worse knowing that I’m actually here because you thought I was pining for you.”

“Hang on, that’s not what I said, either,” Philip defended, and you rolled your eyes.

“You can’t walk this one back after you just insisted that I was throwing myself at you at the office Christmas party,” you said. “Spare me the further humiliation.”

“In all fairness, you came onto me like three hours ago,” he pointed out, and when you turned to meet his eyes with a dead stare, you found him watching you with a small, playful smile. “C’mon, princess, don’t tell me the irony’s lost on you.”

“You didn’t exactly shut me down,” you reminded him pointedly, pajamas-in-hand as you stood.

“No, I didn’t.” You raised your eyebrows, and he shrugged, standing to join you at the end of the bed. “What? You want me to deny it?”

“No, I just… didn’t think you’d be so unapologetic about it.”

“I didn’t think you’d want me to apologize.” He folded his arms as he leaned against the bottom post of his bed. “I didn’t drag you into this lie ‘cause I thought you wanted me. You were all over me at that staff Christmas party, but that’s besides the point.”

"Then what… ?" You trailed off, unable to articulate exactly what it was you wanted to ask. You didn't know what to make of his words.

"I know you haven't missed my friends and family telling you how I talk about you. I've been calling home about you since you joined the office, and it's felt pathetic," he confessed, and the way he spoke so frankly put you on edge. You could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth to a point where you couldn't fathom that he meant what he seemed to. He eyed you hesitantly for a moment. "I felt so dumb doing that that part of me wants to let you keep feeling dumb here for a few more minutes."

"Classy," you commented, and when he laughed, you could feel your face warm.

"Can't help myself," he said. "You kept me sweating bullets all afternoon. I think it would be fair payback."

"That wasn't my greatest move.”

"It scared the shit out of me," he informed you, and you pursed your lips. "A lot’s happened this weekend, but I thought we were at a point where we could finally talk about it."

"I wasn't sure you'd think there was anything worth talking about." Your voice was small.

“Seriously?”

"I figured I was just here to make Henriette jealous. Anything between us was an afterthought.”

“You only met her earlier today. If my plan was just to make her jealous, what about the rest of the weekend?” Your breath stalled as you met his eyes; you were afraid to ask what he meant. You’d been reluctant to assign any meaning to the way he’d sought you out with his family around or the way he spoke to you when nobody was around to hear it. “Not much of the time we spent together was necessary to sell the story that we were dating.”

“We did a pretty good job selling it, though.”

“And then some.” You hadn’t forgotten the way you’d woken up in his arms every morning you spent at his house. You hadn’t missed his excitement for your road trip to his childhood home nor the care he took to make sure you were comfortable at his family dinner. You’d tried to ignore the little touches and passing glances all weekend, but apparently, he knew that you, too, had been keeping score of what was done in private that should have been for show. “I didn’t think I could be any clearer, to be honest. I figured you’d clocked it in the way I seek you out at work, all the time I spend hanging out at your desk.”

“I thought you just found it funny to rile me up.” You shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the heavy implication in his words. It had your heart rate rising; the hand that held your pajamas trembled.

“So you just thought I was an asshole?”

“...Kind of.” You swallowed, and your throat felt tight. He chuckled.

“Looks like Georges was right about me being tactless.”

You wore a small frown when you looked him in the eye, and his gaze was soft as he watched you. His words were heavy with meaning, but the air felt light — it was as though a haze was lifting and you were seeing him clearly for the first time. “What are you saying?”

His smile was melancholy. “You kissed me earlier today, and I thought it meant that something was different. You've gotta have some idea of where I’m coming from when I ask whether I was just in the right place at the right time.”

Your heart was in your throat; you raised your eyebrows. You were sure you looked dumbfounded, but all you felt was sick. “You…?”

“I already feel stupid; don't make me come right out and say it." He raked a hand through his hair as he sighed, and you could only watch him, stunned. "Did it… mean anything? Or were you just looking for comfort?"

Your voice was breathless and weak. “Can’t it be both?”

“That’s such a cop out,” he said, and you sighed.

“I don’t know anymore, Philip; you’ve taken care of me this weekend in a way I never imagined you could, and when everything came crashing down with the truth about my past, I was such a wreck, and it would've been so easy for you to be angry after I was so careless, but you were so gentle with me." You glanced down at the pajamas you were still holding, playing with the fabric between your fingers. You couldn't meet his eyes. "You've been better to me than I've deserved today, and that sucks, because I really had my heart set on hating you when we got back to town."

His smile was soft. “Sorry for making myself so hard to hate.”

“It’s been a real inconvenience.” Though your tone was lighthearted, your nervous gaze was heavy as you looked back at him.

“I think you’ll get over it.” He winked, and you could feel the heat rising from the nape of your neck to the tips of your ears. He looked you over, and a beat passed before he unfolded his arms and took a step toward you, hands in his pockets. “So what now, princess?”

His gaze was confident, expectant as he looked down at you; only the tiny crease in his brow betrayed any crack in his self-assured front. You, however, were a deer in headlights, frozen and sure that this was some kind of trap leading you to meet your maker.

“I don’t know.” You weren’t sure you could force the words from your tongue to form a real answer. You felt faint when he took another step toward you, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“You don’t hate me, apparently, but you’re giving me a whole lot of non-answers.”

“You’re not exactly asking easy questions,” you defended, and he smiled.

“Then let me give you something a little simpler.” Your breath caught when his stare flickered to your lips, lingering long enough that it was unmistakable. “If I tried to kiss you right now, would you stop me?”

Your eyes were wide as they met his, his confident gaze almost imposing in the proximity. But you didn’t move — you didn’t speak, you didn’t back away, and you certainly didn’t stop him. He took another step, and he reached out, brushed a hair away from your face. “Tell me this isn't what you want, and I won’t bring it up ever again.”

“Philip…” You trailed off when his fingertips brushed over the skin of your cheek, and when he closed the space between you, his hand fell to cup your face. The pajamas you held fell lamely from your limp grasp.

“Yeah?” He raised his eyebrows, and the look in his eyes was expectant as he lifted your chin up toward him. “C’mon. It’s not like you to go all quiet on me. Where’d all those opinions of yours go?”

“I…” He was holding you at your cheek and your waist, pulling you into him, but your arms were still anchored to your sides. You knew what you wanted. But you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to reach out and grab it— no, grab him.

“Do you want this, or don’t you?” He combed a hand into your hair, his eyes following the motion, and his thumb swept down the side of your jaw. “Because, princess, trust me: I know what I want.”

Words were failing you. The silence between you stretched on, but he didn’t press any further; he waited, and his actions were patient. His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back. His eyes were fixed on your lips, so when you spoke, he couldn’t have missed it.

“Please…”

“Please?” he repeated.

“Please kiss me.” Your voice was no louder than a whisper, and after you said it, his smile widened, but it wasn’t smug. His gaze was soft.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

When he leaned down to kiss you, his lips were gentle, and your hands rose to rest on his chest as he pulled you close. Your eyes fluttered shut as your nose brushed against his, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling at the sound that escaped him when you pulled lightly on his hair. His hands settled low on your waist when you pulled him into yourself.

As you threaded a hand into his hair, the way he handled you grew needier; his grip on you tightened, and his mouth against yours became more insistent. His tongue was in your mouth; he held you by the nape of your neck, and you were doing all you could to keep up with him as his touch became sloppy. He pressed open mouthed kisses down your jawline, and you tilted your head back, enjoying the way his grip on you tightened and his hands migrated to your lower back.

You stumbled backwards as he leaned into you, sucking a hickey into the delicate skin of your neck, and though you knew you should’ve stopped him, you couldn’t bring yourself to. You’d deal with the consequences come morning. He hooked a hand under one of your thighs, pulling your leg up to his waist, and you wrapped it around him, pulling his body closer as he pushed you back against the bedroom wall. Your dress was riding up your thighs, but your exposed skin was hardly a fleeting thought as you pulled his head back up to kiss him on the mouth. That time, his lips were slower. After a long moment, he pulled back to look you in the eye.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now,” he said, voice breathless, brushing a hair off your forehead, and your chest was heaving.

“Then don’t stop there.” You looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, and his eyebrows jumped. His hand fell to the side of your head, his thumb brushing over the skin under your ear.

“Really?” Despite the surprise in his voice, he looked far from upset, and you shrugged.

“I mean, as long as you’re amenable,” you said softly, and the tension in his raised eyebrows made you hesitate. “You do want me, don’t you?”

“I do,” he said, but something in his words was tentative, and it made you frown.

“But?” you prodded, and he sighed.

“I need to know if this is a one time thing.” Your eyebrows shot up, and he was quick to continue, “It’s fine if that’s all you want. But I’d rather get on the same page beforehand.”

“I don’t want it to be,” you said. “I don’t know what that means for us going forward, but I don’t want this to be just tonight.”

“First clear answer I’ve gotten today,” he said softly as he leaned in to kiss you once more, and you rolled your eyes. He kissed you hard, shamelessly as you ran your fingers through his hair, and you smiled against his lips. His tongue brushed against yours when his hand ran up your thigh, pushing your dress with it until his fingertips met the lacy material of your panties; though he slid his fingers under their hem, moving toward your inner thigh, his confident lips faltered against yours when you shivered under his touch.

“Can I?” he whispered into your open mouth, and your hand came down to cover his as you sucked softly on his bottom lip. You moved his hand to your center, and you could feel his breath as he inhaled sharply. You released his lip from between yours.

“Please.”

That was all he needed to hear; he ran his hand over your clothed slit, and you tensed, arching against him as your hand ran up his arm. Your breathing was labored when his fingers breached the hem of your panties, and you froze as the fabric pulled at your hips. You squeezed his bicep when his fingertips dipped between your lips, and you dropped your head back against the wall behind you.

“You’re so wet already,” he murmured as he kissed the side of your head.

“I’ve been thinking about having your hands on me for the past hour,” you confessed, and he chuckled.

“The feeling’s mutual.” His slick fingertips circled your clit, and your hips lurched, chasing the feeling of his skin. He only drew back a touch, but the loss of the feeling drew a whimper from your pouted lips, and you rolled your hips down against his hand as you tightened your leg around his waist, pulling him closer. You felt him grin, lips brushing against your ear. “God, you’re needy.”

"Because I need you," you pleaded. "Touch me properly."

“Gladly.” You tensed involuntarily when he rolled your clit against the soft skin of his middle finger, and your breath was caught in your throat, your jaw tight. His touch was alight, and you bit your lip as your hips lurched. “You like that?”

“Mhm.”

“Talk to me, princess. Use your words.” His fingers slid down to your dripping pussy, and you whimpered, tightening your hold on his neck, gripping the collar of his shirt. When he slid two fingers inside you, you gasped, rolling your hips against his hand.

“Fuck,” you breathed as he started thrusting his fingers inside you, and he nipped the skin of your jaw. His other hand lifted the skirt of your dress from your other side, settling at your waist, and as you tried to grind down on him, he pinned your hips back against the wall. “Philip, harder, please.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, and when his fingers hit you deeper, his palm struck your clit, and you cried out, scrabbling for purchase on the fabric of his shirt. He pushed another finger inside you without notice, and your moan was stuttered, the stretch just a shadow of a burn as he curled them against your walls; you could feel your knees going weak under your shuddering body. “Just let it out for me.”

And that was all you could do. His hand sped up against you, and one of your hands ran up the back of his neck as the other knitted itself into the front of his shirt; his smile was smug as you frantically grabbed at him. Your whimpers were weak when Philip pressed his fingertips against the front of your walls, and he felt you clench down against him.

“Right there,” you whined.

“Right here?” He did it harder, more intentionally that time, and your thighs trembled, you bit your lower lip. You nodded deliriously.

“Yes,” you moaned as his thrusts grew quicker and more forceful. The only things keeping your spent body upright were his hands under your hips and your grip on his shoulders; your cries were growing louder. “Oh, God; oh, fuck.”

“Shh, princess, we’ve got my family next door,” he chastised you, but the smile in his voice was distinct. Your groan was muffled through pursed lips. “You don’t want to ruin their impression of you as such a sweet, wholesome girl, do you?”

You shook your head frantically, pressing your lips together, but— “I’m so close.”

“Yeah? You’re gonna come for me?” He pressed the heel of his hand down against your clit, and your mouth fell open in a silent whine, brow knit. “Come on. Let me have it.”

Your nails were digging into the skin of his back through his thin button-down as pressure built in your groin, but he didn’t seem to mind. Your leg around him was a vice, and your hips jerked helplessly against the hand he used to pin you against the wall; the stretch of his three fingers inside you was dizzying, and you were struggling to form words, overwhelmed by the sensation as you approached your peak.

You came with a shriek, and his lips met yours, muffling the sound as he worked you through your orgasm. He released your hip to pin you against the wall by the neck. His tongue was in your mouth; your whimpers were close to cries as he fucked you with his fingers, and his hand only slowed against you when you went limp in his grasp.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes fell shut as you leaned back against the wall, and Philip kissed down your neck as he withdrew his hand from you, instead pushing your dress up to your waist.

“Take this off,” he muttered against your skin. You didn’t respond, chest heaving as you caught your breath, but you helped him lift the dress up over your head, leaving you only in underwear as you fixed the hair it ruffled. He tossed the garment aside. While your arms returned to his shoulders, he held you back by the waist for a moment, making your eyebrows jump. His gaze roamed your figure while he took a step toward you, and your breath was caught as his hands ran down your hips, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered. “You’re stunning.”

Your smile was self-conscious as he pulled you close, tilted your face up toward his with his fingers under your chin, and he kissed you softly. His hands settled atop the swell of your ass, and when he pulled you against him, his erection pressed against your lower stomach through the fabric of his pants, drawing a gasp from your lips against his. He smiled when you rolled your hips up against his, pushing him back toward his bed. You kissed him hard, undoing the buttons on his shirt, and he laughed as he stumbled backward.

“Easy there.” As he bumped into the end of the mattress, he stilled you by the waist, and his hands ran up your back to unhook your bra. He slid the straps down your arms. “I’m not going anywhere, princess.”

“I’m allowed to be impatient when I look like this and you’re still fully dressed.” You gave him a pointed look as you discarded your bra, and he grinned.

“In all fairness, you look good like this.”

“Shut up, Hamilton.” You could feel his smile against your lips when you kissed him, finished unbuttoning his shirt, and he sat back onto the foot of the bed as he shrugged his shirt off his shoulders. You climbed onto his lap without hesitation, and he pulled you close with a firm grip on your thighs as your arms hung loosely around his neck. When your lips again met his, it was slower; your hands moved to his body, his bare torso and his warm skin, and ultimately to his belt buckle.

You kissed down the side of his neck as your hands traveled south, and he squeezed your ass when you latched onto the skin below his ear, sucking a deep purple bruise into the tender space.

“Marking your territory?” he asked between heavy breaths as you pulled the tail of his belt out from its buckle. You smiled.

“Trying to make sure Henriette gets that you've moved on.” You undid the button on the top of his pants and unzipped them, dragging your fingers over his bulge as you did so, and he let out a ragged breath.

“Don't tease me.” His voice was rough as he lifted your face by the chin, and you looked up at him with wide eyes to see his weary expression. You traced your fingers over the outline of his dick in his boxers.

“Or what?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you watched his chest heave. His thumb ran across your jaw, and his gaze was fixed on your lips.

“Or I won’t invite you to the Hamilton Thanksgiving?” His tone was mild, and your scandalized gasp was weak.

“Oh, you wouldn’t dare.”

“I know, I’m really cruel, huh?”

“I don’t know how I’m gonna handle it.” The final few words were murmured against his lips as he leaned in to kiss you once more, but you pulled back a moment later as you pushed yourself off the edge of the bed to stand and lowered yourself to your knees. You tugged his pants down with you, looking up at him as you reached for the waistband of his boxers. “Can I?”

“By all means.” He sounded winded as you pulled his underwear down over his hard cock, and you leaned in to kiss his stomach, running your hands up his thighs as you settled between his legs. His breathing was heavy as you ghosted a finger up to the tip of his hard cock. His hips jerked forward the moment your lips touched the head, and you pulled back with a soft laugh.

“You’re so needy.” He didn’t seem to have much patience for your playful gaze as you took his dick in one hand.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” he said.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Do you want me to do something about it?”

“Wouldn’t mind it.” You took his dick fully in your mouth, then, hollowing your cheeks as you brought it to the back of your tongue, and he groaned, a hand flying to your hair. You pulled back to spit on it, pumping it in your hand. “Do you have it in you?”

You ran your tongue up the underside of his cock before taking it as deep as you could, gagging as you massaged the base. Philip’s moan was gratifying as he weaved a hand into your hair, grasping it by the roots, and you looked up at him with wide eyes when his grip went firm. He gently pushed your head down further after you bobbed back up, making you choke. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. He held you there a moment, but when you came back up for air, you went back down on him almost immediately. He grunted as you tried to take him deeper, coming up to trace your tongue over the head of his cock. You sucked it gently, lowering your mouth on him slowly, and when you reached down to cup his balls, his hips lurched forward. You gagged when his cock hit the back of your throat.

“Shit, sorry—”

You pulled back with a cough, spit dripping down your chin as you looked up at him with wet eyes. “I don't mind.”

His eyebrows jumped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You guided the hand he'd begun to withdraw back to your hair. “Go ahead.”

“You want me to fuck your throat, princess?” He pulled your hair back by the roots, forcing you to look up at him. The corners of his lips quirked up. “C'mon. Say it.”

“Fuck. Yeah, I do.” You leaned into his touch, pumping his dick in your fist. “Please, Philip.”

“Alright, just be good for me then.” When you took his cock back between your lips, flattening your tongue against the underside, he pulled you down on it firmly that time, holding you in place when you started to choke. “You can take it.”

Your brow was creased as you looked up at him, and when he thrusted gently into your throat, prodding your gag reflex, you had to remind yourself to breathe through your nose. Your lips touched where your hand had been working the base of his cock when he pushed his hips forward, and he pulled you back to move your hand, interlacing your fingers with those of his free hand where it rested on his thigh. “Come on. Take it all. You're doing so good.”

His gentle tone contradicted the force that was growing behind his thrusts, making you tear up as he abused the back of your throat. His grip on your hair was tight then, and he squeezed your hand in his.

It was only a moment later that he pushed you down to the base of his cock, and he groaned at your throat convulsing around him, rejecting the intrusion. He pulled you back up for air.

“You okay?” You only nodded as you wrapped your lips around his dick once more, going as far as you could without him forcing you, and his soft grunts were encouragement enough. “Fuck, princess. You're so good.”

Your eyes fell shut, preening at the praise and trying to focus on your breathing as he rolled his hips into your mouth. You looked up at him when his thrusts grew quicker, his breathing heavier, and you squeezed his hand in yours. Your other hand came up to roll his balls between your fingers, and he moaned.

His hips stilled a moment later, his body going rigid, and when you kept bobbing your head, he had to pull you back.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

Although your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, you managed a weak, “What?”

He inhaled slowly. “That's too fucking good. I don't wanna come like that, though; I wanna fuck you properly.”

Your smile was smug, but your voice was hoarse when you responded, “Aw, you're struggling not to come already?”

You gasped at his sharp tug on your hair. His gaze was entertained. “Play nice if you still want anything more from me.”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly, but you weren't fazed. “What, you don't wanna fuck me anymore? You haven't even come.”

“Maybe I will come down your throat, then. I've been trying to shut your smart mouth up for years.”

Your pout as you blinked back the tears from him fucking your throat made him smile. “Please don't tease.”

“You've already come. What makes you think you deserve to get fucked?”

“I'll be so good.” Your strained plea didn't budge his expression, and you eyed his amused look. “And you know how long you've wanted this for. Me on my knees, begging you to fuck me. Why would you keep both of us from getting what we want?”

His tongue was burrowed into his cheek as he eyed you for another moment, reaching down to wipe the tears and smeared mascara from your cheeks. “Fuck. Yeah, alright, c’mere.”

You smiled as you stood, and he pulled you up toward him with the hand on his thigh. He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you onto his lap, and you leaned in to kiss him once more, softer that time. He had a different agenda. As you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, his hand was at your neck and his tongue pushing its way into your mouth, and you moaned against him, grinding down against his dick.

“You're so gorgeous.” The heat of his breath was in your mouth. You tugged at his bottom lip with your teeth.

It was sudden when he stood, picking you up with him by the thighs, and you yelped, clinging to his shoulders. The sound made him laugh as he pulled back, his nose resting against the side of yours. “Relax, princess, I've got you.”

“You've gotta stop calling me that,” you murmured against his cheek, and he bit your lip playfully.

“Don't hold your breath.” He stepped out of the pants that hung around his ankles as he brought you around to the side of the bed, and when he laid you down beneath him, it was careful, and he kissed your neck as he laid your head back.

You tried to pull him back onto the bed with you with your hands at his shoulders, and you pushed yourself further onto the mattress with your feet. “Come here.”

Ever obliging, he followed, kneeling above you as you pulled yourself up to kiss him once more. His mouth dropped to your neck as his hands ran down to your hips, tugging at the band of your underwear.

“Can I take these off?” he whispered.

“D’you have a condom?”

“Yeah, hang on.” He kissed your shoulder before he rolled off of you to stand. He grabbed his wallet from the bedside table and withdrew the foil packed from its inner pocket, and you raised your eyebrows.

“You've just been carrying that around?”

“I've carried a condom in my wallet since I was sixteen.” He tore open the packet, withdrawing the condom and rolling it down his hard cock.

“Hope it's not expired since you haven't had a chance to use it yet.”

He looked down with an eyebrow cocked at your self-satisfied smile. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

You shrugged. “Still considering it.”

“You're such a pain in my ass.” His voice held no ire as he grabbed you by the ankles and yanked you toward him on the bed, and you squealed. He leaned down to take the fabric of your underwear between his fingers, pulling it down your legs, and you bent your knees for him to pull it over your feet. He took you by the thighs, then, parting them for himself and settling between them on the mattress as he pushed you back to where you'd been.

Your breathing was quick as he leaned over you, pulling one of your legs up to his hip, and you gasped when the tip of his cock ran up your soaked pussy. His other hand landed on the mattress beside your head, holding him up above you.

He furrowed his brow as he looked into your wide, nervous eyes. “You're sure you want this?”

“Please.” You ground your hips up against the shaft of his dick, and you flinched when it brushed against your clit. “Wanna feel you inside me. Come on.”

“Okay,” he said, voice breathy as he reached down to line his dick up with your entrance. Your stomach turned when you felt his tip against you, pushing firmly inside, and it didn't take long for it to start to burn.

“Wait, wait, go slow.” You scrambled for purchase in the sheets, ultimately pushing yourself up onto your elbow and holding him by the chest. “You're too big. I need a second.”

“Hey, relax.” He held your hand that laid on his chest. Your eyes were wide as you looked up at him. “It's okay. Do you want me to stop?”

“No, no, just…” You swallowed. “Be gentle at first? Please?”

“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. “Just lay down. I'll take care of you.”

You did so hesitantly, and he followed you back down to the mattress, his hand on your hip and his lips on your neck. The second push of his hips against yours made you groan, his dick pushing further inside of you, and he fell into a rhythm rolling his hips down as he eased you open.

“There you go. Good girl,” he whispered at his final shallow thrust, bottoming out. You whimpered as he ground his hips gently against yours. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was barely a breath. “You can move. I'm okay.”

“Okay princess. Lemme go slow.” One of his hands ran up the bottom of your thigh, bending it for him and spreading you wider as he pulled back. His first few thrusts hurt, stretching you slowly open, and you could only groan into his shoulder atop you, but as he fell into a rhythm, you could feel yourself begin to relax.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” you said softly as you arched against him, letting your head fall flat against the bed.

“Yeah?” He thrusted his hips harder against yours in a way that made your eyes widen. He ran a hand up the back of your leg, spreading you wider for him as he increased his pace. “Yeah? Like that? You like that?”

“Oh, shit,” you groaned, “I need more. I need you to fuck me harder.”

“And I need you,” —he grabbed you by the jaw, turning your head to look him in the eye— “to be quieter.”

“You're still thinking about your parents next door?” Your words were jeering. “At a time like this?”

“Well, now I'm thinking a little less considerately.” His hand dropped to your neck, and your eyebrows jumped. “You promised you'd be good for me.”

“I think I'm just the picture of decorum.”

“Uh huh.” He leaned into you as he slowed down. “It's alright. You will be.”

“Wait, please, harder,” you whined, eyes falling shut. He stilled inside you, watching you expectantly. “Philip. Please don't stop.”

“What'll you do for it?” He kissed you softly with a smile, running his thumb along your jaw.

“Fuck. Anything. Please.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Call me daddy.” Your eyes flew open, but his grin was easy as his hand left your next to rest on the mattress beside you. “Come on. We both saw how you reacted to the jokes I've made about it. I might've been a little stupid this weekend, but I'm not dumb.”

“That doesn't even make sense.”

“You know what I'm saying, though. Don't you?” He kissed your jaw. “Tell me that doesn't get you off, and I'll leave it alone.”

“Philip,” you whined. “Just want you to fuck me.”

“Gladly. Just say the word.”

“I don’t…” You clearly had every intention of defending yourself, but as he raised his eyebrows, he could feel your pussy tighten around him. “Please. I need you.”

“Please what?”

He smoothed your hair back away from your face as he watched you, and you swallowed hard. “Please, daddy.”

Your voice was hardly audible, but it made him smile as he ground his hips down against yours. “Say again? I can't even hear you; you're mumbling.”

“Come on,” you pouted. “You promised.”

“I want to hear it. Say it like you mean it.” He'd returned to thrusting shallowly in you, then, but only slowly. It was barely enough stimulation to tease.

“Fuck me harder. Please.”

“Are you really gonna make me ask you again?” Philip lifted your head with a hand beneath your chin to look at him. His pupils were blown wide. Between the way he felt, stretching you wide, and the way your skin rippled under his fingers on his neck, soft but firm, there's little he could've asked for that you wouldn't have done.

“Please, daddy,” you finally said. “I want you to fuck me. Properly. Like you mean it.”

“Oh yeah?” He sped up the roll of his hips against yours, his grin widening as he dropped his head to rest against your skin. “How properly? Hm? You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, fuck, please,” you moaned, and he moved the hand on your neck to rest against the mattress, holding him up above you. “Please, please, please.”

He didn't respond, only pushing your thigh in his hand further against your chest as he lifted himself onto his knees. As he leaned over you, his grip on your leg lifted your hips into the air, driving your upper back into the mattress as he thrust harder into you.

“Shit, you're so tight,” he huffed, “that feels damn good.”

His words made you groan, and he pulled back fully onto his knees, holding you against him by the hips for leverage. Your grip twisted into his bedsheets as his back hovered out of reach, and you rolled your hips against him, meeting his thrusts as you arched your back.

“I don't know how long I'm gonna last.” His words were breathy. “You feel too good. Want you to cum for me first, though. What do you need for that, princess?”

“Touch me, daddy,” you pleaded, and he groaned, driving into you harder. His grip tightened in one hand, but the other released your hip to find your clit, circling it softly.

“Here?” he asked. “This good for you?”

“Yeah,” you moaned. “So good.”

Your hips jerked and your legs trembled at the dual stimulation, and it wasn't long before you found yourself close to orgasm, worked up from how overwhelmed you were. When you clenched down on him, he could feel it.

“Shit, you close?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Don't stop.”

“Never.” His thrusts into you slowed down only slightly so he could fuck you harder, your entire body jostled by the force, and your legs tensed as you finally reached your peak. You came with a gasp, and he didn't stop fingerings you, working your clit through the orgasm.

It was only when you found yourself too sensitive, jerking away from his touch, that he slowed down.

“You okay?” he murmured, thrusting gently into you. You nodded. “Can you keep going?”

“Please. I want you to cum. Want you to feel good.”

“Shit, okay.” His hand that was fingering you had been on your lower stomach, but it moved to your other thigh so he was holding you by the legs, pressing them into your chest. When he picked back up his pace, his grip tightened, and your mouth fell open in a silent whine. “Fuck. Yeah. You're so tight. You like that?”

“Mhm.” Your response came out a whimper as you sank your grip into the bedsheets, and you barely registered your fingernails digging into your palms.

He groaned. “Oh, God, I'm gonna cum.”

“Cum in me,” you pleaded, rolling your hips pathetically up against his. His thrusts were growing sloppy and frantic. “Cum for me.”

“Shit.” He came with a gasp, and although his grip tensed on your thighs for a moment, you barely had time to wince before he was releasing them, dropping them gently to the mattress before leaning over you to kiss you. “You okay?” he whispered against your lips.

“Yeah.” Your voice was weak, and he pulled back enough to look you in the eye, smoothing your hair away from your face.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pulled him down to kiss you again. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He dipped down to kiss your jaw as he slowly pulled out, and your arms were limp on his shoulders as you caught your breath. “That was… I… well, fuck.” His voice was ragged as he rested his forehead on your shoulder, both your bodies damp with sweat. You had his hair between your fingers, fingertips tracing his scalp, and you couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at his declaration.

“Exactly what I was thinking,” you murmured, and he chuckled as he lifted his head to kiss you on the mouth, leaning on his arm beside your head. He brushed a hair out of your face, hand coming down to hold you by the nape of your neck as his thumb ghosted over the bottom of your cheek. When he pulled back, he eyed your features thoughtlessly, gaze never leaving your face, and you squirmed under his scrutiny despite his soft smile.

“You’re staring.”

“Let me keep this moment for a few more seconds.”

You scoffed. “My hair is in knots and there’s mascara running halfway down my face. I’m not exactly a vision right now.”

He creased his brow when he looked you in the eye. “You have no idea how stunning you are, do you?”

You smiled timidly. “I won't turn down the reminder."

He grinned as he dipped down to kiss you softly once more. "I'm happy to let you know, princess." He rolled off of you and sat up to take off his condom, tying it off before discarding it in the trash. Your eyes ran over his toned back as he did so, watching the low light dip and swim in the clefts between his muscles, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you as you pulled yourself up to sit at his headboard. He raised an eyebrow when he saw you watching him. "What?"

"This still feels surreal," you said quietly, and he didn't respond as he came to sit beside you, waiting for you to go on. "Three days ago, we barely spoke. This isn't how I expected this weekend to end."

"That makes two of us." He glanced down at you, eyeing your pensive expression. "Even my most optimistic imagination was that we would come back friends."

"This never crossed your mind?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that, exactly." His playful grin made you roll your eyes. "What, like you never thought about it?"

"Only in moments of weakness," you defended, and he quirked a brow.

"'Moments of weakness'?" he repeated. "What does that mean? Late nights at the office when we're the only ones around? When I take off my jackets and you see a little too much skin?"

"When Susan's getting a little too handsy," you corrected him, and he grinned. "I wish she wouldn't do it in the middle of shared spaces, though, because God does that woman know how to paint a picture."

"Now I might actually have a good reason to cut her off," he said. "I wouldn't wanna make anybody jealous. That sounds like a bad way to facilitate a healthy workplace dynamic."

"What d'you mean, might?" you asked incredulously. "You're gonna go back to flirting with our boss after all this?"

"Depends," he said, and you self-consciously pulled your knees into your chest where you sat. "What are we doing when we get back?"

"I don't know." Your voice was small. "What do you want?"

"Well—" He took your hand in his from where it rested atop your knee, watching your fingers as you laced them into his. "—first and foremost, I want you to stop stealing my parking spot."

"It's not your parking spot."

"But then I want you to let me take you out." Your eyebrows jumped as he squeezed your hand. "Properly. Somewhere we're not putting on a show for my family or worrying about work."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned gently into you, bumping your shoulders with his. “Let's finally go on that first date I've been lying to my family about for so long.”

Your smile was soft. “And where would you take me?”

“Well, I could always use a date to my company Christmas party,” he said, and you couldn't help your laugh. “I have this hot coworker that I share a space with who I've been trying to make jealous for years.”

“Maybe if you just tried being nice to her you'd have better results.”

“Would you believe that never occurred to me?”

You glanced over at him, and he was watching you with shining eyes. “God, you're so dumb,” you finally said, and his laugh was surprised, “I can't believe it took us this long to just talk. All this goddamn time.”

“I didn't think we ever would.”

“I didn't think we had much to say. I guess I'm glad I was wrong.”

“You guess?” he repeated, and your eyes widened as you jumped to defend yourself before you saw his grin. “You really know how to make a man feel special, princess.”

“I try my best.”

He took you by the chin when he leaned in to kiss you, but this time it was clumsier than it was passionate, one smile pressed against another.

“So are we done pretending you're not a cuddler?” he whispered, and with a groan, you shoved him hard enough that he fell onto his back beside you, pulling you down with him.

————

“There's the happy couple.” Philip's family had let you sleep in late, and you didn't want to question whether it was because they'd heard you up as late as you were the night before. It was Eliza who welcomed you down to the brunch she'd made, beaming at your sleepy smiles and mussed hair. “I know you have to get on the road today, but will you linger just a bit at breakfast? It's been so long since you've been home.”

“Of course, Mom. It's good to be back.” He kissed Eliza on the head, releasing your hand as he followed her to the kitchen counter to take a plate. “We're not in any rush, are we, princess?”

“To be stuck in a car with you all evening? I'd be happy to wait.” The usual bite behind your words didn't land how it tended to, as your snark was half-hearted. He took one look at your soft smile and couldn't even tease.

“I'm sure.”

You followed suit in taking a plate from the counter, helping yourself to some eggs and fruit. When you and Philip sat, the table was uncharacteristically quiet, and you filled your glass with orange juice, taking a sip as you glanced around.

"So you two sure got a lot of sleep, huh?" Angelica was the first to speak after you sat, and when you turned to her, her smile was knowing. You pursed your lips, a grin threatening to break through when you met her eyes.

"Yeah, it's been a tiring weekend. We needed it."

"You really haven't had much time to yourselves, have you?" Alex asked. You raised an eyebrow. His voice was sincere. "I guess that's what they say about engagements. Once you're getting married, it's about everyone else as much as it is about you."

"I think we'll manage," Philip responded, resting a hand on your knee under the table. When you turned to him, he winked. "I don't think we're in any race to the finish line. Can't speak for you, princess, but I wouldn't mind taking a little time to enjoy where we're at."

"I don't disagree," you said softly before turning back to Alex. "Anyway, we've got work in the morning. We might be a little busy to wedding plan for the time being."

"But you'll get there, right?" Concern tinged Eliza's voice, and you and Philip shared a look.

"Everything in due time, right?"

"Of course," Philip said, squeezing your knee under the table. You took another sip of your orange juice to hide your smile.

“So Y/N?” It was William's small voice that piped up, making you raise your eyebrows. “When are you having a baby?” he said, and you choked on your drink. Philip patted your back as you set the glass down, coughing.

“What?”

“You said you weren't gonna have a baby until you got married. But now you're getting married, so when are you gonna have a baby?”

You took a deep breath as you looked at Philip with wide eyes. He barely seemed to register it, glancing back at you with an exasperated smile.

“We just sat down for breakfast, Will. Give Y/N some time.”

“Well I don't mean you should have a baby right now. Finish your eggs first.”

Your laugh was stunned, but it occurred to you that you should've anticipated this. Philip seemed to have.

“I think you might need to give us a good few years to finish our eggs first then, buddy. We're in no rush.”

“But I wanna be an uncle,” William argued, and Alex finally chimed in.

“Finish the first grade before you start worrying about being an uncle.” The chuckle this garnered was collective, but he did turn his eyes to you. “Congratulations, though. You two must be excited.”

“We are,” you answered before Philip could say anything, and you squeezed his hand where it sat on the table. He met your eyes, and when he turned his hand over to lace his fingers into yours, your skin tingled. “I think it's safe to say we've still got an adventure ahead of us.”

[popclture]

The Notebook (2004)

[davidhudson]

Happy 82nd, Martin Scorsese.

1978 photo by James Hamilton.

[filmesbrazil]

[cinefiliz]

The Notebook, 2004.

[20th-century-man]

Shirley Eaton / being painted gold during production of Guy Hamilton’s Goldfinger (1964)

[darlingshane]

Jon Bernthal as Brett Hamilton in ORIGIN (2023)

[josketches]

on your feet, soldier

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 08 | thomas jefferson

title: freedom of the press 08

words: 10k

warnings: a lot of angst sorry. 09 will be happier if i can publish it in less than 2.5 years this time. addiction/substance abuse mentions, STI mentions

pairing: thomas jefferson x reader

desc: the 2020 republican presidential frontrunner is an obnoxious, morally bankrupt people-pleaser, but what happens when you become the person he’s most eager to please?

tags: @stargazelaurens @ivory-haired-queens @exoticxchicken8 @assbuttstyles777 @distinguishedpotsticker @fukaaaaaaaa @hereforthepsyche-assessment @ivetoldamillionlies @fangirl570 @thealaddinkid @lasciviouspeach @snazzydoesthings @shy-and-awkward-daveed @rachelhermionerose @soft-weeb-s @gryffinclxw @anamrnk @daveeddiggsit @ayayayayana @marinovakovich @cryinghazelnutt @thefandomgirl03 @a-hopeless-fan @cloudynblw @tinywhim @lolidunnoaboutnow @siriusorionblackiii @fanfic-addict-98 @nyxie75 @i-know-i-can @yxseminx @yavin4andor @sugacita @sstrawberry-fanta @youtxbemusic @queenwilty @someinsanefangirl @foudre-aqua @whatevs2000 @rwr-ites @maxi-ride @moose-on-the-l00se @itshaileyn @toxicidity @malos-moving @luckyfriesss @lovecass123

"YOU SENT ASHLEY my fucking article?"

"Woah, honey, slow down," Angelica said, voice staticky through the phone, but Y/N was fuming. She was sure that everyone in the diner below her apartment could hear her yelling. "Yes, I sent it. You asked me to, last night."

Y/N furrowed her brow. "...What the hell are you talking about?"

"Seriously?" she asked. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. You promised you only had two drinks."

Y/N's stomach turned. She distinctly remembered downing half the open bar at the campaign fundraiser the night prior after the way her conversation with Thomas had ended. She less-distinctly remembered Angelica driving her home -- she'd been in North Carolina on a different assignment, but it turned out the CEO she was reporting on happened to be one of Thomas's biggest donors. "Okay, so maybe I stretched the truth a little, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"It has everything to do with everything," Angelica said flatly. "You told me to send that article to Ashley in the middle of your soliloquy about how Jefferson was ruining your life. You were rambling, but you were coherent; I wouldn't have expected you'd wake up having forgotten all of it."

The more she spoke, the more was coming back to Y/N, though. Flashes of Angelica checking her out of her hotel, driving her several hours back north to DC.

"Fuck," she finally said, palming her forehead as though it'd restore her memory. "Wait, why would I have you send it to her instead of just doing it myself?"

"I don't know," Angelica said mildly. "Maybe you were too far gone to write the email."

"You said I was coherent," Y/N replied, raising an eyebrow. "So which is it? Was I drunk beyond belief, or did I just seem a little tipsy?"

"Honey, I don't know; you were just a little out of it. And you did just tell me you’d lied to me about how much you’d had to drink." Angelica sounded exasperated, but Y/N wasn't done.

"Forward me the email you sent Ashley. I need to see when you sent it and what you said."

"Why? I—"

"Because I don't believe that I asked you to do that," she snapped, and Angelica paused for a long moment, taken aback.

"...Why don't you believe me?"

"Because I'd already decided that I wasn't going to send it," Y/N huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"And so you think I did it behind your back?"

“That’s exactly what I think.”

There was a long pause; all Y/N could hear from the other end of the line was static.

“Y/N—”

“Either forward me the email you sent Ashley, or own up to it,” she cut her off, having no desire to hear Angelica push another excuse. “Prove me wrong.”

“I can’t.” Angelica’s tone was biting, and Y/N’s scowl deepened. “I did send it, but you know what? I’m trying to save you from yourself.”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘save me from myself’?” she asked incredulously. “You were the one who told me that only I could decide what I wanted to publish.”

“You spent an hour on the trip home talking about how Jefferson was ruining your life,” Angelica reminded her. “So why don’t you want that article published? Why are you trying to protect him?”

“Because even he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Why doesn’t he? He’s been ruining your career, antagonizing you on Twitter; do you even remember how worked up you were yesterday? Talk about your integrity all you want, but that doesn’t mean you have to protect him.”

“It’s not about protecting him,” Y/N defended. “It’s just what I think is right.”

“And why don’t you think this is right? That’s what I don’t get.” Angelica’s huff sent a rush of static through the phone that made Y/N wince. “Honey, this would fix all the damage he’s done to your career; isn’t it only fair that you publish? You've been drowning in bills, and I know it's taking a toll on you. You deserve the money you'll get from this. Besides, you don’t owe him anything.”

You don’t owe him anything.

Y/N couldn’t reply; Angelica’s words reverberated in her mind like an echo — they were true. She didn’t owe him anything. That was what she’d been telling herself, it was what she’d been telling everyone else, and it was what she'd spent the past night arguing with him about.

And he’d agreed. She didn’t owe him anything.

“I… I can’t have this conversation right now, Ang,” she sighed. “I know you meant well, but this wasn’t your place to get involved. Now I need to figure out what my next move is.”

“It’s too late to stop the article. Ashley already has it.” Y/N winced at her words, and Angelica continued, “If you refused to give her the sources, she’d fire you. I know this job means too much for you to just throw it away when things get hard.”

"This isn't 'things getting hard'; it's me losing the reason I wanted to be a journalist in the first place."

"And if you want to stay a journalist, you'll send Ashley the tape of your interview with Adams," Angelica said. "She can't publish without it."

“Don't act like somehow you know what's best for me, Angelica."

"It seems like I know better than you. Your finances have been the worst part of your life for years, and those are your exact words," she said, and Y/N scoffed. However, there was truth to it. "If you just waited it out and let Ashley transfer you to another department, would you even be able to pay your bills? Or would you lose your electricity? Your running water? What would you do the next time a student debt payment rolled around?"

"Well, thanks to you, now Ashley's threatening to fire me altogether.” Y/N scowled. "If I lose my income, I sure as hell won't be able to pay off my debt."

"Then follow through with the article," she urged. "You know it's what you need to do. You have to do this for yourself, Y/N. You think Jefferson's never broken his code of ethics to get ahead? Do you even think he has one?"

“Of course—” Y/N had to cut herself off. Her first instinct was to defend him, but she didn’t see any way she could convince Angelica of anything without her believing she’d been indoctrinated. “It isn’t about him. It’s about me, and it’s about my integrity. It doesn’t matter what he’s done.”

“Ashley already has the article. Don’t forget that.”

"You shouldn't have sent it in the first place,” Y/N said. “This is my job, and it's my career; you aren't allowed to make decisions like this on my behalf. At least the tape will buy me time.”

“That buys you two weeks, tops.”

“Then I’ll make the most of it.”

____________

THAT’D BEEN THE first stop on her damage control from the previous night, but she still had a long way to go. Lafayette was gracious enough to get her Dolley’s phone number; Y/N had a number of things she felt she needed to clear the air on, but her conversation with Dolley wasn’t exactly short.

Y/N spent the better part of two hours trying to convince her not to tell James what she’d heard. Apparently, she’d been holding her tongue since she walked in on them at the state dinner months before, but she felt like she’d learned too much the night prior to keep it from him.

She couldn’t tell James, though — at least, that was Y/N’s firm conviction. If she spilled everything to James, he’d have done everything in his power to keep Y/N away from their campaign. After all, since whatever there had been between her and Thomas was over, James didn’t need to worry about anyone’s conflict of interest.

Y/N’s throat tightened when she realized that.

But Dolley didn’t budge, and Y/N was ultimately forced to give up her desperate plea.

A week passed. Y/N returned to her normal schedule at the diner, and Thomas returned to avoiding those shifts whenever possible. (Although, according to Mira, he hadn't stopped by at all.) To the untrained eye, everything was business as usual; Y/N was working both her jobs, going to election events, and interviewing politicians, but to her, there was nothing usual about what she was doing.

She hardly slept that week. It wasn’t because of Thomas, she’d like to have claimed; she was just busy, balancing everything she needed done, working two jobs and trying to figure out what needed to happen for her to keep the Adams article from getting a green light. This was just how she was getting by.

So when Lafayette called her the next Friday, she almost didn’t pick up.

Or, really, she didn’t pick up until the fourth consecutive time he called.

“Hey, Lafayette.”

“What happened between you and Thomas?”

“What?” Y/N was curled up with her laptop on her couch, indulging in retail therapy against her better judgment. At his words, she furrowed her brow. Why was he bringing this up? Why would he have known? “What are you talking about?”

“Do not act as if you do not know what I am referring to,” Lafayette snapped. "He 'as not been 'imself since his fundraiser in North Carolina. So what happened?"

"I…" Y/N furrowed her brow as she processed Lafayette's words. Had he really taken it that poorly? Y/N knew he wasn't thrilled about the development between them; that much went without saying, but they both knew it was for the best. What Thomas wanted, she couldn't give him. Not then. "What d'you mean 'he hasn't been himself'? And why the hell do you think I have anything to do with it?"

“I do not know ‘ow to explain it, Y/N.” Lafayette sighed. “‘Ave you ‘eard from him recently? He 'as been… distant."

She swallowed hard at the question. "Not… not really. Why, what has he told you?"

"Nothing. And zat is exactly ze issue." His tone was short, and the words left little room for discussion. "Did you talk to him about ze article?"

"No, actually."

"...Really?" The surprise in Lafayette's voice was unmistakably genuine, and it made Y/N crease her brow.

“Yeah, um… why is that such a surprise? Did he say something?”

“No. He has ‘ardly spoken to me since ze fundraiser, and I cannot decipher why. I supposed zat something ‘ad happened between ze two of you because of your article, but…” He trailed off, and Y/N could hear in his voice just how stumped he was. “Did anything happen that night?”

“I mean, no, nothing important," she said, brow creased. "Why do you think I have something to do with this?"

“When I asked him what was wrong, ‘e told me to ask you,” Lafayette replied. "So here I am. There 'as to be something, Y/N."

“Don’t worry about it, Lafayette,” she said, rubbing her forehead as though it’d make her headache subside. “It doesn’t concern you.”

"So there is something zat you are not telling me." She winced at the accusation in his voice, but she couldn't claim that he was wrong.

"Okay, fine, but it wasn't a big deal. I swear."

“Perhaps not for you,” he countered, "but you should ‘ave seen Thomas.”

“Is he really doing that badly?” she asked hesitantly, unsure of whether she wanted to hear the answer. "Maybe he's just stressed."

“He has ‘ardly left his apartment, chérie. I went by earlier to check on him, and he would hardly speak to me. He looked like a mess.”

"What d'you mean 'looked like a mess'? Is he okay?" The question was hesitant. "He's, like, safe and everything, right?"

"Alors... he is safe, yes. But he is," --Lafayette hesitated for a long moment, and all that could be heard was static through the line-- "self-destructing, I suppose is ze term. I do not believe zat it is my place to share anything further, though."

"...Well, shit. I didn't think it was that serious."

“You did not think zat what was zat serious?" he asked, voice exasperated. "Can you not simply be forthcoming with me?"

“Nothing, like, big or tragic happened between us,” she said, and she could hear the defensive edge creeping into her own voice. “We just… talked, and we decided it was in both of our best interests to stop sleeping together. That’s all I have to tell you.”

“Zere ‘as to be more to ze story.” Lafayette’s voice, though muffled through the phone, had a stern undertone. “Please, do not withhold things. I am simply trying to help.”

“I don't know what to tell you, honestly,” she said. “What’s done is done. I can't help him anymore. He wouldn't want to see me.”

“Why did you decide to end things?” he asked. “My impression ze other day was that you were happy.”

She winced. That afternoon at Lafayette's place felt so long ago, after what'd changed. “It just had to happen.”

“Is it because you are publishing ze article?”

“I… no. It isn't.” She swallowed hard. Whether she was publishing it seemed like an extraneous detail.

“Then what happened? What did you say to ‘im?”

“I didn't say anything wrong. I've told you all that went down,” she insisted. “We just… You know we’re not in a relationship. The choice to stop all this was mutual.”

“Was it really?”

“Yes. He was the one who suggested it.” That much was true. However, she wasn’t sure how candid the suggestion had been when he initially brought it up. “Whatever's weighing on him, it has to be more than what happened with me. I don't think our conversation would've affected him all that much."

“Y/N, please, be straightforward with me. He told me to speak to you about zis." The concern in Lafayette's voice was neither light nor well-concealed. "I am worried about him. Zis is serious."

“Then I don’t know what it is,” she insisted, throwing a hand up in frustration. “I'm sorry, Lafayette. You know this wouldn't be something I'd want for him, but I can't help you.”

He sighed audibly. “I realize zat I will not be getting any more information from you, Y/N, but I am not done with trying to figure zis out.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “And I wish you the best of luck.”

____________

SHE WANTED THE weekend to herself after that. She didn't think Thomas would be taking this all so hard, but then again, she'd bottled everything up the moment she returned to D.C., pretended she'd believed every word she'd said to him, and she figured he'd do the same. It didn't seem like him to dwell.

And yet, there he was, dwelling, and so there she was, too, worrying about him. Her stomach was in knots.

Lafayette called her a number of times, sent her countless texts. He asked her to come over and talk to him about what happened, but she had no interest. He'd get nothing out of it, and she'd only feel worse. Besides, she couldn't run the risk of seeing Thomas in their building when she was there for Lafayette. He seemed to be unavoidable whenever she was there, but then again, maybe that was why Lafayette asked her over in the first place.

She called off all her shifts over the next couple of days, claiming a head cold, that she didn't want to get anyone else sick. Mira sounded skeptical, but she let her go.

Despite her reluctance to leave her apartment, though, when Dolley called and asked her to come over to talk, she was in a double bind. She hadn't told James anything yet, she said, and she wanted to hear what Y/N had to say about it all before she did. If she didn't want James to resent her until the end of time, she supposed she didn't have much of a choice. She was struggling to pinpoint why she still cared so much about his opinion of her, though.

But she thought she owed it to Thomas to try to contain the fallout.

“Hey, Dolley. Thanks for hearing me out.” She shrugged her coat off, left it on the bench beside the front door of James and Dolley’s house.

“Of course, dear. I figured it was only fair." Dolley gave her a sympathetic smile as she came to pull Y/N into a gentle hug. "Can I get you anything? I was about to make myself a cup of tea, but I could put on a pot of coffee, too, if you'd like."

"Actually, tea sounds really nice."

"Alright. You just sit tight, make yourself at home, and I'll be back in a minute."

Her mind was racing as she curled into Dolley’s couch, glancing around her house. She knew James wasn’t home, but she couldn’t help her paranoia that, somehow, he’d hear her, astral projecting from his lunch meeting into his bedroom.

But Dolley came back after putting the tea kettle on the stove, and Y/N had to get herself out of her head. She’d boiled her advocacy down into a nice, itemized list; Dolley took a seat beside her, and Y/N began giving her the hard sell.

I’ll spare you the details — after all, it’s everything you already know. You’d been there, a fly on the wall beside the hotel hot tub, and you know that Dolley telling James what she’d heard would accomplish nothing — he'd likely resent Y/N for it (not that she'd blame him; she knew the problem her relationship with Thomas presented for their campaign). However, with everything between her and Thomas having been put to an end, it'd accomplish nothing. James would have her barred from their events to prevent her from becoming a distraction, but it wouldn't change anything, by then, and only hinder her career.

And besides, she and James were friends. She didn't want the brief, silly fling she'd had with Thomas to ruin that.

She finished monologuing, and, as if on cue, the doorbell rang.

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the door and then back at Dolley. "Were you expecting someone?"

"I—" The tea kettle started whistling, cutting her off abruptly as she turned her head back toward the kitchen. Dolley sighed. "Oh, hell. Would you mind getting that while I get the door? I need to go see who's here."

“Yeah, sure.” She went to the kitchen as Dolley stood to get the door, and she found that Dolley had made her life fairly easy. There sat two mugs and a box of teabags on a little wooden tray, so all she did was put the little kettle on a potholder before returning to Dolley’s living room.

She couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but when she came back, she and Dolley weren’t alone.

She nearly dropped the tray.

“Thomas?”

He and Dolley both looked up from where they sat on the couch.

“Y/N.” The minute he met her eyes, she froze. Lafayette was right — he looked like hell. The bags under his eyes were deep, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in several days. His beard was growing in patchy. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I…” She was struggling to speak past the lump in her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Dolley invited me.”

Her eyes widened as she turned. “What the hell, Dolley?”

“Oh, would you relax? You two need to talk, and you well know it,” Dolley snapped, and Y/N’s grip tightened on the handles of the tray she held. “Come here and sit down.”

“No. I...” She set the tray down on the side table nearest her, and Dolley furrowed her brow. “I'm leaving. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there’s nothing more to say.”

"Come on, Y/N—"

"She's right, Doll," Thomas sighed. "We already ended things."

"Please, neither of you wanted to. You're just both too stubborn to say it."

"Don't act like you know the full story," Y/N scoffed.

"So you don't want to fix this?"

"There's nothing to fix." Dolley hummed skeptically as Y/N proceeded past her, grabbed her jacket from the bench by the door. "Thanks for having me, though. I'll see you."

"If either of you leaves, I'm telling James everything."

She paused. "Dolley, you can't—"

"I can, and I will. Now, get back here."

"This is blackmail."

"I won't deny that." Dolley raised an expectant eyebrow when Y/N turned back to her. "Are you going to come sit down, or was this a waste of both our afternoons?"

“Dolley.”

“Would you two like a minute to yourselves?”

“I…” She didn’t answer, instead turning to Thomas, waiting for any sort of a cue. He was watching her, though, and when their eyes met, both of them fell silent. She swallowed hard.

“That might be best.” Thomas’s words were soft, but Y/N couldn’t speak, not with the lump that was building in her throat. Dolley glanced between them, and maybe she could see the silent dread in Y/N’s eyes, but she didn’t say another word, just nodded before she left the room. And with that, Y/N and Thomas were alone.

She swallowed hard. When she finally took a seat, it was on the far end of the couch. Y/N felt certain that Dolley’s draping coats and resting books on every other chair in the room was deliberate.

He was the first to speak.

"So, what're you doin' here, then?"

"Dolley invited me, too." She pursed her lips. "I came to talk to her about… everything she heard."

"Why?" Thomas looked genuinely bewildered, but Y/N didn't understand his confusion.

"I was trying to convince her not to talk to James about it." She shrugged. "I mean, it's not like it's worth her telling him now. It wouldn't change anything."

"Then why d'you care if he knows?"

"I…" She trailed off, unsure whether there was any delicate way to say that she didn't want him to be on the receiving end of any hostility from James just because he'd fucked her a few times. She didn't think he deserved that. "I guess I'd rather James not think I'm sleeping around to get ahead."

"'N you're really that worried about his opinion of you?"

"More than I should be." Her voice was quiet. "Anyway, what issue do you have with that? This whole thing affects you, too, you know."

"Oh, believe me, I know." He huffed, folded his arms as he sat back against the couch cushions. "I, er… I came for the same reason. Didn't want James chewin' me out over it."

“James loves you. Even if she does tell him, you know he won’t be able to be angry about it.”

“James ‘s one of my oldest friends,” he agreed, “but when we’re workin’ together, that doesn’t matter anymore. He’d be furious.”

“Even after the fact?”

He shrugged. “We knew everything we were putting at risk here. He’d tell me my priorities weren’t in the right place, or that I shoulda been taking our campaign more serious than… whatever you ‘n I were doin’.”

“Then I guess it’s good that we stopped,” Y/N replied weakly.

“Yeah.” Thomas didn’t meet her eyes. There was a long moment of silence after that; she could tell his mind was elsewhere with the absent stare he wore, fixed on the ottoman of one of the armchairs, but his brow was furrowed. He was deep in thought. She pursed her lips. “What were you gonna say that night?”

The question caught her off guard; her eyes widened, and he looked up calmly to meet her eyes, wearing an inquisitive look.

“What?”

“The night of my fundraiser.” She pressed her lips together into a thin line. “When Dolley came in, she cut you off. I haven’t been able to keep my mind off’a it.”

God, she hated how he was always so blunt. He always spoke his mind, always said what he was thinking, and it was one of the things that scared Y/N most about him. He hadn’t been able to keep his mind off of that one little moment, that fragmented sentence.

“I… I don’t remember.” Her answer was honest, but Thomas wasn’t satisfied.

"You never meant to…?"

"Hm?” Y/N furrowed her brow, and Thomas's noncommittal shrug didn't help much. “'I never meant to' what?"

"That's what I've been trying to figure out."

Oh. She pursed her lips, and her movements were hesitant. She knew what he was talking about — that'd been the last thing she said before their tense conversation ended abruptly the night of his fundraiser. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Thomas scoffed. “Really? I don’t even deserve the truth about this?”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone was unshakeable; he was beyond convinced of his words, and Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “After everything we’ve been through, I know you better than this.”

“And what have we been through? Hm? Fucking on your kitchen counter? I’m sorry to say it, but I’m not quite sure that’s the peak of intimacy.”

“Yeah, alright,” he acquiesced, “but what about all the time we didn’t spend fucking?”

“I…” Y/N trailed off, her jaw tight, entire body tense. “We both knew that was why we were together in the first place. I stayed over because I didn’t wanna travel through the city in the middle of the night. There wasn’t much more to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart, we both know that if you really just wanted to get into my pants, there was no need for you to spend so much time at mine.” His tone was frustratingly condescending, but he was right. “Don’t tell me the reason you made dinner with me, watched all my cheesy old movies, even watered my damn plants was ‘cause I give good head.”

Y/N scowled. "Fine. I like spending time with you. But that doesn't make us anything more than friends."

He hummed in acquiescence, giving a subdued shrug. "Guess not. Making out on the kitchen counter does that well enough, though."

"Okay, we were friends with benefits," she conceded, but Thomas didn't look quite satisfied. "What? What's wrong with that? We're friends, and we slept together."

"Don't try and tell me this is all in my head." Thomas scowled. "Yeah, we slept together. But we did a lot more than that. I know very well I'm not delusional for thinking something more was goin' on there."

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” Y/N scoffed. “You know it was never like that; it wasn’t what I wanted.”

“No, I know.” Thomas shifted on the couch to face her, and his gaze was heavy with scrutiny, with skepticism. “You didn’t wanna get too involved. You made all that clear as day.”

“Then what’s the problem?” The undertone of irritation in his voice was putting her on edge, and he let out a dry, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“That you’ve been lyin’ to me.”

“What? I never—”

“I don’t mean your intentions. You never wanted us to be more than friends. That’s just fine,” he reasoned, and how measured his tone was made Y/N furrow her brow. “But what I wanna know now is if you did end up gettin’ more attached than you meant to.”

“I… ?” Her voice was breathless. It sounded as though his question had knocked the wind out of her, but Thomas just continued to watch her expectantly.

“You heard me. You know what I’m askin’.”

“Does it matter?” she asked, but the words sounded hoarse. She could feel her hands trembling where she rested them on her thighs, and she folded her arms to hide it. She didn’t want Thomas to see how uneasy she was.

“It does to me.” He pursed his lips, leaned forward to rest on his forearms on his thighs. Y/N didn’t respond. “If you’re not gonna gimme an answer on that, the least you can do is tell me what you were gonna say that night. Just give me something to go on here.”

“It won’t change anything.” Her voice was heavy.

“Then just tell me." He sounded tired. "I can't go on wondering if this was all in my head."

“Thomas…”

“Please,” he said. “What’d you ‘never mean to’ do?”

“Hurt you.” Her words were nearly inaudible as she stared down at her legs, unable to bring herself to look up and see how he was watching her. “Which feels silly to say now, but it’s the truth.”

His jaw was tight. He nodded. “Great.” He let out a heavy breath, leaned back off of his legs to sit up in his chair. “Great. ‘M gonna go tell Dolley we’re finished with talking. Don’t think there’s anything else to say.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide as he stood, particularly as she hadn’t moved an inch. “Wait, what?” He looked down at her with an expectant eyebrow raised when he went to grab his coat. She frowned. “I mean, yeah, sure, fine. But…”

“But what?” Thomas immediately challenged it when she trailed off, shaking her head.

“But that’s it?” she asked. “You’re just gonna leave now after you pressed for me to tell you that?”

He let out a humorless, breathy laugh. “‘Course I am. What else am I supposed to do with, ‘oh, I never meant to hurt you, Thomas’?”

Y/N wrinkled her nose at his mocking impression of her voice, taken aback by his shift in demeanor. “I don’t know. You’re the one who kept asking.”

“Mm, you’re right. My bad, sweetheart.” His tone was mocking as he pulled his arms into the sleeves of his coat, shrugged it onto his shoulders. He glanced back at the doors to the rest of the house. “‘S Dolley in the kitchen? Hang on a sec.”

“Hey, wait, slow down,” Y/N said, and she sounded affronted.

“What? You don’t wanna leave?”

“I… yeah, but…” She frowned. “Why do you sound so angry? What did I do?”

“I’m not angry.” The strain in his nonchalant gaze and his clenched jaw both said otherwise. “I can just appreciate some good irony, ‘s all.”

“What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” he said. “You’re too smart for that, c’mon.”

“I got the implication,” she replied, struggling to keep her tone in check, “but no, I don’t know what you mean by it. What have I done to wrong you so sincerely? Hm?”

“Oh, please, I can’t do this again.” His frustration was unbridled in his voice. “Hasn’t even been a week since we went over it. Try ‘n think.”

“Do you mean in North Carolina?”

“When else?”

She huffed. “Alright, fine, but I don’t know what you want me to say to that. Do you really want to re-hash that argument?”

“Not in the least. ‘S why I’m leavin’,” he said frankly. “You take care of yourself, now.”

“Wait, come on,” she protested, finally standing up alongside him. “You seem even more mad now than you did last week. What’s your problem?”

He raised an eyebrow, and the amusement in his small smile was sardonic. “Right now? Sugar, you’re my problem. What’s hard to understand about that?”

How condescending his tone was made Y/N grit her teeth. “Then what do you want from me? What am I doing so incredibly wrong right now that I deserve—?”

“Same thing you’ve been doin’,” he spat. “Pretending to care about me ‘n then turnin’ around and makin' me feel silly for believing it."

"Hey, what?" The offense she took was clear in her voice. "Of course I care about you."

"Oh, save it. There's nothing to prove anymore. No need for the act."

"What the fuck do you mean 'act'?" He rolled his eyes at her question, went back to buttoning up his coat, and she scoffed. "I'm still talking to you."

"'N you're not sayin' anything I haven't heard."

"Then what do you want from me?" she asked, throwing her hands up in exasperation. He looked her dead in the eye.

"Something you can't give me."

She was stunned to silence for only a moment after his biting words, and as he finished putting his coat on, she drew in a shuddering breath. "So that's what this is about. You're angry because I haven't sucked your dick in a couple weeks."

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh. "Please. If I needed to get off, I could go anywhere I wanted."

"Oh, right, because the women are lining up down the street to fuck you."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," he snapped.

"Then what do you mean?" She folded her arms, raised her eyebrows.

He paused for a moment, tongue burrowed into the corner of his cheek as he watched her. "I mean that I actually want you. Am I not bein' clear enough? I don't just wanna fuck you once in a while 'n then pretend to be strangers. But I have no idea what the hell you want from me, so I'm leaving. You can tell Dolley I said g'night."

"I will," she replied. "And I'm sure James will love hearing everything Dolley knows about us hooking up. Have fun dealing with that fallout."

He let out a mirthless laugh. "Thanks. Whatever he has to say, it'll be much easier than havin' to deal with you."

––––––––––––––––––––

mailto: ashl.sheddy@washingtonpost.com

Ashley:

I hope this email finds you well. Thank you so much for all your feedback on the Adams article; it’s been incredibly helpful in my redrafting process. However, many of the claims he makes about Jefferson’s past remain unsubstantiated, and I have faced numerous obstacles in finding a source who is willing to corroborate. None of Jefferson’s contacts who know him well enough to confirm or deny are willing to comment. As such, I am reaching out to request a two-week postponement on the publishing of the article while I straighten out the facts supporting it.

Thank you in advance,

Y/N L/N

––––––––––––––––––––

THOMAS’S WORDS HAD stung. He left that day with no further ado, and Y/N was left dwelling in the days that followed. She couldn't help but wince every time she recalled what happened. Her guilt was weighing on her even heavier than before.

"Mija, where is the order for Marcus?"

It was Mira's voice that broke her train of thought, pulled her out of her head. She blinked hard and found herself in the middle of absentmindedly assembling a sandwich. She checked the receipt— shit. Marcus had specifically asked for no mayo.

Y/N huffed as she trashed the bread and pulled out another roll. A minute later, she slid his order out in a basket complete with fries and a pickle, yelled it out over the counter, and went on to the next one. They were closing in ten minutes: why the hell were there still orders to make?

She slumped against the kitchen counter, resting on her hands against it after she finished the lobster roll for Sriya. Mira walked in to her left.

"Ay, this mess," she huffed, untying her apron and scrunching her nose as she surveyed the room. Y/N nodded, her blank stare not leaving the floor in front of her. Mira furrowed her brow. "Oye, you with me?"

Again, she nodded absently, and Mira frowned, folded her arms. "And you are happy to wash all these dishes, too? I can leave you here to mop the floors?"

The robotic nod she received in return made her sigh. "Mija." She snapped her fingers; Y/N visibly jumped, eyes wide. She looked at Mira. "What is wrong, hm? Why are you acting dumb?"

"Hey, uncalled for," Y/N defended herself, wearing a small frown as she looked over at Mira's impatient expression. "I'm just distracted."

"By what?"

She shrugged. "I don't know… work, I guess."

"You are at work," Mira pointed out, and Y/N sighed.

"You know I mean my other job. There's a lot on my mind. I'm sorry if I've been slacking here."

"Mm. Apology accepted," she said, and Y/N could only roll her eyes.

"Glad to hear it."

"But actually talk to me now, hm? You are giving me half answers." Mira raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. Y/N pursed her lips.

"It's not a huge deal. Just an article I've been working on," she said. Her stare was absent. After a minute, she cleared her throat. "But hey, um, sorry to change the subject, but can I ask, has Thomas Jefferson been around here lately?"

"'To change the subject,'" Mira repeated skeptically. "So he is your problem. It is always a man."

Y/N furrowed her brow. "I thought you loved Thomas."

"Sí, sí, pero te quiero más," Mira replied matter-of-factly. Y/N couldn't help her small smile. "You know you always come first for me."

"Thanks," she said softly.

"But why do you care about Thomas Jefferson coming here now? Hm?" Mira asked, making Y/N frown. She assumed she was off the hook. "All you ever do is complain about him. Shouldn't you be happy?"

"So he hasn't been coming here?"

"Ah, ah. My question first."

Y/N shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know. I just haven't seen him during my shifts. I was curious."

Mira paused, eyeing her skeptically for a moment before she pulled her apron off over her head and folded it in her hands. "Yes, he has been by."

"Really? When?"

She nodded. "He was here yesterday."

"Did he seem… okay?"

Mira paused. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno." She shifted under Mira's disbelieving gaze. "I've heard he hasn't made many public appearances recently. Just wondering if something was going on."

"He seemed fine." Mira tossed her apron onto the counter. Y/N nodded, pressing her lips together. "He asked about you."

She froze. "He did?"

"He did," she confirmed. "Why did he ask about you?"

“What? I don’t know.” Her brow was furrowed, and her tone was defensive. “What did he ask?”

“The same thing you asked me about him. What is going on?”

“Nothing, I don’t—”

“No me mientas. I saw him leaving on a Saturday morning two months ago when I came in to open.” Mira’s tone was sharp, and Y/N’s stomach dropped. “I am not stupid; simply tell me what is happening."

“Mira, it’s really not what you think; he was just here while I was closing, and it was the night of that horrible blizzard, and his car wouldn’t start, and the roads were closed…”

“So you had an innocent little slumber party with Thomas Jefferson?”

“I just let him stay here for the night,” Y/N defended. “He didn’t really have any other options.”

“So why is he coming around here asking after you?” Mira folded her arms, and when Y/N shrugged, she sighed. “Please be honest with me. It is obvious that there is something more going on than you want to admit.”

Y/N’s long moment of silence following her words told Mira more than Y/N meant to divulge. Mira pursed her lips.

“Por favor, dime. I am only asking because I care about you.”

“Well, I appreciate it, but there’s nothing to be worried about,” Y/N assured her. “I’m obviously fine, and he’s apparently doing alright as well, so there’s no problem. I’ll come talk to you if there ever is.”

Mira looked her over as she cleaned up the counter she stood before. “Are you really doing fine, though?”

Y/N went to take out the trash.

–––––––––––––––––––––

SHE SETTLED BACK into her usual closing shifts at the diner within the week, returning to working the dinner rush. She could only feign illness to stay away for so long, and this wasn’t the shift Thomas typically came in during, anyway. Besides, she needed the money more than she needed to avoid him.

That week passed with little intrigue, limited to her favorite (and least favorite) customers alongside a surprise appearance from Lafayette on Wednesday night. Thankfully, he showed up during peak hours, so it wasn’t difficult to evade his questions under the guise of taking care of other customers. She assumed he left shortly after he came, but around an hour later, she noticed him in the back corner chatting animatedly with the old man who always ordered nothing but coffee and read his newspaper for hours. She couldn’t help but smile.

She was slowly walking back information from her article about Thomas, claiming she had another source denying the validity of its original claims, but she wasn’t sure her editor was buying it. Ashley was impatient, and her approach had always been to publish first and follow up later. It was surely only a matter of days, maybe a week, before the article went live without anyone corroborating it. Y/N was operating on stolen time.

But at that point, it couldn’t be her greatest concern.

The following Wednesday was slow at both the office and the diner. Thomas hadn’t appeared much in public since his fundraiser in North Carolina, so Y/N didn’t have much to write about to distract her from the exposé she was doing her best to stall. She had resorted to redundant think pieces about his economic policy platform.

When she arrived at the diner for the night, Y/N was already counting the hours until she could curl up with a glass of wine and watch Parks and Rec until she passed out on the couch. She’d take a night with Aubrey Plaza over her regulars any day.

She was working the kitchen with Jac until Mira left for the night, pushing Y/N to the register in her place. It wouldn’t have been a problem for her if not for the first face she saw when Mira brought her out to the front.

He was absentmindedly checking his phone when she approached, and she cleared her throat as she stepped up to the register. He looked up, and his eyes went wide.

"Hey." She spoke first. "What can I get you?"

"Hey." His voice was hesitant. "Sorry, I… thought you didn't work Wednesdays anymore."

She didn't meet his eyes, staring past him at the diner's patrons as she tapped her fingernails on the counter. "This is my usual shift."

"I know, but Lafayette said…" He trailed off, shaking his head. She raised her eyebrows, finally looking directly at him. His eyes were bloodshot. "Nevermind. 'M sorry. Can I get a roast beef on rye and a cappuccino to go?"

"Yeah. It'll be out shortly." Her words were soft, absentminded as she eyed him. He looked more put-together than she'd seen him when they were at Dolley’s, but the heavy frames of his glasses didn't hide the growing bags under his eyes.

He nodded, leaning down to pay, signing the screen before him. "Thanks, sweetheart."

He was tucking his card back into his wallet as he spoke, and as her eyes widened, he froze, both of them processing his words at the same time. He didn't say another word, though. He sighed as he turned to walk away, and she didn't interrupt him.

She sent his order to the kitchen and grabbed a cup for his coffee, marking it with his name. She stared at it for a long moment before glancing back up at him. He was seated at a table by the end of the bar, typing frantically on his phone.

They had his order out for him in around five minutes, and it was Jac who called it out to the dining room when he put it on the bar. Y/N went ahead and made his coffee herself, forcibly switching places with her coworker to transfer herself off of the register, and she was finishing it right as he came up to collect his sandwich.

"Cappuccino for Thomas?"

Her voice was weak as she met him at the end of the counter, and he gave her a halfhearted smile.

"Thanks."

As she handed him the cup, his fingers brushed against hers, and she couldn't bring herself to let go.

"Give me a call?" she asked quietly when he met her gaze. Her eyes were hopeful, and he swallowed thickly.

"Take care of yourself." His tone was impersonal as he broke her stare. She pursed her lips. He pulled the cup from her shaking hands.

––––––––––––––––––––

THOMAS DIDN'T CALL. Y/N wasn't sure she was really expecting him to after how he came in on Wednesday and made it clear that he'd been trying to avoid her. Still, her heart rate picked up every time she received a notification, not letting her rest until she had confirmed it wasn't him. She was let down every time.

She was the last employee there before they closed on Friday, as Jac had to leave early for a date, so she was left wiping down the counters as she waited for the final few customers to make their way out of the diner.

She looked up when the bell above the door rang, expecting the last person to be leaving, but instead, Thomas Jefferson was walking in. Her eyebrows shot up.

She came over to meet him at the register. "Did Lafayette also tell you I wasn't working Fridays?"

"Nah. 'M actually here to see you," he said. His expression was blank, his tone businesslike. "You did ask me to call, didn't you?"

"Yeah." Her voice was small. "At this point, I didn't think you were gonna."

"I didn't plan to." They both glanced over as the bell above the door chimed again, letting them know the last person had left the diner. "But it's been on my mind. I don't have time for that typa distraction, which is why I'm here."

"Right," she said softly. "Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee would be great if it's not too much trouble."

"Of course." The coffee pot was still hot and sitting under the machine, so it didn't take her long to pour him a cup in one of the mugs she'd just cleaned (one cream, two sugars). She turned back to hand it to him. "Here you go."

"Thanks." He accepted it as he sat down across the counter from her, putting it down in front of him. When he pulled out his wallet, Y/N raised an eyebrow, and when he started fishing out bills, she couldn't help but sigh.

"Put your money away; this is on the house," she said, and he glanced up with his dark brow knit.

"You should know by now that I can't be bought."

Her eyes widened at his words, and she looked him over skeptically for a moment as he put his wallet away. He held her gaze for another moment, watching her expectantly, and after a beat passed, the corners of his lips quirked up, giving the only indication that he might be joking. She rolled her eyes.

"How could I forget about your impeccable morals?"

"No idea." He reached for his coffee, and he took a delicate sip as she leaned against the counter across from him. "Why'd you ask me to call?"

"I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't think a text would cut it."

"What do we have left to say right now?" The bluntness of his question caught her off guard, and her eyebrows shot up as he watched her expectantly. "The conversation we had at Dolley's made it pretty clear any talk we had was gonna be more of the same."

She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her as she drew back from the counter. "If you think this is a waste of time then why did you bother to come here?"

"I don't think this is a waste of time," he defended. "I'm just not sure what you want from it."

"I don't know if you do, but I still have more to say," she said. He raised an eyebrow.

"Then why didn't you say it while we were at Dolley’s?"

"Because we started fighting, and you were angry, and I…" She sighed. "I didn't know how to. You had every right to be angry, but I didn't want to think I was in the wrong."

"So what's changed?" he asked, watching her expectantly.

She shrugged hesitantly, looking down at her hands on the counter. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said. I felt bad, and… I've been worried about you."

"You've been worried about me?" he repeated skeptically, and when she looked up, she didn't like the disdainful look in his eyes.

"I have." When his disbelieving stare didn't budge, she sighed. "The last couple times I've seen you, you haven't seemed like yourself. You looked… tired."

"'Course I'm tired; I'm running a presidential campaign," he said flatly, and Y/N pursed her lips.

"I know, but then Lafayette called, and…" She trailed off when Thomas huffed. "I dunno. Mira told me you asked about me, and then Lafayette started talking like he knew something I didn't. So I was worried."

"Of course Lafayette called," he scoffed. "He can't just stay out of our damn lives, can he?"

"He means well," she reasoned, but he looked unimpressed.

"He needs to learn a thing or two about boundaries," Thomas said, "but I'm doing just fine. If that's all you wanted to talk about, I can head out."

"No, c'mon," she pleaded. "I didn't bring you here just for that. Bear with me."

Thomas said nothing but raised an expectant eyebrow as he took another sip of his coffee, waiting for her to continue.

"The real reason I wanted to talk is because I owe you an apology. Several apologies, really."

He put down his mug, leaning back in his chair. "What for?"

"You know what for." She gave him a tired look, and he shrugged innocently.

"Maybe." He drummed his fingers on the ceramic absentmindedly, watching them bounce on its glossy surface. "But I wanna know if you know what you're apologizin' for."

The bored look he wore made her feel small. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry for treating you how I did."

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"I think if I tried to be specific we'd be here quite a while."

"I've got time."

"It's late."

"You don't have work tomorrow." He paused, considering himself. "As far as I know, that is. Won't pretend I still know your schedule."

"It hasn’t changed as much as I pretended it did,” she said quietly. “So I guess I’ll start there. I’m sorry for lying to you about my schedule and trying to pretend I hadn’t been avoiding you. I should’ve been upfront when you asked about it.”

“Yeah, you shoulda," he agreed with a nonchalant shrug. "I never got an explanation on why you were avoidin’ me either, but with how you started deflecting when I asked about other men, I’m not sure I want one.”

“Woah, I wasn’t deflecting anything about other men,” she defended, brow creased. “I told you in no uncertain terms that I had no desire to hook up with Lafayette, and you decided to push that and scrutinize my dating life.”

He rolled his eyes. “‘S great to know you and Lafayette aren’t sleeping together, but you can’t pretend you were straightforward with me.”

“What was I not being clear about?”

“You’re really gonna make me do this again?” Thomas huffed, glancing to his right as disbelief flashed in his eyes. “I dunno why you wanted to talk to me if we were just gonna rehash this.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Every time I've asked whether you were sleeping with other people, you told me you didn’t owe me that information, ‘n it all became some big fight about me actin’ controlling,” he said. “If you don’t wanna tell me, fine, but don’t act like you’ve been transparent. We both know you’re keeping me in the dark for a reason.”

“I’m not, actually,” she said, looking him in the eye. “I haven’t been with anyone else. Not in any capacity. If I were having sex with other people, I would’ve been asking you to be a lot more careful.”

“So you didn’t call me up to tell me I needa get tested for chlamydia?”

“No, just syphilis.” Her tone was lighthearted, but Thomas didn’t offer any sign of amusement. She cleared her throat. “You’re the only person I’ve been with since we met, so the last thing you have to worry about is me passing on some incurable STI.”

“You haven’t slept with anyone else since I’ve known you?” There was surprise in his creased eyes as he fixated on the first part of her sentence. She shrugged.

“I guess I haven't.” She eyed his incredulous stare. "I didn't think this would be that shocking, either."

"You've been careful as possible to make that unclear," he said. "So if there's nobody else, then why all the lyin'? If you wanted space, you coulda just said so. I'm an adult; I can handle it."

"I know you can," she said quietly. She rubbed at a smudge on the countertop, trying to avoid his gaze. "I just… I've felt guilty about being with you and… whatever this is. Whatever we are. So much happened so fast between us, and the more time I spend in the outside world the more I feel like it was a mistake."

"'A mistake'?" The hurt in his tone was clear, and she sighed, resting her forehead on one of her hands.

"I don't mean it like that, but you know what the reality is here. We knew it from the start."

"I shouldn't have come here," he muttered, setting down his mug and moving to stand. Her eyes widened.

"Wait, hear me out," she pleaded, but he was off of his seat, buttoning his coat. "I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

That stopped him cold.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about what you said at Dolley's, and I'm sorry I spent so much time deflecting." She pursed her lips, watching him hopefully, and when he met her eyes, his tense shoulders softened. "I really like being with you, but with what our lives are, we can't be doing this. We’re not good for each other."

"I never asked you for any kind of a commitment," he defended. "You shoulda just told me if you didn't wanna do it anymore."

"I do want to keep doing it, though, and that's why it's such a problem." She sighed, her back sagging as she leaned against the counter. "I got too close. It's ruined all my objectivity as a journalist."

"You're good at your job," he reasoned. "The way you write about me's gotten more nuanced. I don't think that's a bad thing, sweetheart."

"No, you don't get it. This is a presidential race, and as a frontrunner, people have had enough of hearing about your politics. They get it by now. They want to hear about you and your ugly past and all the things that make you an unqualified leader." Her voice sounded hopeless, and it made him frown. "You've told me too much for me to play it straight. I care too much to be able to decide what the public does and doesn't need to know. I got this assignment because I wanted to serve up your dirty laundry on a silver platter, but I don't think I have it in me after everything that's happened."

"There's not much in my past worth hiding."

"Isn't there?"

"If I've made it this this far into my career without bein' hurt by what I do behind closed doors, I'm not afraid of anything you're gonna dig up."

"You were an alcoholic."

His wide eyes snapped to hers, and she didn't dare speak.

"'N how the hell d'you know about that?"

"So it's true?" she asked quietly.

"I was grieving my goddamn fiancée. She was all I had; I was surviving," he snapped, and she pursed her lips. "You try losing the love of your life 'n tell me it doesn't screw with your head."

"I don't blame you, Thomas, and I'm not judging you." Her soft words didn't save her from his skeptical gaze. "I’m sorry that you went through that. You didn’t deserve a second of it. But now that I know this, I’m supposed to publish an article about it. My editor wants to make this front page news, but I want to kill the story because I got too close to you."

"If I was anybody else, would you even know about this?"

"I got this information from an interview." She spoke slowly, choosing her words carefully. "My source wants to remain anonymous, but it's sound enough to publish without someone else corroborating it."

"Are you tellin' me you're planning to publish an article about me bein' an alcoholic?" His voice was incredulous; he watched her as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The look in her eyes was pained.

"I don't want to," she said. "I don't want to make this public because I care too much about you. I don't even know whether this would be a fair article for someone to write because I've lost all perspective on writing about you."

"So don't write the article," he said, and she could barely stand to look at the worry in his eyes. "'S all in the past. I'm under control now; 's not who I am. That was me at my worst."

"My editor already knows about the interview," Y/N said softly, and she winced at the dread she saw flash in his expression. "If I don't publish this, someone else will, and I'll lose my job in the process."

"Who did the interview this came from?"

"I did." Her words were tearful.

"Then you can still stop this," he said firmly. "Refuse to write about it. Don't send your boss the notes from the interview, or the tape, or whatever you've got."

"Thomas, it's already written."

Her words struck him silent, and all he could do for a moment was stare at her in disbelief.

"I'm trying to stop it from running. It's a rough draft, so my editor still needs me to—"

"I opened up to you about my fiancée's death, 'n you just turned around and wrote an article about it?" His quiet voice was heavy with hurt.

"It's not about that. It doesn't even mention Martha, and my editor doesn't know about any of that," she pleaded. "My source doesn’t know about her, so nobody else has to. But there are people out there trying to crush your campaign who know about your struggle with addiction. The information’s out there; it’s only a matter of time before someone goes public with it."

“So you figured you may as well fast-track destroyin’ my reputation? You wanna tell the whole world who I was in my weakest moments?”

“Wouldn’t you rather the story be written by someone sympathetic to what you’ve been through?” she asked. “If I withhold the source from my editor, she can’t run the story, I lose my job, and some asshole who wants to see you suffer casts this all in a much harsher light.”

“All I’m askin’ for is time,” he pleaded. “We’re in the middle of the primaries; if this comes out now, I’m through.”

“I’ve delayed it for as long as I can. My editor wants a final draft by the end of next week.”

“The end of next week,” he repeated softly, looking down at the counter. His teeth were gritted; his jaw tense, but he was eerily still. Y/N felt sick. “You asked me to come here to apologize and tell me you cared about me just so that you could, what, feel better about yourself before you stabbed me in the back?”

“I felt bad about how we left things.”

“And this is so much better.” His voice was harsh, thick with irony as he looked up at her. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? You have some goddamn audacity, trying to make peace with me knowing damn well you just wrote an article that’s gonna destroy everything I’ve been working for.”

“This isn’t going to kill your career. It won’t even kill your campaign; the primaries are almost over, and you’ve won. You’re the candidate; take your victory lap,” she said, and the source of the indignation in her voice was hard to pin down. “I’ve been writing articles for months in opposition to your presidential run, and you never cared. We even laughed about it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there’s finally some news that might make a dent.”

“This isn’t the same thing, and you know it,” he snapped, rising from his seat as his hand hit the countertop. His mug clattered against the surface.

“And what’s so different? I’ve said the harshest things about your career that I could think of; no matter how bad it got, you were still texting me on Friday nights asking me to come over.”

“This isn’t about my career. This is about me.” The words were firm, and he looked Y/N dead in the eye as he said them. “You don’t care about me; you care about climbin’ corporate ladders ‘n being national news. Nobody who really cared would be able to hear about what I’ve been through ‘n capitalize on it.”

“It’s not like that, Thomas, I—”

“Don’t call me,” he cut her off abruptly as he buttoned his coat. “Don’t text me, don’t talk to me, and don’t come near me. I’ve had enough of this goddamn game you’ve been playing, and I’m done having this conversation over and over again where I give you the benefit of the doubt n’ all you do is remind me that I’m expendable.”

“Wait, don’t—”

“I said I’m done,” he said. “And we’re done. You… you need to take a long, hard look at yourself before letting anybody else into your life.”

Y/N could barely speak with the lump building in her throat. She could barely breathe. Her eyes stung as she looked up at him, and she was afraid to move. All she could manage, her voice hoarse, was, “I’m sorry.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

When he walked out, he didn’t look back.

[wejustvibing]

caption 🫶🏾

[ifgosling]

𝙸. ┄─ Lewis Hamilton driving Ayrton Senna car moodboard﹒🇧🇷

[lewisinho]

lewis and his movie references 😭

the article

[389]

Aug 29th 1997 - 26 years ago today Skynet become self aware. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

[emilylorange]

slow to start today but trying to pull it together a little terminator 2 for your timeline

~2hr speedpaint

[kingofthering]

SPAIN 2023 | Lewis Hamilton bringing up his first years racing with Nico Rosberg during the fanzone event.

“Go-karts was the best time of my career. I was just talking to someone today about when we were racing in Italy. Back then I started racing with Nico, the year after this [pointing at the photo on screen] I started racing with Nico in Italy for example, so, you know it was a real history out there. Those were the best days.”

[horrorme]

Children of the Corn (1984)