#shower routine 2020

[tarantula-hawk-wasp]

i did finally get a denman brush bc i kind of stagnated trying to put effort into my hair bc grad school but adding making brush clumps to my routine is a lot less intimidating than adding in time for diffusing

[ghostaholics]

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆����𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

[nitewingbabi]

↳ please respond…I showed you my cock            ⚤ ghostface x female!reader  【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 ✉ taking requests part 2 ▻ a pretty mouth

2023 was a different year for everyone. Covid was 2020's big killer, and now ghostface seemed to be claiming 2023 as his year. You were one of his taunting targets. Text messages, phone calls, notes in your locker or mail. He had even been in your room once to leave a message on your mirror.

‘I like the red ones’ which was referring to your panties that you were trying on the other day after doing some much needed retail therapy with some friends. 

Your group was getting smaller and smaller as more students were murdered, kidnapped or not heard from in weeks. Curfew was getting shorter that soon enough school was sure to be cancelled until the police solved whoever was running around killing everyone. 

It’s Tuesday night and you just finished showering, you had been blowdrying your hair for the last 20 minutes. The recent news far from your thoughts, the truck load of school work that was due was giving you a migraine. Finally your hair was dried and you were ready to slip into bed and start your assignment. You turned your TV on, immediately putting on your current Netflix show that you were binging. 

Eyes flicking back and forth from your laptop screen to your TV. You hadn’t checked your phone since you started to shower and noticed you had multiple messages from an unknown number. But it wasn’t unknown to you. You knew exactly who it was. 

Unknown Number +1**********

➤ quiet night? 

➤ parents aren’t home. 

➤ neighbours are out of town. 

You had only had one actual physical contact with ghostface which was two weeks ago. He chased you around your house until your neighbours came barging in and he ran away. Ever since you had your parents change the locks and debate whether or not to send you across the country to live with your aunt and uncle until it was all over. You pleaded that they didn’t and instead they paid for a self defence class for you. 

Your phone buzzed again, drawing your attention away from the TV. 

Unknown Number +***********

➤ i liked the little show you put on for me the other day. 

➤ wish i had been there to ruin those little red panties 

You weren’t sure what to write back, you sat there debating if you should even write anything back and entertain this creep. 

Just as you put your phone down, the screen lit up and the room echoed from your ringtone. 

Unknown Caller 

You weren’t sure if you should pick up, but something inside you made you do it. 

“Hello?” You hesitantly asked as you held the device up to your ear. Waiting to hear that deep voice that you couldn’t recognise. 

“Hello y/n. Enjoying your show?” Your eyes met your TV screen to see your show playing still on low volume. You turned the TV off, quickly standing to your feet to look out your window. It was barely lit outside from the streetlight and nothing seemed to stick out like a sore thumb. 

“Who is this? Why are you tormenting me?” You had asked the question too many times that it was just routine, you’d hope that one time he would budge and just tell you. 

“The question isn’t who I am. the question is where I am.” You heart began to race, eyes searching endlessly out your window, he had to be close by. You suddenly felt the booty shorts and crop top that you had slid into wasn’t the best attire to be wearing at home alone whilst being stalked by a psycho. 

“Look asshole, you wanna play games. I can play.” You weren’t sure what you exact plan was, but it was the first thing to pop into your head. Were you terrified of ghostface? Yes. But did it also arouse you how much he called you, texted you, the fact he had probably seen you naked countless times, even possibly pleasured himself to the sight of you. 

“Oh yeah? In the mood for monopoly?” He chuckled darkly on the other end, you could only hope he was still watching you from where he was. With your free hand you danced your fingers down your torso, dipping into the waistband of your shorts and panties and itching your way to your centre that was throbbing. You could hear a deep growl on the other end. 

You chuckled into the phone, knowing he was definitely watching you now. You breathed a soft moan as your fingertip circles your juicy clit, using your arousal as lube to slick your finger around the bundle of nerves. Your moans grew louder and your mouth fell agape as you began walking backwards onto your bed, allowing yourself to fall back into the plush mattress and send yourself into a bliss. 

You had forgotten about ghostface, your phone falling from your ear to beside your head. 

“Hey!” Your eyes popped open as you remembered he was still on the other end. You quickly grabbed it, slowing your circles to keep yourself on edge. 

“I want to hear your pretty cries when you cum, I want you to cum to me and only me. You got that princess?” His words were sharp and threatening, just like the blade he used to murder your friends. God you were getting turned on and touching yourself to a psycho killer. The unexpected happened next. A snapchat notification came through. 

Gfce23 added you on Snapchat! 

It was him. It had to be. You accepted, still working yourself and slipping a finger inside your dripping cunt to get more arousal on your clit. 

Immediately a video came through, along with a few photos. You bit your lip as you thought about what could possibly be on the other end. You had to take the chance though, you were too far down the rabbit hole. 

“Open them, I want you to see what you fucking do to me.” His voice was hoarse and breathless, you could tell he was jerking himself on the other end or something. You clicked on the purple square. Your eyes met a hard cock, veiny and thick. The tip an enraged red with a slight purple tinge. A single drop of precum oozing out the slit and his black leather glove wrapped around his cock. 

The video began playing and his hand jerked his cock slowly, throaty moans echoing as the video continued to play and that drop of precum dripped down his pinkish shaft. A small bush of pubic hair that led to a faint snail trail and a set of what you could only guess were abs. 

His hand got faster and his moans got faster as he pumped himself hard in his hand, but before you could view more you heard your parents car pulling into the driveway with their faint music blaring. 

Ghostface was in the back of your mind as you quickly closed your phone and got settled into bed. Ghostface didn’t call you back, didn’t text you and didn’t send anything else to you that night. But that does’t mean he let you off easy. 

It had only been a few days since you last heard from ghostface, but when you did you were surprised to see the message he had sent through was not his usual taunting, threatening approach. 

Unkown Number +**********

➤ i want to see that pretty pussy spread out tonight 

➤ leave your window unlocked

➤ i know your parents wont be home

➤ hope you like it rough princess

[clawsdevour]

fogged up

wc: 1.9k content warning: smut, post-time skip, established relationship, shower sex, small mention of slapping, oral (m!receiving), reader x kiyoomi sakusa, oneshot, not proofread

note: to be honest. this plot and like little scenario has BEEN simmering in my mind since like 2020 LMFAO i jsut never started writing until this summer..

ꕮ * ׂ.﹑

It was currently 7:33 PM, and the other day you invited your boyfriend, Kiyoomi Sakusa, to sleep over at your place for the night since he’s got volleyball practice near where you resided. He’s supposed to arrive around eight which is usually the time he gets out. 

Twenty-seven minutes.. Good amount of time for an everything shower before he gets here, you thought to yourself. You’re grabbing the cute pjs you saved to wear for the night you invited him over, along with a pair of some lacy panties to add with your sleepwear if things get a bit intimate. 

The cold bathroom air hits your face when you twist open the knob and set your clothes on the marble counter. Turning on the water, as you wait for it to get warmer you start stripping yourself naked before hopping in and closing the glass door. 

You do the usual routine starting with double shampooing, a nice and hydrating hair mask, wash it off before letting your condition sit in your hair. Despite hearing all of the water shooting down onto you and the hitting the tiles, you heard something else from another part of your house. The front door. Someone got into your house. Fuck.. Is this gonna end up like that one movie where that girl dies in the bathroom?? Keep in mind, you lived alone. The door creaked to a close when you heard a heavy thud and footsteps heading towards the noise you created in the bathroom. 

You were just halfway into your everything shower when you saw the doorknob move side to side through the glass walls of your shower. The clunk of your handle slowly twisted the door open, from outside you’re staring at an eye that pierced back at you to which you knew who it was. Oh thank god, It’s just Kiyoomi!! Sighing in relief before you realized you’re completely left exposed, vulnerable and completely wet, trying to hastily cover up with just your hands.

“O-Oh.. I’m sorry” his husky voices mutters out, realizing you’re helpless naked and showering while he slams the door shut in awkwardness, still standing right outside. Both of you were in a bit of shock at the sudden interaction, the tension rose to its high even though you were separated by the door. 

“Wait Omi! Do you… wanna join me? You just got back from practice so you must be feeling really sweaty and gross right now!” peering your head out of the glass door to stare back at the blank wall that’s dividing you two. His head hung back up to ask through the walls if it was okay, to which you obliged. 

He creaks back open a sliver while asking you to excuse him for his intrusion. His tall muscular body walks in, dark eyes wide open, face slightly flushed and tried their hardest to resist seeing your bare figure covered with the sheen layer of water that glistened with every movement.

Kiyoomi brought in his clothing and set it aside next to yours as he began to undress in front of you, to which you watched from the corner of your eye while he strips his articles of clothing one by one. His lean long torso, and toned arms left you salivating. Especially when he slid down his boxers to reveal that he already had an erection that coiled out, a large and tall one at that, leaving you in shock while he’s a bit ashamed.

“I can’t help myself.” He’s standing face to face with you with the glass shower somewhat opened, looking down at you and your perky, shiny breasts. You let out a subtle giggle as you grabbed his hand to lead him in the shower with you. His deep black curls, saturated and drooped down as the water catches onto his thick hair.

Turning around to face the showerhead as you wash out the conditioner that was in your hair for a while, you felt Kiyoomi’s large hands hover around your slick waist. His head, in the crook of your neck planting a soft peck on your jaw. You felt his bare cock press and increase in size along the curve of your ass.

“Did you miss me at practice, Omi?” you could feel his mouth form into a small grin along your neck. He’s gradually sliding his dick up and down on the crevice of your ass, as he nods into you. One of his hands let go from your waist and slide up to your boob, feeling it up and flicking around your nipple as you let out small whines from his cheeky antics.

“How’d you know?” he’s moving his hand up from your nipple to your chin to position you for a kiss on the lips as you gaze back at his eyes that’re filled to the brim with lust and desire. The tapping sounds coming from the water hitting onto you two and the floor made it inaudible when you and Kiyoomi started to full on make out in the shower.

His hand on your waist eventually slid down to your slippery clit, rubbing it in slow sensational circles while you continue to receive his loving, sloppy kisses that enhanced your experience. You were the first to pull away from him to catch your breath while you turned around and kneeled in front of him to face his raging boner. He’s flushed to a rosy pink hue as you started to stroke his cock aggressively since the water made it easier to slide your fingers around his dick.

“Shit.. if you do that, I don’t know what I’m gonna end up doing with you.” His thumb reaches down once more, but to open your mouth while your undivided attention was set on him as he’s toying with your warm tongue that swirls around his calloused digit. When he took out his thumb from your slobbering mouth was when you started going down on his length. 

The warmth your mouth provided him was overwhelming, his hot breathless puffs ringing in the little heated glass room and mixed with the humidity. The amount of slick your cunt produced kept getting washed down by the water, but sucking him off made you feral and crave him even more as you bobbed your head repeatedly on it. His long fingers were buried in your sopping wet hair as he held your head to use your mouth like his own personal flesh toy.

His dick twitched like crazy in your mouth from the unbearable pleasure that he had to pull out before he came in your mouth. But you absolutely refused, you wanted all of his release in your mouth.

“Ha.. you’re kidding me…” he snickered whilst holding eye contact with you, your eyes penetrated his while he pumped his warm gooey cum into your mouth before taking it out while he watched you swallow it all down. Sticking your tongue out to playfully taunt him, he can’t help but snicker at how you just took it all like that down your throat.

“Put it in please, I can’t wait any longer Omi.. it’s been so long since you’ve been back” stepping closer to the glass wall of the shower, your hands spread across the glass that fogged, ass sticking out with the water shimmering as it runs down your back, your head is turnt to peep at him with eyes that begged with sin. 

“You’ll get what you want.” Kiyoomi splashed behind you as he closes in between the gap, his hands gripping your hips to get closer to his. You watch impatiently from behind as he’s lining up his tip with your slick entrance, the water making it a bit slippery before you felt your hole widen as his head presses into you, letting out an immense moan that rippled along the walls. 

“O-Omi..!” Moaning out his name as he starts to thrust his size into you, creating banging sounds that recoiled with the water that hits from above.

The side of your face pressed against the shower to watch him at work drilling into your pussy with all the wet squelching that echoed and mixed with sounds of the downpour. Your tits were pressed against the glass and moved whenever he pounded into you, creating foggy looking silhouettes around you. The shadows and your nipples squished around, as you’re able to watch this all go down in the mirror across from you.

His tightening grip was bruising, but you loved it. You also loved whenever he lands a finishing strike across your ass that stings a bright red on your cheek as if your ass was a volleyball that he spiked. Your whimpers and that lewd look on your face powers him further to fuck you even harder. Whenever you call out for him, he can’t help himself but pick up the pace to pleasure you even further.

Kiyoomi’s watching you get pounded by him in the mirror, enjoying every second of it. His soaking wet hair brushes against your skin whenever he peppers kisses along your back, while he smells the scent of clean soap wash off your body the more he pounds into you.

“You feel so fucking good you know that?” You babble out words that you couldn’t even make out the moment your slurred speech comes out of your mouth. Your hand reaches down for your clit to stimulate you further to get closer to your release which he noticed. Kiyoomi’s quick to grab ahold of your hand and keep it pressed against the glass as he continues to groan into your ear, saying you don’t need to do that when you’ve got him.

“M’not letting you cum alone.” Kiyoomi pauses for a brief moment before taking out his cock from your gaping hole, causing you to whimper from feeling so empty without him being in you.

When you turn around to face him with a slight pout on your face, he picks you up and slams you against the cold glass. Awoken from the mind numbing pleasure, your headspace is in for a slight shock when his slightly swollen lips meet yours for another long kiss as if he were a starved animal.

He’s backing away to slip back in his throbbing cock into your dripping entrance as he’s pressing your back further onto the glass walls of your shower. Kiyoomi’s holding onto you so tight, not letting you go anywhere as he continues to fuck you brainless, feeling all the sensations when your bodies continue to rub up against each other.

His twitching dick and your throbbing cunt, the lust in the atmosphere, the sounds that echo off your wet bodies as the shower runs, Kiyoomi’s almost at his end point. Both of you are sore and stimulated to the max as he releases his white cum into you, coating your plush gummy walls with his white paint. You’re both still, trying to pick back up your unmatched breathing.

“I’m sorry.. I got carried away,” he’s panting while pulling out, kissing your forehead as a gesture to ask for your forgiveness as you continue to cling onto his broad shoulders.

His essence seeps out of you and drips onto the bathroom tiles as it gets washed away due to the warm running water. You’re trying to regain your composure as he continues to hold you in his arms, Kiyoomi’s fingers moving away the stray wet hairs that clung onto your forehead while looking into your starry, but droopy eyes peer back into his while you mumble out an it’s okay. 

“You’re too beautiful” he whispers to you before setting you down to help finish washing you up before bed.

masterlist here

[star-sim]

sweater ☆ riki nishimura

☆ non-idol! bf! riki x fem! reader ☆ summary: when riki doesn't recognize a sweater that you're wearing, he gets insecure. ☆ genre: fluff, hurt-comfort ☆ warning(s)? insecurities and cheating briefly mentioned ☆ word count: 1.0k ☆ reblogs and comments are appreciated! also this was such a big trend in 2020 in the haikyuu fandom my god

“What the fuck, dude?!”

You head whipped around to see your boyfriend frowning on your bed.

It was another one of those nights.

Riki and you would stay together all night, either to study or just fool around. It was deeper into the night now. You had just gotten out of the shower, changing into one of your dad’s oversized sweaters that miscellaneously made its way into your laundry. You liked the way that it fit, draping over you comfortably.

You were peacefully doing your skincare routine when Riki’s outburst interrupted you.

With half-applied moisturizer, you cocked a brow at him, looking at your boyfriend over you shouldes.

“What happened?”

The wide scowl that broke out on Riki’s features was alarming. His brows knitted together and his lips curled. Riki let out an offended scoff, throwing his phone aside and jumping to his feet. He paced toward you with vigor, grabbing onto your shoulders.

“You know what you did, and you’re just going to act like you did nothing–?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Riki?” You clutched boyfriend’s shoulders, slowly pushing him away.

He didn’t move. His large hands squeezed your shoulders, his face contorting. Anyone would think that Riki’s face was painted with anger, but you knew better.

He was confused.

And distraught.

Riki sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, fingers brushing against the hem of your sweater.

For him, the issue was your sweater.

He’d never seen it before. 

These days, Riki was feeling insecure.

All throughout high school, you were endlessly popular. Riki would be lying if he said he never felt a tad insecure. There were so many guys that still pined after you. So many guys that were ten times smarter than him. So many guys that were endlessly kinder than him. So many guys that had perfect temperaments and maturity. After all, why would you, the prettiest, smartest, strongest, and most perfect girl in the entire world, want to stay with someone as crass and needy as him?

Sometimes, words got to him. Those that knew about your relationship talked. And they never seemed to fully approve of the two of you being together.

She deserves better, was always the first thing that came out of their mouths.

And sometimes Riki agreed.

The thought of someone else holding you, someone touching you and kissing your lips, someone getting to gaze into your eyes and whisper those three words from their heart to you made Riki feel sick to his stomach. 

But he couldn’t help but feel inferior. Maybe someone else would be better for you.

So when he saw you wearing a sweater that he didn’t recognize, Riki’s insecurities got the best of him. You didn’t wear sweaters often, and if you did, it was always his. His sweaters were distinctly too big for you, always being oversized.

Which was why Riki’s mind ran wild.

Where did you get that oversized sweater if it wasn’t Riki’s?

And more importantly, who did it belong to?

“I know I’m not good enough for you,” Riki grumbled, “But you could’ve told me before you went off with another guy.”

“Wait, what?”

Riki looked down. If he looked you in the eye, he’d probably start crying. 

He didn’t respond.

“Riki, what are you talking about?” Your hand gently came up to grasp his cheek, which he pulled away from. “‘Went off with another guy’? What are you even saying?”

When he finally looked at you, you saw the hot tears that were lining his eyes. He pushed your hand away, quickly wiping his eyes.

You pushed him onto the bed, sinking down onto his lap. You caressed his cheek. 

“I’m not going to leave you, Baby,” you said. “I mean, there’s no one that I could ever like as much as you.”

You brought your fingers up to his eyes, gently pressing his eyes shut. Then, you leaned in to kiss his eyelids, then his temples. With your fist, you softly knocked on his head. “I always wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Riki didn’t say anything. Instead, he melted into your touch, sliding his arm around your torso, pulling you closer to him. 

“I love you, Riki, I hope you know that” you said into his ear. “So I don’t want you to cry anymore.”

“I wasn’t crying,” Riki mumbled against your shoulder.

“Sure, Baby,” you patted the back of his head. 

After a few moments of silence, you asked, “What made you think that I would leave you?”

“Your sweater. I hate it.”

You cocked a brow. “Why?”

“Looks like some other dude’s.”

You shared another silence.

You let out a small, ‘ah.’ Getting off of Riki’s lap, you fingered the hem of your sweater. Riki watched you as you disappeared into your closet, before reappearing with another sweater. Making sure that he was watching you, you began to pull the polyester fabric over your shoulders.

“Wh-What are you doing?!” Riki rushed to cover his eyes.

“Relax, you big baby.” 

Riki hid behind his hands, watching from the cracks in his fingers. Pulling off the sweater that you were currently wearing, you shrugged on another sweater.

It had blue and black stripes, reaching down to the middle of your thighs.

This time, Riki recognized it. It was his.

“There,” you gave him a boxy smile. “Even though that sweater was my dad’s, if you don’t like it, I won’t wear it.”

Riki’s jaw dropped, before waving his hands out in front of him. “Nonono!” he spluttered. “I was being stupid. You can wear whatever you want!”

You put your finger on your chin. “Hmmm, but I think I like your sweaters more.”

Years into the future, you never let Riki live down the fact that he got jealous over a sweater. Riki didn’t care, though. The only memory attached to that little incident worth living for was when you kissed him and said, “I love you.”

[astralaffairs]

freedom of the press 09 | t. jefferson

words: 13.5k

warnings: sex

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

THOMAS HAD WOKEN up feeling sick.

At first, he couldn't place the reason. He'd been drinking enough water and taking his multivitamins, he hadn't eaten anything bad (as far as he knew), and despite what Lafayette thought, he hadn't been drinking.

It was only when he pulled himself out of bed that the prior night’s events caught up with him, the information surfing on the fresh wave of nausea that rolled over him as he stood. When he glanced over at his mirror, the face staring back looked bedraggled and gaunt.

He powered his phone off immediately after checking the time when he was met with a screen full of texts from the last person he wanted to hear from; he dragged himself through his morning routine in a haze as his thoughts spiraled, inventing increasingly creative stories for how he’d ended up at that point. Who had given the interview? What else had she been lying about?

"I got a lot more attached to you than I meant to, alright?"

What finally broke him out of his stupor was a knock at the door at half past three P.M. He cupped a hand around his mouth to check his breath; he hadn’t had anything to eat but coffee, but he was grateful to have convinced himself to take a shower and brush his teeth.

When he opened the door, Thomas furrowed his brow. “Lafayette?”

“I ‘ave come with food and cigarettes.”

“I don’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Y/N told me what happened.” His discerning gaze made Thomas hold his tongue, wavering on his intention to tell Lafayette to kick rocks. “I did not think you would want to be alone, and I assumed zat you could use a cigarette.”

When Lafayette raised his eyebrows expectantly, Thomas sighed.

“Alright, c’mon in. Can't have you stay long, though; ‘m busy getting ready for my rally tomorrow.” He stepped aside to let Lafayette by, and he started toward the kitchen as Thomas locked the door behind him.

“I am sorry to hear what happened.”

“What exactly did she tell you?”

“Zat she hurt you,” Lafayette said simply, and Thomas’s eyebrows shot up. “She told me that her editor has ze article about your past and that she told you about it. I hear you did not take it well.”

“Oh, gimme a goddamn break,” Thomas snapped. “How the hell am I supposed to take the news that the person I’m seein’ has been planning to tell the whole world I was an alcoholic?”

“Poorly. There is no other way to take it.” He put the bag he carried on Thomas’s counter and started withdrawing styrofoam boxes. “Why do you think I am here? I am on your side. And I ordered southern American food. I did not know much about it, so I ordered one of everything.”

“One of everything?” Thomas repeated curiously, reaching for a box, and Lafayette nodded. Thomas’s eyes widened when he opened it. “That’s a lotta macaroni ‘n cheese.”

“I also have fried chicken, grilled asparagus, waffles, shrimp and grubs—”

“Shrimp ‘n grits?”

“—Collard greens, cornbread, and something called a ‘hushed puppy.’”

“You didn’t need to come here ‘n do all that, Laf.” Thomas’s demeanor had softened considerably as Lafayette had withdrawn his many containers of food, laying them out on the counter. “‘S awful sweet, but I’m doin’ fine. I’m pissed, but I’ve handled a whole lotta abuse from the press already this campaign cycle.”

“Not like this, and not from her." At Lafayette's knowing look, Thomas appeared perturbed. "You may lie to yourself all you want, but you cannot lie to me about zis. I see it. I see ze two of you together, and I cannot imagine zis being anything like what you have experienced with ze media before.”

Thomas hesitated, not meeting his eyes, but as he stared down at the boxes of greasy takeout, his gaze was unfocused.

“Yeah,” Thomas finally said, pulling open a drawer to withdraw two forks. “I didn’t expect this from her. Thought she had more integrity than that.”

“Try, just for a moment, to understand ze dilemma she faces.”

His skeptical gaze shot to Lafayette. “Thought you said you didn’t come here to defend her.”

“I did not, but I do not know zat zis is a question of her integrity,” Lafayette reasoned. “Someone is out there giving interviews with ze press about your past with alcohol addiction. If she does not write zis article, someone else will.”

“She shoulda come directly to me about it, then. I coulda got out in front of it.”

“You still can, and you still should,” he said, “but her job is to write about you. She hasn’t betrayed anything you’ve shared with her in confidence, she simply interviewed someone with much to say about your past.”

“Yeah, till the article comes out and it’s everything I told her about Martha,” Thomas said cynically.

“The article does not mention Martha. It makes no reference to any past lover or to your engagement.”

“I can’t take her at her word on that anymore,” Thomas said incredulously. “Be serious, she’s gonna do whatever she wants with what she knows.”

“I can assure you, it does not even offer an implication. I ‘ave read it, Thomas.”

“You’ve read it?” His voice was stunned, and he froze as he was opening a container of food. “How long have you known about this?”

“Not much longer than you. After she wrote it, she came to me for guidance.”

“And you didn’t tell her to shut it down?”

“I advised against her publishing it, but she is not ze editor of ze Post. I am not sure how long zat remains in her power for. So I told her to talk to you.”

“Yeah, ‘n look where that got us,” Thomas grumbled, and Lafayette sighed.

“Would you not rather know?”

“I’d rather you told me the goddamn minute you found out about it,” he snapped. “God, I’ve known you for years; where the hell’s your loyalty? A pretty girl walks into the scene and all of a sudden I take a back seat?”

"You know zat is not what zis is," Lafayette shot back. “Oui, she is my friend, but I refrained from coming to you about this because I know zat she cares about you. And you care about her, so you should understand why I wanted to give her ze chance to make things right."

"Oh, please. Don't come here telling me she cares and didn't mean to hurt me." His voice was sharp and dismissive. "She knows what this article's about. She knows what she's doing."

“She is under pressure you do not understand.”

“I think I understand just fine. She’s got priorities; she’s got a career, ‘n that comes before me. Shoulda realized how far that went, but I didn’t. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“She does not have security in the way that you do, Thomas,” Lafayette reminded him. “She works two jobs and still has problems with paying her bills. She cannot afford to lose zis job.”

“She's got plenty of people she could stay with while she found another.”

“So you think zat you should be more important zan her income?” he challenged. Thomas didn't respond, only frowned. “She should be quitting her job to delay her source finding a journalist willing to publish zis story?”

“I don't mean it like that.” His frustrated voice had grown quieter. “She shoulda never let it get this far, though. She could've lied to her editor about the interview ‘n never written the article.”

“Her manager knew she was interviewing someone. What would she have written about after?”

“I don't know, alright?” His words came as an outburst, and they were followed by a huff. He continued, voice softer, “I don't know what she shoulda done. All I know is this wasn't the right answer. Y'know what she told me? Said she cared too much about me to know how to write about me, and that she got too close. But none of that stopped her from writing this, so I dunno what to believe anymore. Nobody who cared would try ‘n air this out.”

“The way she writes about it is not flippant.” Lafayette's gentle tone matched Thomas’. “She writes about you as someone who ‘as succeeded in the face of struggle, not as someone who chose a life of vices.”

“I don't wanna hear it anymore, Laf. You oughta leave if you're just here to defend her. We both know that, no matter what you say about it, telling voters a presidential candidate was an alcoholic is a nail in the coffin.”

“For whatever it is worth, I see you as someone who ‘as overcome great animosity against all odds,” Lafayette offered. Thomas shot him a sidelong glance as he closed the container of macaroni and cheese. “Truly. You have everything to be proud of. Regardless of how people may react to zis, do not forget all zat you have done to become who you are today.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said weakly. “I can only hope the voters are gonna see it that way.”

“If you do not win this election, you will still forever be who you are.” Lafayette's words made Thomas purse his lips as he reached for the small plastic container of gravy sitting atop the tin of mashed potatoes. “Remember that your whole life has not been leading up to this moment; it will continue on after it regardless of the outcome.”

A long silence passed as Thomas stared down at the gravy, visible through the barely-opaque white plastic. A dent was forming in the styrofoam container he'd placed it onto as he held it in his tense hand. The styrofoam tore, and he snapped back to the kitchen.

“I know,” he finally said. “But I do appreciate the reminder.”

“I trust that you will keep yourself reasonable throughout this election cycle. You are a smart man.”

“And if I don't, that's what I've got you for.” The smile he gave Lafayette was weak but wholehearted. “Now, we've got a whole lotta food here. You gonna hang around and help me eat it all?”

“I thought you said you needed to prepare for your rally tomorrow,” Lafayette said hesitantly, and Thomas shrugged.

“I think I could use the distraction. ‘N they just put Jurassic Park on Netflix.”

“I am glad to hear it. I cleared my calendar before I came over; I would hate for it to ‘ave been for nothing.”

Thomas' laugh was surprisingly earnest. “Would it be too on-the-nose to break out the bourbon for the occasion?”

“As someone who has written no articles about you lately, I cannot imagine why it would be.”

—---------

GIVEN WHAT SHE had told him, Thomas couldn't break his pace campaigning. He went through with his rally the next day and appeared at a nonprofit-sponsored event the day after as the keynote speaker. He shook hands and took selfies, kissed babies and signed foreheads. He politely declined one woman's request to sign her breasts as a stencil for her next tattoo.

He was playing his role as a media darling the way he always had, blithely and jovially, and his numbers were up in the polls. (James was telling him so, at least; he'd stopped checking for fear of seeing how far they might drop.) Part of that, however, was keeping the Washington Post far from his events. Regardless of who at the Post filed for press admittance, they weren't coming, and he was making sure of that himself. Besides, he had enough coverage.

He was waiting quite patiently for the other shoe to drop as he buttressed his image, though, checking Twitter between podcast interviews and university appearances. He'd become quite sly about sneaking glances at his phone as it poked just a degree out of his pocket, but all he ever saw were texts he had no intention of answering and DMs on Twitter that conferred Y/N's assumption that he'd blocked her number. James had caught on, however, to how preoccupied Thomas was. He would trail off in the middle of a sentence when he noticed his averted gaze, and he watched his eyes glaze over when interviewers made small talk before his appearances, and Thomas caught his skeptical gaze on many occasions. Thomas averted his eyes quickly when he did so.

Nothing damning ever crossed the headlines, and Thomas, too, began to realize he was operating on borrowed time. He wasn't sure how much time he'd borrowed, and he wasn't sure how much he'd have to give back. Neither realization was a relief. It only built his anticipation for the weeks that followed, and he grew more scattered and more concerned about what was to come until—

“Thomas.”

His head snapped up at the stern sound of James’ voice. It was a tone usually reserved for Charles Lee and his father, and Thomas had a hunch as to why he was hearing it just then.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He was in his office at the space they were leasing for their campaign headquarters, a dingy old building that may have been considered glamorous in the early ‘70s, but its interior had never been renovated, so it now simply looked dated. James took a seat across from him.

“Where the hell has your head been at for the past couple weeks?”

“What do you mean?” He answered a little too quickly, and James narrowed his eyes.

“You're always on your phone. Even when you're making appearances in public, you're not entirely there, and in meetings, you definitely aren't. Something is obviously up.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “What're you accusing me of?”

James looked taken aback. “Nothing. I'm asking: I can tell something happened, but what? I want to know if you're okay.”

“You wanna know if I'm okay?”

“Yes. Of course I do,” he said, frowning, and Thomas’ creased brow softened a degree. “We've been friends for years. I'm worried about you, not upset.”

“Right, yeah. ‘Course.” Thomas dragged a hand through his curls as he took a deep breath, not meeting James’ gaze. “Sorry. ‘M just stressed.”

“I can tell.”

“I learned somethin’ last week that's bad for us. Bad for me, really, but it's a problem for our campaign if it pans out, y’know?” His words were agitated and scattered, and when he finally looked James in the eye, he sighed. “A friend in the press told me there's somebody out there giving interviews about my history as an alcoholic. Sounds like they claim to know more than they really do, but at any point now, that information might come out.”

“I see.” James’ lips were pursed. “Would that friend happen to be Y/N L/N?”

Thomas frowned. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitated, looking down as he collected his thoughts. Slowly, he said, “You two seem quite close in a way that concerns me. Is there anything I should know about that?”

Thomas’ stomach had curdled. “Nah, I mean… Dunno what you mean, really. She's just a professional contact.”

“And the dynamic between you two at work events? Your choice to rent out the restaurant she works at for a rally?”

“Hey, I've been goin’ to that restaurant for a whole lot longer than she's been workin’ there.”

“That's beside the point.”

“I dunno if it is.”

“Thomas. Be straight with me.” James eyed his stiff shoulders and the way he sat rigidly upright in his chair; his stance was unnatural. “You're communicating with her outside of professional channels, and you aren't taking the things you learn straight back to us. Frankly, it's unprofessional of you.”

Thomas eyed him with a knit brow, trying to keep his surprise peripheral. “I… Yeah, sorry. Shoulda communicated better.”

“And why didn't you? Something about Y/N L/N seems to cloud your judgment, and I'm not sure where that's coming from.”

He'd have to remind himself to thank Dolley for her discretion. “Dunno what to tell you. We haven't really been communicating, it's just this, ‘n I've been distracted cause I don't know what to do about the interview somebody's been givin’ about me. You don't have to worry, either; we're not friends, ‘n she's not gonna be around in the future.”

James furrowed his brow. “What does that mean?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but it took him a moment to collect the words, “Just haven't seen her at our events. Her assignment must've changed.”

“...Right.”

As they looked across Thomas’ desk at one another, neither had the heart to note all the media inquiries he'd declined from the Post in the preceding weeks.

—--

Y/N WASN'T HAVING the time of her life either. In the weeks that followed, every media request she submitted was painstaking, wrenched from her hands by her manager and laced with shame and anxiety. She was having increasing trouble justifying why finding a reliable source for her article was giving her so much trouble, but her countless declined media requests had been giving her an easier out.

The closest she came to him for several weeks was his open speaking events—rallies, cocktail hours, fundraisers and the like—despite her numerous texts and calls. She even managed to get James’ and Lafayette's ears on a couple different occasions, but the only person who gave her the time of day was Dolley. Even then, in contrast to James’ and Lafayette's dismissal, all she received was passive pity. She'd asked her how she'd liked the Pacific Northwest — that was where Thomas’s campaign had led them most recently.

“Oh, you know. Lots of rain.” Dolley’s words were accompanied with a sad smile. “I'm glad to be back on the east coast, I suppose.”

“Would you really consider DC to be the east coast?”

She only shrugged. “Maybe not. But all the same, it's good to be home.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Sorry campaigning hasn't been all it's cracked up to be.”

“No, no, it's been fine. Don't worry about me, dear. How… how have you been, though?”

Y/N's hopeful expression froze, and although Dolly's was unchanged, she couldn't help but feel that something had shifted. She swallowed as she regained her warm smile.

“I've been good, Doll. Working lots of hours, but nothing too terrible.”

“Good, good. I haven't seen you at too many campaign events recently, you know.”

“Right, well. Traveling that far would just be a bit of an ordeal.”

“Of course.” Dolley touched Y/N's arm as she glanced over her shoulder. “I really can't linger, but it is good to see you. I hope you've been taking care of yourself through everything.”

“Through everything?”

Again, Dolley shrugged. “All the hours you've been working. I imagine it doesn't allow much time for you to rest.”

“Right, yeah, no, for sure.” Y/N shook her head quickly, offering a light laugh. “For sure. I've been fine.”

“Right.” Her smile was tight. “I do hope I'll see you around.”

Y/N was doing her best not to read into Dolley's words, but they occasionally floated to the forefront of her mind on her commute to work and in the shower. She couldn't help but dwell on the hesitant way she asked how she'd been as she sat at her computer redrafting articles. She couldn't gauge the sincerity in her voice when she said she'd hoped to see her around.

She found Lafayette no more than a week later, and it appeared he'd already been cornered by none other than Ben Arnold. She wasn't sure when the two had been acquainted, but Lafayette was looking rather weary as Ben grew ever-closer to him with his notepad.

While she was trying to decide whether to approach the pair, Ben noticed her over Lafayette's shoulder.

“Y/N!” He flagged her down with a hand, and Lafayette turned sharply in the direction he was facing. Both she and he were tense as she approached. “You know Lafayette, don't you? I can't place it, but I'm sure I've seen you both talking together before.”

“Right. Yeah, we know each other.” Her smile was tight, but Ben didn't seem to pick up on it. “What's going on over here?”

“We're talking about Adams’ speech from the other day. I wanna root for the guy, but God, he sure fumbled that.” He shook his head in disdain. “He has me starting to think he might just be too old to be the candidate.”

“Yeah, well. No candidate is perfect.”

“You're one to talk, with the way you've been tearing into Jefferson. You're doing great work, though, don't get me wrong. And don't let me dissuade you.” When Ben nudged her playfully, she pursed her lips.

“Thanks.”

“How's your day going, though? Have you gotten any content out of this rally?” The concern in his brow was aimless, and when Y/N shrugged, he frowned. He followed her gaze as she snuck glances at Lafayette.

“It's been fine. I, um, I should get going, though. It looks like you two were in the middle of an interview, and I really don't want to take your time. I have some work to get done this afternoon.”

“Will your article finally be hitting the front pages?” Y/N inhaled sharply when Lafayette spoke, and his polite tone was in contrast with his stern, knit brow.

“Not today.” She spoke softly, and when she looked him in the eye, she was almost afraid to look away. “There have been some complications.”

“Of what sort?”

“That’s somewhat confidential, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure it is.” He hesitated. She didn’t move. “Is everything alright?”

“Is everything alright?” she repeated incredulously, and he shrugged.

“I am only wondering.”

“I’m fine.” She answered the question he didn’t ask.

“Glad to hear it.” Ben nudged her with a lopsided smile, and the one she put on to match was stiff. “Looking forward to your article, then.”

She and Lafayette shared a look.

————

PER NOBODY’S WISHES, she thought dryly as she read her email, they’d be seeing her again soon. Thomas was holding a speaking event at the university she'd attended, and it was being moderated by a professor she'd had as an undergrad. Although Thomas’ campaign may have blacklisted her, her persistent participation in journalism seminars appeared to be paying off well into her career. There was, of course, a media junket in the hours that preceded the speech, and she was, of course, always welcome back at her alma mater. When she was younger, people would tell her time and time again that her GPA barely mattered if she wasn’t looking to attend graduate school, but there it was, pulling strings she figured had long since frayed.

She arrived early. She’d barely slept the night before, so she figured it wasn’t ultimately worth waiting the extra hours before leaving the house, and she showered before the sun was even up. She stopped by her old professor’s office to thank him along with an extra cold brew and her thoughts on his recent book. She lingered in the bookstore afterwards, eyeing the merchandise they’d updated since she attended. She walked by her old dorm building. She made uneasy eye contact with the security guards placed every five feet.

Vans with tinted windows went in and out of gated driveways, and she wondered which of them had reason to appear so incognito. Although she hadn’t the slightest clue, she didn’t allow her stare to linger on any of them for too long.

She checked in for her time slot four hours early.

—-------

THOMAS HAD MIXED feelings about university speaking engagements. Young people barely voted, and many of them had obviously come only to network regardless, trailing behind him with questions about his campaign staff and his cabinet. Nevertheless, the optics of caring about the next generation were helpful if not essential, so there he was in a van being driven through closed-off streets toward a university convention center.

He shook hands and learned names he had little intention of remembering for multiple hours before the event even started, and he was led by his security detail down a long hallway for the press junket that he should have anticipated.

He asked for a cup of coffee before they started, chatting idly with one of his bodyguards in the hallway outside, and then he asked for another. He arrived at the first interview thirty-eight minutes late.

He cut each interview short. They were with outlets he’d spoken to time and time again: CNN, Fox, the Associated Press, the Guardian. The questions they asked were routine.

Eight interviews took him less than an hour, ultimately, but he was informed that he’d be giving sixteen that day (it would’ve been fifteen, but the university newspaper snuck in a reservation).

After each, he took a breath, fixed his tie, and opened the next door to meet the interviewer he’d be speaking to next.

Nine was from NBC.

Ten was the Times — he shuddered when he saw Ben Arnold, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen his face before.

Eleven was the LA Times.

Twelve was NPR.

He walked out on autopilot toward the next room after shaking his interviewer’s hand and wishing her well. His eyes were glazed over as he opened the door to room thirteen.

He fixed his shirt cuffs as he walked in. “Mornin’, how’s your day—?” He stopped short when she lifted her head, eyes as wide as his. “Who the hell let you in?”

“Please, just give me five minutes.”

He looked over his shoulder to his security personnel. “Gimme the room.”

“Sir, we’re under instructions not to leave your side.”

“Instructions from who? You work for me.”

“I understand that, but our manager—”

“Wait outside. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure, Secretary Jefferson?”

He nodded before turning back toward Y/N. “I only need five minutes, hm?”

“Yes. Please.” He sat across from her as the security detail filed out into the hallway, and her hand was shaking atop her notebook when he met her eyes.

“What part of ‘stay away from me’ was unclear?” he spat.

“It’s my job; I couldn’t stop trying to get to your events.”

“And what did you think would happen when you did?” She was silent. “How the hell did you get in, anyway? My staff knows that you—”

“I went here. For college. I used to work for the professor interviewing you later, and he reached out to me, not the other way around.”

“Management and I are gonna be havin’ a serious talk about his role in organizing this event, then.”

“Hey, come on, it’s not his fault,” she protested. “You can’t ruin his credibility just for this, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” he snapped. “It’s not fair? It’s not right? All of a sudden, you’re worried about protecting somebody’s reputation?”

“Come on, you know what I’m saying. He did nothing wrong.”

“And I did then?” He raised his eyebrows, folding his arms. She sighed, shoulders dropping. “‘S that what you’re saying? Is that all you meant? He doesn’t deserve that, but I do?”

“No, of course you don’t. Please stop making this something it isn’t.”

“What is it then? Hm? If it’s not you playing favorites? You’re allowed to drag my name in the streets, but I can’t do it to somebody you care about?”

“Thomas, I do care about you; just listen to me.”

“What is there left to say?” His tone was sharp, and he didn’t go on, just watching her expectantly. The only sound was the hum of the AV equipment switched on in the corner. She hadn’t set any of it up.

“I just want you to understand that this is my job.” She spoke softly. “I didn’t know this was what I was signing up for, but I did, and it’s too late for me to back out.”

“You didn’t do this by accident. I don’t care what your assignment was; you sat down and spent hours writing down the worst things you could find about me.”

“I had to. My editor—”

“You had to? There was no other way out?”

“Yeah, maybe unemployment,” she bit back. “I need my job, Thomas. I have to work.”

“You’re a big name in media now. Don’t act like you have no sway.” He looked her up and down. “You made your choice. Now live with it.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she urged. “Someone was going to come out with this eventually. If I didn’t write it, I would’ve been scooped.”

“You always have a choice.” When he stood, he was looking down his nose at her. “Hope it was worth spending your day here just to make mine worse. I’ll be more careful about the press at my events goin’ forward.”

He started toward the door, and her hurried footsteps behind him didn’t give him pause.

“Wait, please, I—” Her fingers were soft on his forearm, and he jerked it away, turning to face her.

“Don’t you dare touch me. You hear me?” His tone was harsh, and she pulled her hand back, balling her fingers lamely in front of her. “I don’t know where you find the goddamn nerve.”

When he left, he slammed the door behind him.

——————

SHE WAS DREADING the office on Monday. The speaking event had been local, so she couldn’t skate by on travel complications for another day working remotely. She slipped into the office early so her editor wouldn’t see her come in, and when eleven AM came and went undisturbed, she found herself ticking off the minutes before she could slink away while Ashley was out on lunch.

At 11:38 AM, there was a knock at her office door.

“Coming.” Her voice was soft.

She opened the door. The usual culprit.

“Ashley,” she said, honey-sweet, “Morning. Happy Monday.”

“Good morning, Y/N.” Her smile was tight. “What do you suppose there is to be happy about today?”

“Well, the weather is beautiful, my apartment’s heating was fixed, my friends are—”

“That was rhetorical.” Ashley breezed past her into her office, and Y/N sighed. “Where the hell is my article? I know you went to the Georgetown event last weekend, and you have yet to even send me notes from it.”

“He wouldn’t speak to me.” She turned, closing the door behind her.

“And why not?”

“Oh, I don’t know, because all my writing treats him terribly?” Y/N asked. “This is your own fault. Being upset with me for not being able to get his ear when you told me to drag his name through the mud is insane.”

“I don’t need a new interview with him. I need you to finish the draft you sent me weeks ago. If you don’t, I’m giving it to another staff writer to finish.”

“You’re bluffing. It’s my intellectual property; you don’t own that article until it’s published,” Y/N said. “If you could assign it to someone else, you would’ve by now.”

“And if someone had sent me your interview tape, I could’ve had it in the paper immediately,” Ashley seethed. “Why are you holding out on me, L/N? You got this assignment because your supervisors before me believed in you. This doesn’t just reflect on you; it reflects on them now, too.”

“Yeah, and they weren’t breathing down my neck trying to push their own agendas on my writing.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Y/N paused, sucking her teeth. Ashley raised her eyebrows.

“I think Adams lied,” Y/N finally said.

“And why do you think that?”

“He has an agenda. No one will even corroborate his story.”

“He worked with Jefferson, and the facts line up.”

“How would you know if the story lines up?” Y/N asked incredulously. “You weren’t on Washington’s staff with them.”

“I don’t care. I don’t care if you don’t have a secondary source, and I don’t care if you don’t believe him,” Ashley insisted, “because you haven’t published in weeks, and this is front-page news. You never sit on a story like this.”

“Don’t you care about our integrity? This affects our reputation as a paper, too.”

“If it turns out to be false, we’ll print a retraction.”

“I don’t want my name attached to a slanderous article,” Y/N said. “We could get sued. I could get sued.”

“We have the best lawyers in the game, L/N. What you need to do is grow a pair.”

“Jesus Christ, don’t talk to me like that.” Y/N’s nose was crinkled as she eyed Ashley. “However good you think our lawyers are, you underestimate Jefferson’s.”

“I’ve been in journalism a long time. I know what we can get away with.”

“What if I don’t want to just be ‘getting away with’ things?” Y/N asked. “I came here to report the truth.”

“From what we know, this is the truth.”

“But we don’t know that.” Y/N’s firm gaze met Ashley’s narrowed eyes. “I’m not finishing the article.”

“You work for me.”

“If you press this, I’ll walk away,” Y/N warned. “You need me here this late in the game.”

“You need me a whole lot more,” Ashley said. “If you don’t get me my finished article by Friday, you’re fired.”

“Then I quit.”

Ashley’s narrowed eyes softened. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ll pack my office. Effective immediately.” Y/N’s expression was unchanging. Ashley drew back, folding her arms.

“Fine. You have thirty minutes. After that, security will see you out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

—————

SHE HADN’T PLANNED for that. When she went home, she was all but convinced it had been a fever dream. Was she sick? She took her temperature—98.5° F. She checked her email. It had already been disabled. Her Google Drive was gone, which meant her draft was gone, which meant her career was over.

She hadn’t given two weeks notice, and she had burned a bridge. Ashley wouldn’t be listed as a reference on her future job applications. She hadn’t published in weeks, and she had lost all her contacts on the Jefferson campaign. Who would hire her?

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot despite her nine hours of sleep. She needed to go to sleep.

Laying down didn’t help. Maybe Tums would do something, but the sinking feeling in her stomach wasn’t nausea. She figured an antacid couldn’t hurt. Maybe she was stopped up. Maybe she just needed a laxative. Maybe she needed antipsychotics. Had she gone mad?

She didn’t check her phone for three hours. She could only stare at the ceiling. She had no dental insurance, so she would need to postpone her appointment. She had no health insurance, either, so she was rather lucky that flu season was over. Her car repairs would have to wait, but the Metro reached her part of town. She didn’t have to travel for work anymore, anyway.

She had opted in on a financial nightmare. It wasn’t until later that afternoon that she even remembered why.

It was with trembling fingers that she called Lafayette. He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t blame him. She sent him a text. Quit my job. Not sure what to do. Call me back.

She couldn’t call Alex, and she couldn’t call Angelica, and she didn’t have Dolley’s number. None of her closest friends would understand the decision she’d made.

She went downstairs, and Mira was in the kitchen idly doing the dishes. The lunch rush had passed, and the dinner one hadn’t started.

“Hey, Mira,” she said softly. “Do you have a minute?”

“Dishes have to get done, mija, are you going to help me?” Her tone was all business, and it almost made Y/N smile. She had her own concerns.

“Yeah, I can. Lemme load the dishes.” And so as Mira scraped and rinsed each plate, Y/N put them one by one into the dishwasher. She fell into a rhythm so passively that it caught her off guard when Mira spoke.

“You wanted to talk about something with me?” she asked, and Y/N went still.

“Yeah,” she said, “I did.”

“I am listening.”

“I quit my other job.”

Mira turned the water off. Her brows were knit when she faced Y/N. “You quit?”

“I did.”

“You worked hard for that promotion. What happened? You were famous.”

“My editor wanted me to publish some things I didn’t quite believe in,” Y/N said quietly, and Mira nodded, turning back to the sink. She turned the water on and reached for another glass.

“Ya veo. About Thomas?”

Y/N paused. “What makes you say that?”

Mira only shot her a sidelong glance, raising one skeptical eyebrow. Y/N shrugged, and Mira turned back to the sink, shaking her head. “What did they want you to say about him?”

“I…” It occurred to her that Mira hadn’t answered her question. “Things I don’t want to repeat. I don’t want to spread rumors.”

“Are they true?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then I will not repeat what you tell me,” Mira said. “Tell me.”

“There are claims he was an alcoholic,” Y/N said, and Mira pursed her lips, nodding.

“Is that just a rumor?”

“Only one person has claimed it. They say it was years ago.”

“He does not seem to me to be an alcoholic.”

“Me neither,” Y/N said. “If it’s true, he’s clearly recovered. With how much energy he has, I’d sooner believe that he does cocaine.”

Mira laughed softly at that. “He is always moving, no?”

“You’re telling me.”

Mira turned off the water as she handed Y/N the final dish. “So when did you quit?”

“This morning.”

Her eyebrows jumped. “Today?”

Y/N nodded. “I didn’t even give any notice. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You were being brave,” Mira replied. “You did what you believed.”

“And now I’m paying the price.”

“What price?” Mira asked. “You left a job that you hated. You… what is it… seguiste a tu corazón.”

“Followed my heart?” Y/N repeated, and Mira nodded.

“Thomas means something to you,” —Y/N opened her mouth to protest, and Mira only raised a hand to stop her— “He is in your life, at least. He is your friend. You did what he needed.”

“I know. God, I hope so. I was just trying to do the right thing, and now I feel like I’ve blown up my life.”

“What is blown up? You have a roof over your head. You have food on your table. Also you have this job.”

“It’s not enough for me to be able to pay you rent money,” Y/N admitted. “Not with my student loan payments. I understand if I can’t stay, but when I find a new job, I can get you all the money later, and if you want interest, it’s—”

“It is not my worry,” Mira said. “We have enough money. We do not need yours. We will not remove you from your home.”

“Thank you, but I’ll pay you when I have the money. I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry. Be proud that you have done what you believe.” Mira took Y/N’s damp hand in her own, dishwater running down in beads from her elbow. “I am proud of you. It is allowed to feel that for yourself, too.”

—————

SHE THEN CALLED Thomas. He didn’t pick up, and she wasn’t expecting him to. He hadn’t read any of her texts in weeks, so she didn’t bother sending them anymore, but they were still marked as delivered. Lafayette didn’t call her back, but he texted— I am happy for you.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Can you call?

He texted back immediately. Later. I am working.

Are we okay? It took her a long moment of staring to press “send.”

We will need to have a longer conversation, he sent. Her stomach turned. Then— But yes.

She called Thomas again.

That was her routine for the rest of the evening. She applied for a job at CNN, she called Thomas. She made herself dinner, she called Thomas. She took out the trash, she called Thomas. She applied for five more jobs, she called Thomas. She took a break to read through the texts she’d sent him, and she called Thomas.

She texted Lafayette again. Can you tell Thomas to call me?

I can try, was his reply. Should I tell him you quit?

I’d like to tell him myself, she sent.

Then it will be difficult.

By eight PM, he had 47 missed calls from her. It was more than she’d tried in the weeks since he had cut her off, but she supposed he would have chalked it up to the fight they’d had over the weekend. Every time the phone went to voicemail, she heard his disgusted voice ringing in her ears— I don’t know where you find the nerve.

Frankly, she wasn’t sure, either.

At 9:47, she had just finished another job application, and it was time to call Thomas again. She was sitting on her couch, and she put the phone on speaker beside her as she reached for her glass of wine. She closed tabs on her laptop as she listened to the first four rings, and she pulled up another application as the fifth went by.

The sixth ring never came, and the phone didn’t go to voicemail. There was faint static coming from her phone’s speaker. She froze.

Tentatively, she spoke. “Thomas?”

A beat passed. Finally, “I only picked up as a favor to Lafayette. You can tell him I did my piece.”

“Wait, no, don’t hang up,” she said frantically. “Please. Are you still there?”

“I’m done wastin’ time here. I’ve given you a whole lotta chances. Goodnight.”

“I quit my job.” Her words were rushed. Silence followed, but no dial tone.

“You what?”

“I quit my job,” she repeated. “The article’s scrapped.”

“Y’know, it’s not so easy to trust right now that you’re tellin’ me the whole truth.”

“I know,” Y/N said softly, putting down her wine glass. She picked up the phone and took it off of speaker. “But that's it.”

“You’re not goin’ back?”

“Never.”

“And that article’s never gonna see the light?”

“It would be illegal for them to publish without me on staff. They don’t even have the interview tape.”

There was a long pause. “Why’d you do it?”

“Are you serious?” she asked, huffing out a disbelieving laugh.

“I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because I couldn’t publish that article. I’m sorry I ever even wrote it. My editor has been hounding me for weeks to get it finished so that they could publish, and I delayed it and delayed it, but it came down to publishing or leaving. So I finally left.”

“‘Cause I yelled at you in a conference room at your old college?”

“Because you were right when you did,” she said. “No one who cared about you would publish that article.”

“What about all those bills you have to pay?” The question was steeped in disdain.

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted, and her voice was shaky when she explained, “I’m applying for jobs, but I’ll take on more hours at the diner, and I can delay some of my payments. And Mira and Orlando are my landlords, so they won’t evict me, so I won’t need to couch surf. I’ll take on a little bit of debt. I’ll figure it out.”

He hesitated a moment. “Sorry for askin’. You don’t owe me all that information.”

“Right now I owe you any explanation you want.”

He sighed. “Y/N.”

“I’m serious. I’m so sorry, Thomas. This whole ordeal is finally over. You never have to think about this again.”

“Well, if somebody’s giving interviews about it, I’m sure I’m gonna have to worry about it soon enough.”

“...Right.”

“But that’s not your fault. I shouldn’t put that on you. ‘M sorry.”

“You don’t owe me any apologies,” she said softly. “I’m glad you picked up.”

“Yeah.” A beat. “I am too.”

Nearly a minute passed and neither of them spoke. Neither seemed to have the words to offer, but he didn’t hang up, and she didn’t want to.

Finally, “Can I come over?”

He hesitated. “I’m at James’ right now.”

“Oh.” Her voice went quiet. “Right. Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sorry, I’ll let you—”

“I’ll be home in an hour,” he cut her off, and her eyebrows shot up. “Think you can wait that long?”

She checked the time. It was past ten. “I suppose I don’t have anywhere to be in the morning.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

—-

IT WAS MORE than an hour later when he texted her. In fact, it had been eighty-one minutes. She'd begun to abandon her hopes when he sent— Headed home. Come by whenever.

She didn't love being on the Metro at that hour. She couldn't call an Uber. She brought nothing but her phone, wallet, and keys.

It was nearing midnight when she arrived, and ten minutes passed between when she buzzed in and when she knocked on his door. Most of them were spent standing outside working up the courage to do so.

When she finally did, he opened the door immediately.

“Hey,” he said softly, looking her up and down.

“Were you waiting by the door?”

He frowned. “It's the middle of the night, and I buzzed you in twenty minutes ago. What else would I be doing?”

She chose not to correct him on the time. “Right, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m sure.”

She didn't respond at first, shifting her weight between her feet. “Can I come in?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Lemme take your jacket.”

“Thanks.” The brush of his fingers against hers when he took it sent chills down her arm. She followed him inside.

“Would it be too on the nose to offer you a drink?” he asked. “I think we could both use one right about now.”

“It'd be more than welcome,” she agreed weakly, and he nodded, walking toward the kitchen. She didn't follow him right away, and he glanced back at her.

“Well, c'mon in, act like you've been here before. You know where the glasses are.”

“Right. Sorry.” She slipped off her shoes before continuing toward his cabinets. “What are we drinking?”

“Wine?”

“What kind?”

“Zinfandel.”

“Right.” She handed him two wine glasses as he took a bottle from his shelf and pulled the cork.

“Thanks,” he said. She nodded.

A moment passed in silence as he poured two glasses, and he turned his head to look at her as he put the cork back on the bottle. “Take your pick.”

“Right. Thanks.” She took the glass closest to her.

“Cheers?” he said as he picked up his glass, tilting it toward her. Her smile was tight as she clinked her glass against his. He sighed. “Relax a little. You wouldn't be here if I didn't wanna see you. You're not on trial.”

“I know,” she agreed softly, “but I did fuck up. You don't have to be this nice to me right now.”

“I know.” He took a sip of his wine. “That's what makes me such a good person.”

She rolled her eyes, and his small smile was self-satisfied. “My savior.”

“Hey, I don't wanna hear any snark from you in these circumstances,” he warned, and she shrugged.

“Then you shouldn't have invited me over.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The way I remember it, you invited yourself.”

“How rude of me.”

“I oughta kick you out just for that.” She cast him a sidelong glance as she took a sip, and amusement danced in his smiling eyes. “You wanna come sit down?”

“I… yeah. I'd love to.” They both migrated to the living room, and when she took a seat on one end of the couch, he sat beside her without hesitation. “I still feel like I owe you an apology.”

“You've apologized. Not much more you can say about that.” His tone was dismissive.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive, sweetheart.” He took a heavy sip of his wine, and she frowned. “What I do want, though, is an explanation.”

“I… don't think I have much of an explanation to offer. No excuses I haven't already given you.”

“I don’t want an excuse. Why’d you do it?” he asked. “When did this start, who gave the interview? How long have you been sitting on it?”

“I can't tell you who.” Her response came quickly, and he furrowed his eyebrows. “I'm sorry, I know that's unsatisfying, but it's just not something I'm willing to break. Their anonymity, I mean.”

He hesitated a moment. “Y’know it's not your job anymore, right?”

“Yes, I'm aware.” Her voice had an edge. “But… this is about my reputation as a journalist. This is an integrity thing.”

“Whoever you're interviewing doesn't seem to have a whole lotta integrity.”

“That isn't my problem.”

“You know this affects me, yeah? I'm not asking this outta spite; I need to know who's claimin’ this.”

“I can't be the one to tell you.” Y/N pursed her lips. “I'm sorry for that. Honestly. But I can't.”

Thomas took a heavy breath. “You're not makin’ it real easy to forgive you, y'know.”

“I'm sorry,” she said quietly. Her ears rang in the silence that followed.

“Fine,” he finally said. “When did you write the article, then?”

She swallowed. “Shit… I… Almost three months ago? Maybe less?”

“Three months?” he repeated.

“I told you my editor was at the end of her rope with me delaying this. It wasn't for no reason.”

“So every time I've seen you for three months you've been sittin’ on this.”

“I mean… yeah.” She shrugged. He was watching her incredulously.

“That's all you've gotta say about it? Yeah?” Her nose crinkled at his pitchy impression of her voice. “Every time I've seen you you've just been pretending you weren't gonna destroy my reputation?”

She sighed. “It's not like that. I mean, it is, but c'mon. It's not like I've been putting on such a promising act as your fun hookup. All we've done for the past three months is fight.”

“What about that night at the diner?” he asked. “We did a whole lot other than fightin'.”

“Do you mean your rally?” she asked, and he nodded. “Thomas, I hadn't written it then. I didn't even have my source yet. I didn't know about any of this. I… it was the last time I woke up here that was the day I wrote it.”

“Don't sound so self-righteous about my question, then; you were still stayin’ over here when you were writing it.”

“I was not,” she defended. “I haven't even been here since I wrote it. After that morning, I barely saw you for weeks.”

“And apparently I shoulda kept it that way.”

“Do you want my side of the story or not?” Y/N asked weakly. “I know you're upset, but you asked me to explain. I'm just trying to fill in the blanks.”

His jaw ticked, and he sat back against the couch. “Yeah. ‘M sorry. Go on.”

“Well, the article was the reason I didn't try to see you in those weeks. At least not for anything more than a talk. I think some part of me knew from the jump that it was wrong.”

“Then why'd you do it?” he asked. She sighed.

“My career. My money. I really needed that job, and I worked so hard for it, and at first I thought I might be able to discard the article without it seeing the light, but my editor doubled down. It was obvious pretty early on that my job depended on it. I was hoping I would be valuable enough that they wouldn't fire me over it, but once it was drafted, there was no way to stop it and stay at the Post.”

Her voice shook, and she reached over to put her wine glass on his coffee table. She rested her forehead in her hands.

“I know I fucked up, but even now, some part of me feels like I made the wrong choice. What now? What's next for me? Who's even going to hire me after I quit the Post with no notice? What about my loans?”

She jumped at the feeling of his hand on her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he looked as bewildered at her reaction as she felt.

“‘M sorry. Didn't mean to… scare you, it's not… Shit. Whatever. I'm sorry.” His fingers were stiff as he rubbed her upper back, and it drew a soft laugh from her.

“God, when did we get so awkward? It's okay, it's not your fault.” She took his hand from her shoulder, lacing her fingers into his.

“‘Course. Right. But y'know… if I'd never gone for you, you wouldn't be in this type of spot. I shoulda just left you alone from the jump.”

“That would've made both of our lives a hell of a lot easier,” Y/N agreed, and his smile was reluctant. “Too late, though. If I didn't care about you being in my life, I wouldn't have just thrown away my career for you.”

“Y’know, the campaign could always use more speech writers.”

“Not helpful.”

“I know. Sorry, sugar.” He squeezed her hand. “But your career's not down the drain. You're real smart, and you're real talented. Somebody else is gonna wanna hire you.”

“Maybe, but the industry is so tight. If word travels that I left the Post with no notice, I'll seem unreliable. Nobody wants that.”

“Somebody’ll hire you. I promise, alright?” His words held great conviction, and she could only sigh.

“Thanks, Thomas.”

He offered an encouraging smile. “‘Course.” He paused for a moment— “Now, I don't wanna reopen old wounds or anything, but I gotta ask.” She creased her brow. “Was the article the only reason you were avoidin’ me? Changin’ all your shifts at the diner, boltin’ for the door when I saw you at Lafayette's… was that all this?”

“I… I don't know.”

“Right. ‘Course, ‘m sorry for askin’. I shouldn't have brought that back up; it isn't even—”

“No, no, listen to me.” Her voice held traces of frustration. “I like you, you know I do, as if me quitting my job isn't evidence enough, but I just couldn't,” —her words were defeated— “let myself get attached to you. There's no good ending to this. The good ending was sex until the election and then neatly going our separate ways. And I fucked that up a couple different times.”

“So you didn't?” he asked. She frowned.

“Are you serious? Of course I got attached. You're all swagger and confidence, and suddenly the Republican presidential frontrunner wanted me, of all people. It all felt like a dream. It felt like too much of a dream. There's no room for dreaming in my future, only planning.”

“So you just saw it as temporary.”

She nodded. “I did. I fucked up by getting to know you, though, and you fucked up by being so much kinder and more complex than I took you to be. I didn't account for there being anything under the surface.”

He smiled softly. “Sorry, sweetheart. I'll try not to let it happen again.”

“You're too considerate.” She pulled her legs up onto the couch, sitting with them slanted at her side. “All of that to say, no, it wasn't just the article, but you did nothing wrong.”

“This is night ‘n day from you accusin’ me of trying to control you a couple weeks ago,” he pointed out, and she huffed.

“Hey, I was trying to keep us from having to figure all this out. It would've been easier if you'd given me a good reason to lose your number.”

“I'm glad I didn't.”

“I am too,” she agreed. She picked up her glass of wine, and she took a slow sip, choosing her words. “So, are we, like, good?”

He laughed. “Mhm, we're, like, good.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his impression of her voice, but when he squeezed her knee, her stomach turned. “C'mon, lighten up.”

“I don't think this is all that funny,” she protested, and he sighed.

“All is forgiven, alright? Relax. We'll laugh about this soon enough.”

“I'm not ready to laugh at it yet.”

“You'll get there.” His hand was creeping up her thigh, rubbing circles into her skin, and she frowned before covering it with hers.

“What exactly do you think you're doing here?”

He smiled as his hand tightened around her leg, fingertips pressing into the skin, and she gasped when he pulled her toward him. “Clearin’ the air.”

“You're so corny.”

“‘N I missed you. Gimme this.” He took her glass of wine out of her hand, placing both his and hers on his coffee table.

“I was drinking that.”

“‘N now you aren't. Y'know, alcohol really isn't good for you. Take it from somebody who knows.” Her eyes were wide as he pulled her legs over his lap, his hand settling on her lower back when her thighs were draped over his.

“You're invading my space, Jefferson.”

“You gonna write an article about it?” He held her face by the chin, then only inches from his. The mocking pout he offered made her roll her eyes. “Sick of seein’ that frown.”

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and when she smiled at the gentle action, he turned her head to kiss her on the mouth. “There's that smile,” he said softly before kissing her again. “All I've been getting these days was your little furrowed brow,” —he swiped his thumb over the bridge of her nose— “always so angry with me. Always pouting.”

“It was for good reason.”

He snorted. “Uh huh. ‘Cause I've just been such a nuisance.”

“You've been the cause of all my stress for months now.”

“Then lemme relieve some of it.” His hand drew back to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer as he kissed across her chin and down her jaw. He hooked his other hand under her thigh. “Come here.”

She squealed when he pulled her all the way onto his lap, and she shifted to face him, tilting her head back as his lips traveled down her neck. She wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to stop the little whimpers that escaped her lips as he sucked on her skin, and she squealed when he suddenly bit down hard on the skin above her collarbone.

“Thomas,” she whined as a hand flew to his hair, and she whimpered as he sucked the soft skin into his mouth, pulling her in close by the waist. The skin smarted as he pulled away, his breath heavy. “That hurt.”

“D'you mind?” He raised his eyebrows, expression flat, and she swallowed.

“No.” Her voice was small.

“Good.” His mouth returned to the skin of her chest, kissing and biting her upper breasts. He released her waist to undo the top buttons of her blouse, brow furrowed as he did so, and after a moment, he huffed and grabbed the bottom hem of her shirt. “Pick your arms up.”

“What?”

“Come on,” he said, hands slipping under the fabric around her waist, riding it up to the band of her bra. She put her arms above her head, and he immediately pulled her shirt off, discarding it absently onto the floor. He grabbed her by the waist and tossed her on her back onto the couch beside him, and she yelped when her bare back hit the cool leather, arching away from it.

When he climbed on top of her, he slipped a hand under her back to undo her bra clasp, sliding it down her obliging arms. She inhaled sharply when the cool air hit her sensitive nipples, watching him in anticipation.

“Touch yourself,” he said softly, and she raised her eyebrows.

“What?”

“C'mon, play with your tits for me. Wanna see you make yourself feel good.”

“I…” Any protest in her voice died when his lips returned to her skin, kissing down her stomach, shifting down the couch. He settled between her legs, nipping the skin above her hip lightly. He met her eyes with an expectant gaze.

She tilted her head back, arching up against her hand as she reached for her breast, pinching her nipple. Her breathing was heavy; she reached for the couch cushion behind her head with her other hand, gripping it tightly.

“Fuck.” The sound escaped her lips as a whisper as she rolled her nipple between her fingers, and her hips twitched involuntarily. Thomas’ hands ran up her bare thighs under her skirt.

“Look at me,” he demanded, and she did so with a deep breath, squeezing her breast in her hand. His heavy gaze made her squirm. “Good girl.”

The words made her groan as she took her other breast in her hand, circling the nipple with her fingertips as it hardened. Although she was watching Thomas, his eyes were fixed on her chest, and she pushed her tits together, rolling her hips toward him.

“Please touch me,” she breathed, and he smiled, pushing her skirt up to her waist.

“Do you deserve it?” He ran a finger lightly over the outside of her panties, and it brushed over her clothed clit, making her whine. She pinched both nipples, pulling her tits up her chest.

“Please. I'll behave. I'll be good for you.” She arched harder toward him. He watched with hungry eyes as she squeezed her breasts.

“Finally got tired of making trouble?” He didn't wait for an answer before pulling her panties down her legs, leaving them dangling off one of her ankles as he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. She inhaled sharply.

“So pretty,” he commented, running a finger up her slit. He smiled at the wetness that collected on his fingertip. “And so well behaved. This all for me, sweetheart?”

She moaned when he circled her clit with his thumb, and she nodded, desperately grabbing at the couch. He landed a sharp slap to her thigh, and she yelped.

“Did I say you could move your hands?” he asked, and she frowned, bringing them back to her hard nipples. “Keep ‘em there.”

She swallowed hard when he returned to her sensitive clit, rubbing it in light strokes. Her breathing was heavy, and any movement from her hands was absentminded as her chest heaved. His fingers dipped down, teasing her entrance, and when his tongue flicked her clit, she stiffened, arching involuntarily as she rolled her hips toward him. When his lips wrapped gently around her clit, his teeth scraped it, and her legs jerked. She whined.

“Fuck, please, Thomas.”

“Be patient.” His hands moved to her hips, arms hooked under her thighs to hold her legs open, and he sucked hard on her throbbing clit. She moaned, and he didn’t stop her when one of her hands flew down to the back of his head, knotting her fingers in his hair.

“Oh, god,” she groaned, and she could feel his smile grow against her skin as his tongue traced patterns on her clit. “Fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Mhm.” Her legs shook under the vibrations of his voice on his tongue.

Her eyes fell shut as her body tensed and twitched, and he didn’t let up, pushing her hips down into the couch as he worked her up. She whimpered when he released her thigh to slip a finger into her ignored pussy, curling it gently inside her.

“I need more.” Her voice was needy when she eventually spoke, her orgasm starting to build inside her. Everything was just shy of enough—his lips were too gentle, his fingers too slow, and all it did was frustrate her. Thomas didn’t respond. She huffed, but she could only stay quiet another moment. “Please?”

He pursed his lips as he lifted his head to look up at her. “You think you need more?”

“Yes, I do,” she whined. “I can’t cum like this.”

“What d’you need?”

“Just… more, please,” she said desperately. “Harder, or faster, or… something. Just… more.”

“Oh yeah?” He added another finger to her dripping pussy, and she gasped. His fingers pumped quickly in and out of her. “You need more?”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Oh, god.” She moaned, dropping her head back onto the couch, and his lips returned to her clit. She squealed. “That’s so good. Just like that.”

He sucked her clit hard into his mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue, and her hips jerked uncontrollably against him, chasing her orgasm. Her eyes rolled back when he curled his fingers inside her. “Fuck, Thomas, I’m close.”

“Yeah?” he murmured against her, and he lifted his head. “You gonna cum for me? You almost there?”

“Yeah,” she moaned, and his tongue returned to her clit. Her legs were shaking in his grasp, and one of her hands gripped his hair while the other sank into the couch cushions, scrambling to ground her. “I’m so close, fuck, don’t stop, I’m gonna—”

She was cut off abruptly by her own loud whine as he pulled back from her entirely, and she could feel her building orgasm dissipate. “No, no, no, please, I need—”

“Who said any of this was about you, hm?” He raised an eyebrow as he lifted his head between her legs, and her hold on his hair loosened. Her deep-seated pout didn’t stop him. “Do you think you deserve to cum right now? After everything you did?”

“You said we were all good,” she protested, and he hummed in agreement.

“‘N I feel great right now. Don’t think I see the issue.” She groaned when he sat up, running his hands up her thighs. “Should be real grateful I’m not still upset with you. I could be doin’ a whole lot worse than this right now.”

“What, you want me to thank you?” she said dryly, propping herself on her hands as she sat up. Thomas pulled her closer by the thighs as he raised his eyebrows. “...Do you?”

“I mean, some manners would go a long way. I’ve been awful generous toward you, sweetheart.”

“I’ve said please.”

“‘N I don’t owe you anything for that,” he said, looking her in the eye as his thumb circled her clit. “You don’t have any kinda control over me. You don’t own me.”

If it weren’t for the punch in his tone, she wouldn’t have realized he was throwing her own words back at her, and she exhaled heavily. “C’mon, play nice.”

“I’ve been plenty nice to you.” His hands ghosted down her legs to her calves, and she sighed. “If anybody has reason to be upset, I’m pretty damn sure it’s me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. He looked her over for a moment, and he swung his legs over the side of the couch to stand, making her furrow her brow. When he reached his feet, she followed suit, “Hey, wait don’t—” She squealed when he leaned down suddenly to throw her over his shoulder, holding her by her legs.

“It’s alright sugar, I know you’re sorry. Think it’s my job to make you sorry, though.”

She groaned. “Put me down, let’s just talk about this first.”

“Don’t think so.” She squeaked when he pinched the back of her bare thigh, reaching around to swat his hand away. Her eyes widened as she recognized the door to his room retreating behind them as he walked through his apartment, and she yelped when he threw her down onto his mattress. “We’ve talked plenty, haven’t we?”

He didn’t waste any time before loosening his tie, and when she scrambled backwards on the mattress, he grabbed her by the ankle to pull her toward him. “Where the hell d’you think you’re going?”

“I don’t want this to be how we resolve this; we should—”

“D’you know your safeword?”

“...Red.”

“Then shut the hell up.”

Her chest heaved as she watched him undo the buttons on his shirt, but her gaze fell to the growing bulge in his crotch all the while. He seemed to pay her little mind, barely sparing her a glance as he pushed his shirt down his shoulders. His undershirt was tight, and when he joined her on the mattress, climbing atop her, her hands drifted to its lower hem, pulling it out of the waist of his pants.

“You should take this off,” she said softly, and he kissed her bare shoulder.

“Don't think I will.”

She huffed, and he reached for the waistband of her skirt. When he tried to pull it down, it caught on her hips, and he furrowed his brow. “Where the hell's the zipper on this thing?”

It was without warning when he grabbed her hips to flip her onto her stomach, and she yelped when he immediately pulled her hips back toward him to pull down the zipper of her skirt. He pushed her flat on her stomach to pull it down her legs, and when he did, she pushed her torso up to turn and look at him.

“Why am I the only one naked?” she asked, and he pushed her chest back down onto the bed with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. He slapped her ass absentmindedly.

“Relax. I'll take care of you.”

Although she huffed, her heart was racing as he ran a hand down her bare back. She twitched when his fingers dipped between her bare legs, and she parted them reflexively. The pads of his fingers were warm as they ran up her slit.

“So wet.” His tone was condescending. “So pretty.”

It was abrupt when he grabbed her by the thighs, pushing her to her knees, and he parted her legs by the calves. She braced herself on her forearms, arching her back, and he hummed agreeably. It was nervously that she glanced back at him, and she found him settling on his knees between her legs.

“You okay?” he asked softly. He kissed her bare lower back, and her tense shoulders softened. He leaned over her to kiss the back of her shoulder, and she felt his hard, clothed dick against her ass. She whined.

“Thomas, please, just fuck me.” She pushed herself back against him, shaking her hips. She dragged her ass down against his boner. “Don’t you want to?”

He hummed absently. “I’ll think about it.”

“Come on,” she pleaded, voice breaking. “Don’t make me wait any longer; I need you, I need you now.”

He laughed. “Aw, sugar, that badly?”

“Please?” she said softly.

“Yeah, alright.” The clang of him undoing his belt made her heart rate jump. The smooth sound of leather against fabric, and then the muted thud of the buckle hitting the floor. When she felt his dick tap her clit, sliding against her center, her hips twitched, and when his tip gently nudged her entrance, she pushed her hips desperately back against his, and he let her.

She could only take half of him on her own, and with a hand on the small of her back, he pushed himself the rest of the way in. She groaned.

“Fuck, that’s deep,” she said. He hummed in amusement, rolling his hips against hers, and she whimpered. “God, please move. Please?”

“Mhm.” When he began to thrust into her, it was shallow at first, and his pace was slow. Impatient, she snapped her hips back against his, fucking herself on his dick, and he moaned. “Yeah, just like that, sweetheart. Keep going.”

Although she did so vigorously, fists twisting in the sheets to brace herself to feel him deeper, he grabbed her by the hips, pulling them back at his own pace. As it quickened, she went limp in his grasp, doing her best to keep matching his movements, but her actions grew increasingly pathetic as he took control. He slapped her ass, gripping the meat of it.

It was a moment later when he grew impatient, grabbing her by the waist to push her down into the mattress. She squeaked as she lost her hold on the sheets she had been gripping for leverage, her cheek squished into the mattress beside her hands.

“Jesus, you feel good,” he grunted, leaning over her. His pace quickened, and she gasped. “You like that? You like it when I hold you down and fuck you?”

“Yeah,” she whined. “‘S good.”

“Yeah? You missed me blowing your back out? Huh?” He slapped her ass, and she squealed. “Say it.”

“Missed it. Fuck, please, I missed you,” she said. “So good. You’re so good.”

“Yeah, good girl,” he cooed, leaning over her back. He kissed her shoulder as he weaved a hand into her hair, and she whimpered when he pulled it back with a tight grip at the roots. Her head lifted off the mattress, mouth agape. “Taking it so good for me. So well behaved.”

His lips latched onto her shoulder, sucking her skin into his mouth, and she sagged against the mattress, eyes rolling back when his teeth sank lightly into it. When he pulled away, the skin was red and smarting. He kissed the resultant mark.

“Thomas, I need more,” she pleaded. “I can’t cum like this. Please, touch me.”

“Beg for it,” he said, releasing her hair, and she groaned.

“Please, please, I’ve been so good. I’ll be good for you, Thomas, anything you want,” she pleaded, and he hummed, his thrusts growing increasingly aggressive. His grip returned to her waist, pushing her down. “Need you, need you, need you.”

Her words were muffled as her face was against the sheets, and the movement of his hips against hers was becoming frantic.

“Keep going,” he panted, accelerating his thrusts, and she could feel that he was growing sloppy, beginning to lose his rhythm.

“Fuck, I’m desperate, touch me, make me come. You’re the only one I need; you’re the only one I want, but please, I need you.”

“Yeah? You need me? How bad?”

“So badly.” Her words were nearly a cry. “Please?”

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groaned, and she let out a broken whine.

“Please, let me cum, touch me,” she begged, and he leaned forward, pushing her down by her upper back. For only a moment, she could barely breathe as his hips hammered against hers.

“Oh, god, sweetheart.” His hips stilled against hers as he came, and after a moment, he released his hold on her back, leaning over her to kiss down her spine. She let out a shaky breath as he ran a gentle hand across her hip. “That was so good.”

“Mhm.” Her response was bitter and short, and he chuckled.

“What’s wrong, sugar?” He kissed her shoulder as he pulled out, and she didn’t respond, only going limp as she lay on the mattress. “Cat got your tongue?”

“‘M fine,” she said roughly. He hummed skeptically.

“Yeah?” His hands ran up her lower back, and he grabbed her by the hips to turn her over on the bed. She met his eyes with an impatient gaze. “C’mon, what’s the problem?”

As he settled between her legs on the mattress, she tensed, and his grip on her thighs was gentle.

“Thomas.” Her voice was warning.

“Mhm?” He blinked up at her innocently as he grabbed her hips, pushing them back.

“Please don’t tease,” she breathed, and he kissed her stomach softly, moving toward her center.

“When have I ever?” he asked, and when she rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Relax. I didn’t forget about you.”

“Thank god,” she murmured, and she jerked when his thumb brushed over her already-sensitive clit. She whimpered when he rolled it under the pad of his finger.

“This what you meant when you said you wanted me to touch you?” His fingers dipped down to her soaked entrance, gathering both their cum before returning to her slick clit. Her hips twitched away from his hand, and he frowned mockingly. “Aw, sweetheart, are you sure you're not too sensitive? Maybe I should stop, I don't wanna push your limits.”

“No,” she groaned. “No more teasing. I need to cum.”

“You're making demands now?” His thumb was flicking her clit back and forth as he raised an eyebrow at her, and she pouted. Her hips rolled against the pattern of his movement.

“Please. I've been good.”

“Yeah, you have.” He kissed her thigh, and when his tongue took the place of his fingers on her clit, she let out a heavy sigh.

“Oh, fuck.” Her voice shook. He pushed one tentative finger inside her, but she was sore enough that she barely felt it. “Keep going.”

It was easy to lose herself in the feeling as he picked and sucked at her clit, curling his fingers inside her, and with how sensitive she already was, her orgasm built quickly. She could feel her pulse in her center, and her cunt tightened sporadically around his long fingers.

“So tight,” he commented, moving a finger back to her clit, and she groaned at the loss of feeling. “Such a perfect cunt. And you've been so good, so obedient.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, hands twisting into his sheets as he worked her over.

“You gonna keep being good for me if I let you cum, sweetheart?” he asked, flicking the tip of her clit lightly, and her breathing was short. She nodded frantically.

“I'm close, I'm close, I'm close.” The words were a whine, and when he returned to rubbing circles into her clit, she let out a squeak.

“That feel good?”

“So good,” she whimpered.

“Cum for me, then.” His grip on her hip tightened; the pace of his finger accelerated, and that was all she needed to send her over the edge. Her whole body tensed, back arching and legs stiffening as she came, and she was panting as she came down from it.

He didn't stop the movement of his hand against her. As she squirmed under his touch, she had to reach down and take him by the wrist.

“No more,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I can't take any more.”

He chuckled as he moved away, kissing down her leg. “Alright. No more. You were good for me.”

She hummed softly in response, and his hands came to rest on her calves just below her knees as her eyelids drooped.

“You okay?” he asked, and she sighed.

“I'm okay.” She rolled her head to one side to look down at him. “Does this mean we're good?”

He chuckled and kissed her knee. “I'll get over it.”

“Yeah?” She reached for his hand when he came to sit beside her on the mattress, and he turned his head to look at her when she gave it a squeeze. His smile was halfhearted.

“Yeah.” He turned back to look at the ceiling. “I did miss you. It's worth having you back.”

“I feel the same,” she said softly.

“‘M gonna find some pajamas and a rag real quick; you want me to grab you something to wear?”

She sighed, pushing herself off of the bed to sit up. “Yeah. Thanks. Don't bother with a rag, though, I should pee anyway.”

“Alright. Be back in a minute.” He sat up to kiss her forehead, taking her face in his hands as he did so, but when he pulled back, he didn't move for a moment, just watching her. His thumb swept over her cheek. “Alright.”

She swallowed when he stood to go to his closet, and she followed suit, heading to the bathroom. After she used it, she eyed her mussed hair in the mirror while she washed her hands, and her gaze settled on the hickies on her neck. She sighed and turned the water off.

Thomas wasn't back yet when she went to bed, but she was cold and so burrowed into one side of the sheets regardless. He would return minutes later with clothes for them both, but she was already beginning to drift off, the fatigue of the day weighing her down.

It was at the corner of her consciousness that she heard him come in and chuckle when he saw her. The sheets were pulled up to her cheekbone. She didn't stir when he dipped down to kiss the side of her head, taking his spot in the bed beside her.

“G’night, sweetheart,” he whispered. She didn't move. Her breathing was slow. “Love you.”

The words didn't break her rest, but she heard them. She also heard him hesitate and inhale harshly, and she heard the way his voice slowed when he, again, said, “I love you.”

She would wake up and write it off as a dream.

[syoish-aot]

"I Found You (too)" - EREN/READER - REINCARNATION AU (chapter 4)

eren/reader

Rating: M

2020s reincarnation of marleyan nurse reader & undercover eren

2.4k words

also on Ao3

<- chapter 3 | chapter 5 ->

Liberio, 854

After two months, you and Mr. Kruger established a routine.

Every morning you woke him up.

You gave him his medication (slipping the green sedative into your pocket to dispose of later), checked his vitals and made your notes about his progress.

Then you helped him change so he could go down to breakfast.

He got free time for a few hours.

You made sure he ate lunch.

After that, he went to physical therapy with Dr. Rall.

He was normally in a bad mood after physical therapy so he would return to his room to read whatever he’d been given from the library. You’d commented on his books a few times because they were normally ones you’d read, but he never wanted to talk about them. Sometimes it made you wonder if he was reading them at all. Sometimes you thought he might have been staring at the words with his mind somewhere else, only returning to his body when an appropriate amount of time had passed and he should flip to the next page.

Regardless, he was there for another hour.

After that he had dinner. A shower (on his days to do so). And then it was back to his room for his last dose of medications before you locked him up for the night.

You chatted sometimes throughout the day as you made his bed or checked his blood pressure. And every day you noticed him getting a little more talkative. 

He was healing. That was why he talked more now. He was healing. 

That fact alone would make any nurse proud, which it did; but at the same time, selfishly, it also did something else…

“Do you think you’ll be discharged soon?” You asked as you packed up your small bag of equipment once you were done changing his bandages. 

His eye wasn’t healing as quickly as it should have been. You were worried about it, but it wasn’t your place to say anything, so you put it in your notes instead and left it up to the doctors to discuss.

“Dunno.” He answered casually.

“What’ll you do once you are? Do you have family in the internment zone?”

His silence said everything. 

“I don’t either.” You told him before he looked over at you. “Have family, I mean. My parents died a few years ago and my older brother he-” You froze, bandages half packed into your bag as the sight of it flashed through your mind.

The sight of your older brother’s corpse strung up against the outer wall of the internment zone.

Rope. Flesh. Crimson words on faded brick.

No.

You pushed the memory away, filling your head with other thoughts to replace it:

A house. A warm bed. Homemade food.

Better.

“Anyway.” You cleared your throat as you shoved the rest of the bandages into your bag and zipped it closed. “I guess that’s why I’m so much of a workaholic!” You laughed.

“Hm.” Was Mr. Kruger’s only reply.

“Maybe that’s what you could do once you get out of here!”

“What? Be a workaholic?” His tone was dry and void of emotion, but you now knew that was how he told jokes.

“Oh ha-ha.” You answered back in a tone just as dry. “Not a workaholic,” you were back to smiling as you grabbed your bag, “but a job.”

“Yeah,” he said as he glanced out the window, “maybe…”

Two Days Later

Mr. Kruger wasn’t in his room.

Which wasn’t a bad thing. His schedule indicated that it was his free time so he was allowed to be in the open areas of the hospital. It was just that normally during said free time he still kept himself locked away. You should have been happy to see him getting fresh air for once, and you were happy, but…

You’d smuggled him a peach tart from the morning market and you wanted to make sure he got a chance to try it before you were found out.

It wasn’t your first time sneaking him food that he technically wasn’t supposed to be having. It had started with small things: candies, apples, the occasional warm tea. Each time you did it he mumbled a short “thank you” as he slowly ate whatever you’d brought him.

Whenever it happened there was a fraction of a second where you were filled with warmth.

The same warmth you felt when you thought of-

A warm house. A scratchy couch. Homemade food.

You tried not to think too hard about why Mr. Kruger reminded you of that warmth, but he did. Despite his tired appearance, his slouched shoulders, and the monotone way in which he spoke- something about the moments you spent with him were warm. And because of that warmth they often always brought you somewhere better. Somewhere without brick walls, blood, and spray paint.

Somewhere nice.

With the shake of your head, you pulled yourself back to reality and continued down the hall in search of Mr. Kruger.

From the stairwell on the first floor, where a large window faced down to the lower courtyard, you spotted him. A tree covered half of the bench he was sitting on, concealing the person that he was talking to. But he was talking, and it made you smile.

Mr. Kruger kept to himself most of the time, so the notion that he might have made a friend was something new.

You could see his lips moving, his beautiful eyes set against the blank expression he always wore, the way his shoulders slouched as he sat there with his crutch leaning against the bench next to him. 

You watched him. 

And maybe you spent a little bit longer than you should have doing it, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could imagine the gravelly tone of his voice. The tired sarcasm he snuck in on occasion. The soft sighs he’d let out as he paused in what he was saying. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you’d talked to him enough to imagine what it sounded like.

To imagine the short “thank you” that he would mumble as you passed him the peach tart.

Mr. Kruger leaned forward and stared at the ground in front of his feet as he kept talking to his mysterious friend.

Everything was warm.

And then the sound of a doctor chatting with a nurse as they walked together down the hall pulled you away from that warmth.

Birds pecking flesh from bone- brick walls- crimson words.

You tore yourself away from the window to head down the stairs towards him.

By the time you joined Mr. Kruger, his new friend was gone. Maybe they went back to their room or they had grown bored of the conversation. As much as Mr. Kruger was your favourite patient, he made for a pretty terrible conversationalist. 

He was still staring at the ground as you approached. 

“There’s a surprise in your room~” You sang as you sat down next to him.

“What kind of surprise?”

“If I told you it would ruin the surprise part of it.”

He sighed. “You’re going to make me walk all the way up there, on one leg, without giving me a reason for why I should be doing it?”

His dry sense of humor (at least you thought it was humor, honestly maybe he was being serious, you could never really tell) made you laugh.

“Your free time’s almost over anyway,” you pointed out.

“Hm…” Mr. Kruger hummed in agreement before he reached for his crutch and used it to support himself as he stood. 

Your eyes fell to the bench. “Is this yours?” You asked, grabbing the baseball and holding it up to him.

“It was a gift.” Mr. Kruger answered as he started to walk away.

You followed after him, tossing the old ball between your hands. “Whoever got it for you must not know you very well,” you commented.

Mr. Kruger stopped walking and looked over at you with his visible eyebrow raised, wordlessly asking you to elaborate. 

“It’s just-...” you looked down at the ball again, “you’re not exactly in the right condition to play catch.”

You met his eyes.

Then you gestured to his missing leg.

For the first time ever, Mr. Kruger smiled. He let out a short huff of amusement and then kept walking.

You didn’t follow after him though.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you stared at the back of his head- completely transfixed by the way his smile lit up his face and made deep green eyes all the more breathtaking.

Warmth.

A warm room. A warm bed. A warm life.

Nothing but warmth.

Your knees felt weak. Your arms like noodles. And for a moment, you wondered if Mr. Kruger would let you borrow his crutch.

He thanked you for the tart and ate it right away.

He didn’t smile again, but his eyes lit up enough that he may as well have.

That night, when you were trying to fall asleep you took yourself somewhere nice.

A warm house, just big enough for two. Nice food. And a comfortable bed.

It was the same place you always went, the same place you’d been visiting your whole life. So peaceful and warm and safe.

You thought about Mr. Kruger’s eyes. You thought about Mr. Kruger’s smile. You thought about Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

“What is this place?” Mr. Kruger asked as he appeared in front of you. As he sat down on the scratchy couch and looked up at you with his expression blank, shoulders slouched, and a crutch propped up next to him.

You had never had guests here before.

.

.

.

The sun rose and lit up your cramped nurse’s quarters, pulling you back into the real world.

The world that didn’t have anything nice at all.

The world of rope… …of flesh torn from bone… …of two crimson words spray painted on the brick wall…

Two words. Words that haunted you.

Rope. Brick. Crimson.

That wasn’t the scary part. It had never been the scary part. The scary part had always been the words.

The rope. The brick. The crimson.

None of those things bothered you anymore. They were just reality but-

Mr. Kruger’s eyes. Mr. Kruger’s smile. Mr. Kruger’s laugh.

Those things had somehow become reality too…

Two words against a wall.

Mr. Kruger on that couch.

Two words.

The most terrifying part of the memory.

                                And it was just two words:

…Eldian Lover…

You’d always had a problem with spacing out.

Always ended up physically in this world, but with your head completely elsewhere. Ever since you were a little kid, chatting with your older brother about somewhere nice, it’s what you’d done. You’d been called out for it before- normally by your coworkers and occasionally by your friends.

“There she goes again,” they’d say, “there she goes into her daydreams.”

No one ever asked what you were thinking about, which you were glad for because you’d have to make up a quick lie if they did. It was always “snap out of it”, “wake up”, “come back to us”. It was never: “what was it like?”, “what did you do?”, “where did you go?”

Mr. Kruger was the same.

For you, it was the blank hospital walls but for Mr. Kruger-

For Mr. Kruger, it was the window.

You were packing up your bag of supplies, ready to move onto your next patient; and as you did so you watched him.

You watched him stare out the window- not to the courtyard below, or the trees that lined it, or even to the street that ran in front of the hospital.

That’s not what he was looking at. Never what he was looking at.

Mr. Kruger’s eyes were always on something else.

They were always on the horizon.

You couldn’t blame him for it, really. He knew what was below him, what was next to him, what was around him; but the horizon-... well…

Over the horizon, there could be just about anything.

“Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Where do you go?

It was the question that no one ever asked you, so you wondered what he would say in reply. Would he tell the truth? Would he lie? Would he even answer you at all?

You didn’t know how he would answer, but you still asked him anyway.

Where do you go?

At first, he didn’t look back. At first, he just kept staring. At first, you wondered if he even heard you at all. But then: “Hm?” He hummed, not moving a muscle.

You clarified: “When you stare out that window and slip away,” you asked, “where is it that you go?”

Slowly. Hesitantly. As if he wasn’t even aware that he was doing it: Mr. Kruger’s gaze moved from the window and back to you.

Your breath caught. You wanted to look away. You should look away. You should look away and stand up, grab your bag and lock the door behind you as you left.

The words came to mind before you could do anything to stop them: Eldian Lover

You didn’t get up. Instead-

Instead, you didn’t do any of that.

Instead, you stayed in a room you shouldn’t have stayed in, looking at a man you shouldn’t look at, while your heart sped up in a way it shouldn’t.

There were a lot of “shouldn’t”s when it came to Mr. Kruger.

The biggest one being how you felt every time his eyes met yours.

But you couldn’t help it that your stomach flipped. You couldn’t help it that your cheeks turned pink. That your heart hammered against your chest and that you were suddenly flooded with warmth. You knew why your body did this- why it had always done this, despite the fact that it shouldn’t.

Two crimson words.

Eldian lover. Eldian lover. Eldian lo-

No.

A warm home. A soft touch. A homemade meal on a scratchy couch.

Better.

Mr. Kruger was still looking at you. Still staring with a reply to your question hanging off his barely parted lips.

Where do you go, Mr. Kruger?

You hoped he would answer you. You hoped he would tell you. You hoped you’d learn all about his special place in the horizon.

But instead, he said something else.

Instead, he became the first person to ever ask you:

“...where do you?”

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[anemoiashifts]

how to enjoy shifting again & recover from burn out.

its always about the process & never the outcome.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ mindset.

so what you didn’t shift ? shifting isn’t going away. you have an infinite amount of chances to shift & the greatest part is you only have to do it once “right”. you only have to get to your dr once & show yourself that you’re capable. prove the existence of shifting to yourself.

if you didn’t shift & say something like “i hate that im still in this reality”, try flipping it to “the universe has more to show me in this reality so that i can have the tools to cope & enter my desired reality with more knowledge & insight”. every time you open an app like tiktok or tumblr you’re being exposed to new information which can be draining at times (all in moderation) but knowledge is power. knowing & exposure to information — different perspectives — can be eye opening. you’re also getting time. time to think about where you’re shifting to, to learn to put trust into yourself.

for those of you who have been trying to shift since 2020, what parts of life & lessons would you have missed out on if you had shifted on the first time trying ? the universe has more to show you & is teaching you patience.

the universe or god or even yourself — whatever you believe in — is “preventing” you from shifting for a reason. & guess what ? you’ll come out of it a more fulfilled & experienced person. the universe knows what’s best for you. when you don’t get what you want it’s because the universe has something better for you coming.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ reflect.

would it have been good or healthy for you if you shifted to your first dr. think about the things you’ve scripted. would you really want that life or do you like the just thinking about it ?

reflect on your journey. look at your scripts & knowledge & everything you have come to know since discovering shifting. compare your mindset & journey & your knowledge from then to now.

are you in a better place mentally ? yes ? no ? if not, how can you get there.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ routine & self.

create the routine your desired reality self has. what would she wake up & think everyday ? would she go to the gym & workout or shower ? what would her day to day look like ?

we must become out dr self internally before we can see things begin to materialize in the physical.

fall in love with the process. get excited about falling into those same patterns & routines & aligning with your higher, desired reality self. become her. expect what she expects.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ find the beauty in life.

if you shift, you shift. if you don’t, you don’t. im not saying that you cannot care but be okay with waking up where you fell asleep. don’t put all your eggs in one basket & care about life here. why don’t you care about yourself here but worship your dr self ? it’s still you. it’s still your life. both are you. what’s the difference between the two of you ? nothing because your dr self is you. give yourself room for error & don’t beat yourself up over it. learn how to speak kindly to yourself. go outside on a walk & pick out three beautiful things in nature.

♡ balance.

find balance in life. create a healthy mindset & positive patterns. there is no need to obsess over shifting because everything will work out for you in the end. if you truly believe you will shift one day, then there’s no need to stress because you know the outcome already. you don’t need to think about how you get from a to b. what you need to think about is your worldview & how your thoughts & system of beliefs shape you & ask yourself “are they serving me”? you have time in this reality , how can you not be miserable ? how can you make life here more enjoyable ?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ cutting out things that don’t serve you.

somethings demotivating ? block or mute it. don’t like a method you’ve tried ? you aren’t tied to it. how about a piece of 2020 shiftok advice ? why are you letting someone’s expense have such a chokehold on you. just because it helped them at the time doesn’t mean it will help you. everyone learns differently.

there is no reason to be torturing yourself & putting your valuable time into holding onto things that don’t help you. there is no reason you should be so hellbent on shifting being this & not that. who cares what other people think shifting is ? all that matters is what you believe in to be because it benefits you. fighting someone in a comment section benefits nobody. stop disturbing other people’s journeys & putting unnecessary strain on the community. we all believe in shifting. we all should be supportive of each other, no matter what they believe shifting to be. you could be learning a lot from one another. knowledge is power. learn to appreciate other perspectives & outlooks & their insight. don’t be so quick to dismiss.

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

♡ get excited.

start watching new shows so you can find new places to shift to. make playlists based on your dr. make scripts. make those paper mâché wands people made in 2020 if you’re shifting to harry potter. you’re allowed to get excited. you’re allowed to make it new & fun again. you can make a change for the better anytime. it’s never to late to start over & if restarting your journey from square one will help you then do it. literally adapt the mindset that this is the first time you’ve ever seen shifting on your feed right now. if this was the first video or post you’ve seen in shifting , how would that have shaped your perception of it ?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚.

[vikarih]

maybe you’re struggling to shift, maybe you’re demotivated late at night and scrolled though the tumblr tag (like me) and try to find something new. these tips i have collected, which worked for me, may or may not be helpful to you - most of these are obvious, but you know? even if it helps one person, it’s enough. so, let’s start!

- try to drink a lot of water. i know, this one is quite controversial and i was a victim of early 2020 shifttok myself. but, i tried drinking extreme amounts of water yesterday and i was a lot more focused and concentrated.

- feel comfortable in your script and your dr. this is one of the most obvious ones but for myself, i was scared to shift to my first dr and didn’t realize that. i thankfully never shifted there because it was weird and scary, and this kept me from doing any progress. and if you’re not happy with your script - try different layouts, simplify or extend it! that can raise your motivation and the work on your script may connect you a bit more to your dr

- waiting rooms. for those of you who have one, the directly shifting into your dr. that helped me, because it’s easier for me to directly jump into my dr. for those who don’t have one, try creating one and shift to the wr first. it’s not as complex and scary at first.

- try to do things before bed you’re not usually doing! taking an everything shower, flossing your teeth, making an extra step in your evening routine - whatever it may be, but it will get you a bit out of the everyday routine. you may be a little bit happier and find more ambition to actually shift - also, unusual things tend to disconnect me from my cr

- go around and see what works for you. look what methods with what mechanisms do something for you and combine those. if you’re experiencing the most symptoms with visualization, focus on that. if you’re good with just affirming, do that. don’t press yourself into methods you don’t even like.

- shifting symptoms are not mandatory to shift! i didn’t had them myself and usually get very close to it. shifting symptoms are NOT ALWAYS symptoms of shifting but your body falling asleep. if you have them, that’s good! but if not, then don’t worry. to be said, i had symptoms that actually came from being in the shifting process and some of them were really just my body falling asleep - there’s a difference.

- if you’re at the verge of shifting and you can’t quite push yourself over the edge, a common thing to do is repeating ‚i am shifting‘ or ‚i have shifted‘ which just puts me out of that state entirely. try affirming things more actually connected to your dr (‚i am in [place you wake up] and ‚my name is x‘ and try describing what you’ll see once you open your eyes)

- shifttok may be a good place to get tips from, but try other sources as well. books with information about shifting, reddit, youtube channels, and especially the community on tumblr with helped me a LOT.

- even if you’re not comfortable with subliminals because you don’t like falling asleep with headphones - maybe it will help you. i was kind of forced to sleep with headphones one night because the apartment was too noisy and i shifted for a few seconds with it. i couldn’t quite ground myself but i did it. either try music you’re comfortable with (for me the minecraft music pushed me into that nostalgic, beautiful feeling that helps me) or subliminals on youtube. one i really like is this one (x), which are simple theta waves. also - you don’t have to shift at night. shift during a nap so you don’t need to sleep with headphones the whole night, try that.

- try shifting throughout the day. at night i tend to fall asleep to quickly or distract myself because i‘m too tired. lay down on the weekend in the middle of the day and try shifting - and just put headphones on - or don’t. whatever you like :)

- try to sleep with your head at the place your feet are usually in. it gets you a bit disconnected from your cr because it’s unusual and if you have the chance to - sleep in another bed and try it there.

- focus on what’s the sense you connected the first. for me, it’s hearing. both time i shifted i heard sounds from my dr. the next time you’re shifting, try to imagine that the hardest.

- feel. if you’re on the edge, try to feel what you’d feel when you’d realize you shifted. feelings can help you the most.

- methods cannot make you shift. they can help you and guide you through the process, but it’s YOU who does the ‚magic‘. you can shift without a method, too.

- pinterest boards. make pinterest boards with pretty pictures about your dr that match the vibe of it. it’s fun and you have real pictures you can keep in mind to try to visualize better

- take a break once in a while. if you get too frustrated with it and just can’t get the hang of it or you’re just tired, take a break. it will not only help you but it’s for sure healthy.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

wiz extremely important question: what is girl!lando’s ab routine

omg such a good question thank you. girl!lando has always been on the leaner side but only recently: 1. she's gained knowledge of physical conditioning from her trainer jana, 2. was kind of indifferent about conditioning until the porpoising from the 2020 szn kinda f'cked her back. so now girlylando is very really careful about core strength, and in fact does pilates and core conditioning almost religiously. like she will kick your ass the pilates 100s, even though she is not happy about it and will 120% moan about it the entire time. also she can do a LOT of those standing with a heavy plate over your head and marching on the spot thingies.

girl!lando absolutely also does the hilton yoga promo vid. but instead of being oblivious, she actually maybe has to try really hard not to take over the entire workout routine. cus she has like, so much knowledge actually??? and when she cares about something she cares too much lol. this is not what you asked but it's canon 2 ME now.

(aside: oscar spends way too long staring at the workout video when it appears but we all know that. he tells himself he's watching it to "take notes" and "see if kim has been using the right kind of core exercises" for the competitive advantage of his own workout routine. but he just staring at the grains of sand on lando's knees. and then oscar is jealous of grains of sand, and he's got his face in his hands like how the hell did i end up here and then he has to take a cold shower.)

anyway here is me plugging the girl lando fic (again, unashmedly) for those of you that care, which may be five (5) persons 😬👋

[she-karev]

April and Amber Argue

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of One

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 5

Summary: Amber reveals to April about her night with DeLuca causing April to take out her conflicting feelings for Jackson out on her calling Amber selfish and destructive resulting in Amber insulting her back.

Words: 2861

April 26th, 2020

Amber is back in Jackson Avery’s penthouse feeling the wind touch her face as she leans forward on the balcony railing overlooking the city at night. It’s her first day back in her temporary home since her covid quarantine ended. Normally on a good day like today she would be celebrating or at the very least be happy to be healthy but instead she has an inner conflict that has been ongoing since she and Andrew DeLuca stepped out of that hotel room after spending the night together.

When she allowed herself to fully embrace him, she was so sure of herself and confident it was what she wanted. Amber wanted it very much because DeLuca has been taking care of her these past two weeks and overtime she’s come to appreciate his company during isolation. She didn’t think she wanted to be close to him like that again but when he took a shower in her bathroom she couldn’t resist. It was like all her memories of how he treated her over the past year left her brain and instead she felt around him how she used to before his mental breakdown.

But now she’s out of the room and all those memories came flooding back and she remembered why she is so reluctant to get back together with him. She remembered that while Andrew is more stable and taking his meds, she doesn’t fully feel like she can trust him and make herself vulnerable around him like she used to.

Her mom would be stable for a while too and then she would slip because something or someone would cause her to break. In those moments Amber had a front row seat to the delusions and aggression that unfortunately comes with schizophrenia. It frustrated Amber that she would always come second in her mother’s fractured mind, and it happened again when DeLuca was showing symptoms and would either lash out or ignore Amber completely.

And when her sweet older brother, Aaron, inherited the illness Amber was his first target during his first psychotic episode. It was a hard recovery after he beat her so bad she had to have surgery on her jaw. And it was especially hard for her to trust him around her. But she saw his regret and heartbreak the first time he visited her at their uncle’s three months after she was discharged. It was heart wrenching for her when he kneeled down seeing the post op bruises on her jaw and cried on her lap for ten minutes straight. He did something their mother never did with them, beg for forgiveness.

She could see her brother was doing the work to make sure he wouldn’t end up like their mother. He went from being a mover to a local courier so he can set up a steady routine for himself. He takes his meds every day and attends therapy with a doctor they like once a week. It was hard at first for him but he managed.

It got so to the point where he manages a moving business with a coworker friend of his. He gets to work behind a desk instead of driving around the city for hours. Aaron even met a kindergarten teacher named Emma four years ago and they married a year later and had two sons after that. Seeing him do so well and being a better parent than both of theirs combined had Amber forgive him completely and they keep in touch even while she’s in Seattle and he’s back in Iowa.

When he called her back in January she broke down in tears and confessed to him about Andrew’s mania and him kicking her out. He responded angry for her offering to come down and kick his ass. She rejected the offer knowing a duel between DeLuca and Aaron would end with her ex in a body bag. He told her she deserved better, and that DeLuca was an idiot to let her go. It made her feel better but not enough to quash the heartbreak.

Her phone rings and she picks it up and sees on the screen Mom’s name pop up to her displeasure. Amber has been dodging her mother’s calls since this year began. Being around Andrew and his chaotic mental illness triggered all the bad memories with her mother and made her reluctant to answer her phone. She could guess Aaron told their mom about the breakup and probably the covid and she wants to reach out as well. But Amber wasn’t in the mood instead opting for messages through Aaron knowing her mom doesn’t text. She hangs up the phone and puts it back in her pocket.

“Not picking up?” Amber turns to find April Kepner behind her with a comforting grin holding a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two straight up glasses in the other.

“It’s my mom I owe her a call.” Amber explains peeved before heading to the balcony couch, “And I will…as soon as I get some alcohol in this mouth.”

Amber plops on the couch with April joining her keeping a respectable distance on the armchair by the couch setting the items on the wooden coffee table in front of them.

April uncaps the bottle, “Jackson says sorry for not being here today he wanted to come but he had work today.”

Amber understands as April pours their glasses, “It’s fine I get it.”

“Plus, he’s trying to get Richard to talk to Catherine about wearing a mask.” April sips her glass, “He’s worried about his mom since he saw that picture of her mask dangling from her ear. She drives around town in a car with her driver and she’s immunocompromised, so Jackson is trying to get her to follow the rules so Harriet can grow up with her grandma.”

“Mothers are hard.” Amber supports with an irritated face sipping her drink, “Life is hard, everything is hard.”

April chuckles darkly, “Wow okay Edgar Allan Poe tell us how you really feel. You know for someone who just got a clean bill of health you are morose. More so than usual at least, what’s going on in your end?”

“You don’t want to know trust me.” Amber numbly replies before throwing her drink back and finishing it.

April looks worried for her friend who reaches over for the bottle to pour herself another glass, “Is this about DeLuca? I know he visited a lot when you were in quarantine did he upset you?”

Amber groans softly leaning back on the cushions with her glass in her hands in front of her, “No he didn’t he was…talking to him over the door was the only good thing to come out of this year.”

April nods in understanding, “2020 has been hard on all of us, it makes talking to your charming and stable ex over a hotel door during quarantine seem like Candyland.”

April tells her this out of understanding her friend’s predicament concerning opening themselves up to their exes who hurt them in the past. During Amber’s quarantine April comforted Jackson when he was sad about Amber, and he kissed her. She was shocked at first and told him not to do it again unless he actually wants to be with her.

When he kissed her, it was like a time machine came and took them back to when they were still married. It took them back to the blissful stage of their lives before grief and tragedy destroyed them. It was like they were back to their first night together and for a few seconds April was happy and responded back. Until she remembered their deal when she first moved in and how this hurdle could affect Harriet.

They both agreed then that the kiss was a stupid mistake on their parts that shouldn’t happen again. April wasn’t so sure the kiss was a mistake, but the uncertainty is what stops her from pursuing anything further. It stops her from repeating Montana and driving a bridge between her and Jackson that she can’t have right now. She’s not sure if she wants a relationship with him again but she is sure that she needs him in her life while the world is falling apart. It’s that thought that makes her relate to Amber on what she thinks is her considering DeLuca to be her anchor in the pandemic.

Amber sighs in agony before sipping her liquid courage so she can seek advice from her friend instead of Jackson who will most likely judge her, “It’s not that…I slept with him.”

April stops sipping and her eyes widen at this new information. Amber nods at that with a blank face before continuing.

“It happened last night, I was declared negative, he was examining me and…it was like a force took over and I gave in to him. I mean he has been so good to me while I was sick, he’s talked to me outside the door, he brought me food, he never left my side once. Seeing him like that it wasn’t the Andrew I resented for months now it was…it was like I saw the man I fell in love with.”

April sips her whiskey before responding, “So you two are back together?”

“No.” Amber exclaims before pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “I mean maybe I-I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Amber asks sharply, feeling triggered by her uncertainty as it reminds her of Jackson’s unsureness after Montana and after their recent kiss.

“I mean…” Amber struggles to find the words, “I wish the Andrew who broke my heart and the Andrew I fell in love with were two different people it would makes this so much easier but they’re not. The kind and generous man who got me to open my heart to him and the manic and irrational bastard who compared me to my parents are one and the same and it scares me. It brings me back to the time where I would excuse my mom’s behavior with her illness even when she got me in and out of foster care. My mom lost my trust, and so did he and I don’t know if I can do that again.”

April sighs at this is frustration feeling more sympathetic to DeLuca than to Amber that she makes clear as she coldly states, “Yeah well maybe you should have thought of that before you slept with him.”

Amber is taken back by this ice level statement from April and looks at her in blank shock. She expected comforting words and sympathy instead she’s getting snide comments from someone she considers a close friend.

Amber tries to explain to April who keeps her eyebrows furrowed and her lips in a thin line like she’s annoyed, “Well believe me having sex with him wasn’t part of my plan until I saw him and it became a moment of passion and it was-”

April interrupts rubbing her eyes in anger as she has déjà vu to when she first brought up Montana to Jackson who basically disregarded her feelings about it, “Well passion takes some thinking too Karev and unless you were possessed or passed out then the consequences of your actions are on you, and you should take responsibility instead of making excuses.” 

Amber gets defensive now, “I’m not making excuses I’m just talking to you about my feelings and my conflict about this.”

April pinches the bridge of her nose closing her eyes still frustrated, “If you’re so conflicted then why did you sleep with him in the first place? Why did you put yourself and him in this position when you could have let him walk away? Have you asked yourself that?”

Amber sips her whiskey narrowing her eyes at the interrogation, “I didn’t have time to question myself or him seeing as how we didn’t do a lot of talking last night when both of our needs were met after this isolating month.”

“Oh god don’t use the pandemic as an excuse.” April retorts with venom, “I’m isolating too, and you don’t see me jumping my ex because unlike you I care about the consequences, and I don’t use people like you do.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Amber asks offended.

April wants to stop but her anger towards Jackson’s mixed signals has her taking her frustration on Amber after hearing her put Andrew through the same thing she’s going through, “You know what Amber sometimes you can be self-centered.”

Amber’s eyes widen at that as the red head continues, “I mean you focus on your needs and how something or someone can help you achieve that with no regard for the people you hurt.”

Amber scoffs at her cruelty, “Wow April, I think you hit a 20 on the harshness scale.”

“No what is harsh is you giving DeLuca hope and letting him think you guys are getting back together when you aren’t even sure he’s what you want.” April states factly, “Have you ever considered he has feelings too and how he’ll feel if you break his heart?”

“Of course I have.”

“No, you didn’t” April says with narrow eyes, “You are so caught up in your own point of view that you can’t see it from others especially Andrew’s.”

Amber looks slightly hurt by her desecration of her character, but April continues, “He has had a hard year and not just because of the pandemic. He suffered a mental breakdown, lost the woman he loves, and his home country is dying he doesn’t need you adding more to his plate. He is trying to keep his life and sanity together and you’re willing to sabotage that because you were horny.”

Amber’s mouth gaps open at that and she responds back in fury, “Okay you know what April this has been a really hard time for me and I had a moment of weakness. I saw the man I loved again, and I just wanted one night where everything was okay and after…after that I remembered why we can never work.”

April purses her lips in distaste that pisses Amber off, “What? Do you have something else to say?”

April groans sipping her whiskey, “I will not engage with you further.”

Amber chuckles sarcastically, “You know you think you’re doing me or yourself a favor by zipping it but you started this so you should have the balls to finish it Kepner. I’m here trying to talk to you about my life until you decided to point out everything, I’m doing wrong so come on I’m a big girl I can take it let’s go!”

“You are so caught up in your past you can’t move on.” April tells Amber who shakes her head throwing her hands up annoyed as April continues, “You say that you’ve worked hard to overcome everything your family did to you but if that was true you wouldn’t toss Deluca aside after he got better. He is doing everything to make things right in his life and not end up like his father. He’s taking his meds he’s going to therapy, but you still can’t see that he’s not your mom or your brother. You can’t see that he is the man you love. He’s the one with the mental illness but compared to him you have years of work to do before you can actually be in a stable relationship. And I am sorry Amber, but you are a coward for not seeing what is right in front of you.”

Amber scoffs and goes for the kill, “Oh I’m the coward? I’m the coward for leaving him after being exposed to this trauma again and leaving? You’re calling me out for leaving him when he needed me? That is a real pot kettle Kepner.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” April asks in disbelief.

Amber throws her drink back before getting down to it, “I left him because I couldn’t handle his illness attacking me, but you left Jackson because you couldn’t handle that he needed you after Samuel.”

April looks shocked at her friend going there, “You didn’t think he would need you you didn’t think he was in pain you just thought that he would be okay with you choosing a war zone over your marriage. You left him, he needed you and you left him, and it nearly broke him. Did you ever stop to think that’s why he didn’t bring up Montana until now? Did you ever think that’s the reason he is so reluctant to get back together with you?”

“I cannot believe you would-You know what.” April decides to stop before she hits Amber in the face. She puts her drink down and stands up, “Just forget it I’m going to bed.”

Amber scoffs and has a last word while April walks away, “Yeah great walk away from important things like you always do.” April doesn’t respond instead she goes upstairs leaving Amber in the balcony to drink alone now more angry than conflicted.

[lantur]

good things,

Derek and I spent April 3 - April 6 at a resort in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, for his cousin's wedding. :) It was both of our first times at a resort, and it was interesting. I loved the weather (sun! Blue skies!) and the ocean views, but I found the ~vibes~ of the resort pretty overwhelming because it was a party resort and very loud.

I discovered something great about it, though - everyone tended to stay up really late and sleep in really late. Derek and I would go down to the pools at like 7:30 AM, and I would swim to my heart's content in the ocean-view pools for a couple hours and enjoy the hot tub in a completely private experience with no one else there. It was wonderful. Then we would go out to brunch around 10:30, as everyone started to arrive at the pools. My favorite brunch spot was a Mexican restaurant where I had delicious chilaquiles and birria tacos. ❤️ I also enjoyed our room, where we had a balcony and a hot tub literally ON the balcony.

We didn't have a honeymoon because we got married in September 2020 and Derek has a significant fear of flying, so this felt like a belated honeymoon. He had so much fun with me that he's open to trying a flight again in the future :) I think we could really enjoy a place with much calmer, relaxation-focused vibes.

I don't have any international travel plans at the moment, but I would love, love, love to go back to Mexico, specifically Mexico City next, as I'm continuing to work on my Spanish every day!

We got back home on Saturday night and I'm happily settling back into my routine and enjoying spending time with friends. Other highlights:

I'm a bar soap fiend and my post-workout shower is one of the highlights of my day. I'm loving the scent of Lush's "Sleepy" bar soap.

The post-workout iced drink after a hot shower also feels so good - I'm finally back in iced tea and sparkling water season after seven months of hot drinks! I've been loving coconut-flavored drinks lately.

The weather has improved to the point that I was able to take Westin out for his first outdoor walk of 2024 today :) and he immediately chased a bunny.

Yesterday I finished listening to The Book of Doors by Gareth Brown, a recommendation from @thatisadamnfinecupofcoffee. The book started out good and enjoyable, but the second half of the book blew me out of the water and blew my mind. I loved it and definitely recommend, with the significant note that it carries a TW for depictions of terminal cancer. I don't think I could have handled it last year, but it was exactly what I needed to read now, and very validating.

[shiningthroughpcos]

Maximising Your Laser Results: Preparation, Aftercare, and Realistic Expectations

Hello again! If you’ve been following along, you’ll know that LBHR is one of the most popular treatments for managing excessive hair growth caused by PCOS. But as we dive deeper into this process, it’s important to recognise that booking your consultation is only the first step. Preparation, aftercare, and understanding how to maintain your results are key, especially since, for many of us with PCOS, the typical six sessions recommended for most people will not be enough (Liew, 2002).

Preparation for LBHR: Setting Yourself Up for Success

Avoiding Prolonged/Excessive Sun Exposure: One of the most important pre-session steps is to avoid direct sun exposure. Tanned skin can increase the risk of burns or pigmentation changes due to the laser (Alamri et al., 2023).

Shaving Before Treatment: Make sure to shave the treatment area a day before your session—this allows the laser to effectively target the root of the hair follicle without the hair shaft getting in the way (Mustafa & Jaafar, 2015).

Avoid Waxing or Plucking: It’s crucial not to remove the hair from the root (like with waxing or plucking) before your laser sessions, as the laser needs the follicle intact to adequately target the melanin within the hair follicle.

Check Medications and Skincare Products: Some medications or topical skincare products, known as ‘photosensitisers,’ can increase your skin’s sensitivity to the laser. Always inform your clinician about your prescriptions and skincare routine, even if it seems minor (Kerstein et al., 2014).

Aftercare: Protecting Your Skin for Optimal Healing

Cool Down: During your session, cooling methods like a cold air attachment or cooling gel may be used to soothe the skin. At home, continue to keep the area cool—use ice packs or aloe vera gel to relieve any redness or irritation. This is particularly important for darker skin tones, as clinical endpoints (like redness and swelling) may appear later (Vaidya et al., 2023).

Moisturise Regularly: Keep the treated area moisturised using a thick, emollient-type moisturiser to help protect the skin from excessive water loss. Avoid any products with ingredients like retinol or AHAs/BHAs for 2-3 days post-treatment, as these can irritate the more sensitive, lasered skin (Vaidya et al., 2023).

Avoid Sun Exposure: Just like before your treatment, protecting your skin from the sun afterward is essential. Use a broad-spectrum SPF 50+ to prevent hyperpigmentation (Hamzavi et al., 2020).

Gentle Cleansing: Stick to mild cleansers, and avoid hot showers, saunas, or strenuous workouts that cause sweating for at least 24-36 hours post-treatment. Sweating can trap moisture in swollen hair follicles, potentially leading to rashes or infections (Arsiwala & Majid, 2019).

Maintaining Results and Understanding the Process

While LBHR offers long-term reduction in hair growth, it’s important to remember that this journey is a process—it’s not an instant fix. For those with PCOS, the typically recommended six sessions are often not enough, and you’ll likely need additional treatments to see significant changes. Here’s why:

Hormonal Impact: With PCOS, fluctuating hormone levels continuously stimulate hair growth, which means more than six sessions are often necessary to achieve lasting results. Each session weakens the hair follicles further, which is why consistency is key. Remember, if you’re waxing between sessions, you’re removing the root that the laser targets, so it’s best to stick with shaving.

Regular Treatments: Consistent treatments, spaced every 4-6 weeks, are essential for targeting hair during its active growth phase. While this may feel frequent at first, patience and consistency are what lead to noticeable results. You’ll likely notice slower hair growth, and the hair that does return will be thinner and sparser. In my experience treating patients with PCOS, most clients start seeing these effects around the 6-7 session mark, with hair shedding naturally after it weakens.

Maximising My Results: What Else Should I Do?

Stay on Top of Hormonal Management: Since PCOS is closely linked to hormone imbalances, working with a healthcare provider to manage your hormones—whether through medication or lifestyle changes—can enhance the effectiveness of your laser treatments. For me personally, hormonal management became much more controllable after I was prescribed Metformin by a specialist. While I can’t recommend specific treatments, I strongly encourage seeing a medical professional to keep your PCOS under control.

Choosing the Right Clinic/Clinician: Not all lasers are created equal. Ensure you select a clinic with advanced technology and experience in treating individuals with PCOS, especially across diverse skin tones. You may have heard that darker hair on lighter skin achieves quicker results, but modern laser modalities can effectively treat all skin types. Regardless of your skin tone, as long as you have dark hair, there’s a suitable laser for you.

LBHR is a powerful tool for managing PCOS-related hair growth, but achieving the best results requires thoughtful preparation, diligent aftercare, and realistic expectations. With consistency and proper support, this journey can lead to significant, long-lasting results. Don’t hesitate to consult with your healthcare provider to tailor your treatment plan, and always be patient with the process. By following these guidelines, you’ll be well on your way to maintaining and maximising your results

L 🤍

References

Alamri, G. E., Bondagji, M., Kinkar, L. I., Almasoudi, E., Fageeh, S. M., Asiri, L. G., & Bahashwan, E. (2023). Knowledge and attitude regarding the use of sun protection to prevent adverse laser events among the general population in Saudi Arabia: A cross-sectional study. Cureus. https://doi.org/10.7759/cureus.50157

Arsiwala, S., & Majid, I. (2019). Methods to overcome poor responses and challenges of laser hair removal in dark skin. Indian Journal of Dermatology, Venereology and Leprology, 85(1), 3. https://doi.org/10.4103/ijdvl.ijdvl_1103_16

Hamzavi, I., Fatima, S., Braunberger, T., Mohammad, T., & Kohli, I. (2020). The role of sunscreen in melasma and postinflammatory hyperpigmentation. Indian Journal of Dermatology, 65(1), 5. https://doi.org/10.4103/ijd.ijd_295_18

Kerstein, R. L., Lister, T., & Cole, R. (2014). Laser therapy and photosensitive medication: A review of the evidence. Lasers in Medical Science, 29(4), 1449-1452. https://doi.org/10.1007/s10103-014-1553-0

Liew, S. H. (2002). Laser hair removal. American Journal of Clinical Dermatology, 3(2), 107-115. https://doi.org/10.2165/00128071-200203020-00004

Mustafa, F. H., & Jaafar, M. S. (2015). Shaving area of unwanted hair before laser operation is useful in cosmetic procedure: A simulation study. Journal of Dermatology & Dermatologic Surgery, 19(1), 36-42. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jssdds.2013.10.001

Spritzer, P. M., Marchesan, L. B., Santos, B. R., & Fighera, T. M. (2022). Hirsutism, normal androgens and diagnosis of PCOS. Diagnostics, 12(8), 1922. https://doi.org/10.3390/diagnostics12081922

Vaidya T., Hohman, M. H., & Kumar, D. D. (2023). Laser Hair Removal. StatPearls. https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK507861/

[jeanie-g]

#29 jd/tz #29

merry christmas to all who celebrate!! in between gifts and lunch, i had time to finish this up lol. watch out; it's hot ;)

[#29] City on Fire! (Cast of Sweeney Todd)

It's the end of the world! Yes! / City on fire!

You know it's a big deal when the heat is breaking records in SoCal. Summers in Orange County are blistering as it is, but this week, someone must've pissed off Mother Nature—because the temperature on Trevor's phone is in the triple digits, and he thinks he might just die.

It's been steadily climbing all week, starting at 95° F on Monday, ticking up to 97° and 100° on Tuesday and Wednesday, and then rocketing to 107° on Thursday—all with 100% humidity to boot. It's September, too, which does not bode well for the planet as a whole, no matter what those cucks on Fox News say.

And Trevor and Jamie have central AC, but the poor system is working overtime to keep them cool. It wasn't built for this kind of heat, after all, even in their swanky apartment. The maintenance guys have already had to fix several of the master units on the roof, and now everyone in the building has to keep their thermostats at 90° so the condensers actually work (aka they don't get hot air blowing through their vents).

The two of them spend a lot of their time at the rink during a normal week, but they've basically been living at it these past few days, altering their workout routines to avoid the stuffy gym. The ice has to be kept at a certain temperature so it doesn't melt, and at one point, Trevor seriously considered bringing a sleeping bag and camping out in the stands.

When they're home, though, they usually fall into the same routine: take a cold shower, wear the smallest amount of layers as possible (without walking around naked), stick appendages and/or head in the freezer, lie down on the linoleum kitchen tiles, and then take another cold shower.

Things take a turn for the worse when Trevor wakes up on Friday covered in more sweat than usual. When he yanks his phone off the charger and checks the weather, he almost whimpers. 112°.

Trevor throws his phone down and peels himself out of bed. He nixed his comforter on Wednesday, but he's still gone through three sets of sheets. He changes into some fresh, light clothes and heads for the kitchen. He needs water.

His train of thought slow peters out when he sees Jamie already standing at the center island. Namely, Jamie standing shirtless. Namely, Jamie standing shirtless with sweat running down his chest and torso.

Now, don't get Trevor wrong—he's seen Jamie shirtless before. They dress and un-dress at the rink in front of each other all the time, but there's something about this sight that makes Trevor's belly go all swirly.

The early morning sun is turning his skin orange; his usually neatly-trimmed chest hair is wet and a little unruly; Jamie's wearing his cross, which he never wears during games, and it's almost sinful how good it looks dangling from his neck. Trevor imagines taking it between his teeth, sees himself licking a stripe across Jamie's pecs, nosing the trail of hair down his abdomen and coating his senses with Jamie's musky scent.

Trevor must be standing there long enough for it to be suspicious, because suddenly Jamie's clearing his throat and looking at Trevor with a confused expression.

Trevor shakes his head, like that'll dislodge all of his strange thoughts. Jamie's an attractive guy, and he's got a good body, but Trevor's never seen him in that light before. He doesn't really know what to think of it, nor does he have the capacity to make sense of it right now. He makes a bee line for the fridge.

"Scorcher today," Jamie groans. "112°, can you believe it? It broke a record from 2020."

Trevor nods, opening the fridge doors. He tries to keep his voice even. "I know. It sucks."

"I was itching to run, so I tried but..." Jamie laughs hollowly. Huskily, Trevor's brain corrects. Is he having a heat stroke right now?

"... I made it halfway down the street before I had to turn around. It's impossible."

Trevor's hands wrap around a water bottle, barely even registering Jamie's words, and he has a horrible realization: he has to turn around now.

Maybe it was a mirage; maybe Jamie really is wearing a shirt and Trevor has a fever and he's suffering intense, horny hallucinations. He almost convinces himself that the sight won't greet him a second time, but when he turns around, of course it does.

Jamie's five feet away from him now, standing with his hip popped up, in the (tiniest? tiniest) shorts Trevor has ever seen. His tongue dries up, and for once he thinks he means that literally.

It's actual work for Trevor to bring his eyes back up to Jamie's face, and oh. How did he not notice before? Jamie's hasn't shaved his face either. A five o'clock shadow darkens his features, the stubble rough above his lips and down around his chin. He can almost hear the sound it'd make against Trevor's neck...

And suddenly Trevor is very aware of his nether regions, because they are starting to take an interest. He cannot pop a boner right now. He thinks he'd actually have a heart attack and die right here in the kitchen.

He somehow finds the coordination to stumble out of the kitchen, water bottle in hand.

"Z? You good?" echoes off the walls, barely heard over the roaring in Trevor's ears.

Trevor immediately ducks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. It's time for that cold shower, anyways. And if Trevor jerks off to the thought of ripping off those tiny shorts and going to town on Jamie's dick—he'll just blame the heat. And climate change.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

[creepy-girls-club]

NOT SPONSORED JUST A PSA FROM A GIRLY GIRL ✨💅🏻

My hair type: I have straight, fine, low porosity, bleach damaged hair. it’s so so important to research what products go for what hair types.

(if you don’t bleach then remove the k18/olaplex products from this list. )

When I oil my scalp i use a blend of rosemary, vitamin E, jojoba (my queen), and mint oil on my scalp, and the derma e oil listed above and argan oil on my mids to ends, i don’t leave it much longer than 3 hours before washing. Look up which oils are best for your hair type before getting started bc you could do more harm than good.

My skin type is sensitive. I used to think i was oily bc of my acne but it turned out that BHAs and AHAs (salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide etc) were too strong for my skin and making my skin worse. also i was over exfoliating with manual exfoliators as chemical exfoliators. simplifying my routine and using products without harsh ingredients is what really changed my skin. figuring out your skin type is half the battle.

I also use a free app called Yuka to check if products have gross or harmful ingredients bc i’m paranoid.

My credentials:

context:

Hair: first set is 2015-2024, second set is 2021-2023

Skin: First pic is me from HS (yikes) second is from 2020 when i started my first skincare routine. that is a good example of what my skin looked like 24/7 365.

the bottom two are from the last month, the first has no makeup or filter. Yes i have a little foundation in the last pic before yall call me out.

MORE IMPORTANT THAN THE PRODUCTS YOU USE IS CONSISTENCY!

90% OF DAMAGE IS MECHANICAL DAMAGE WHICH MEANS DAMAGE THAT YOU PHYSICALLY CREATE YOURSELF! (while showering, brushing, sleeping, styling etc) BE GENTLE WITH YOUR HAIR AT ALL TIMES AND ALWAYS PROTECT IT WHILE YOU SLEEP! HAIR IS MOST SENSITIVE WHILE WET SO NEVER GO TO BED WITH WET HAIR AND BRUSH IT THROUGH BEFORE YOU GET IT WET!

I recommend getting a wet brush and a silk/satin scarf to wear at night, or to wear a loose braid on a satin pillowcase. (I also use a silk scarf to curl my hair overnight with no heat.)

If anybody has questions feel free to message me!

[illfoandillfie]

For the Bday Blurbs: Would you please write a smutty/fluffy sequel to your Advent 2020 blurb “Baby Daddy Roger”? Like maybe it’s Roger and Reader’s first night alone after their baby is born and include the prompts #61.Daddy kink and #73. Makeup sex from the prompt list tag because they've been little short with each other because they’re exhausted from taking care of a newborn and they miss their old dynamic that they fell a little out of after the birth. Thank you! Have a lovely birthday! 😊

okay this didn't turn out at all smutty oops. defs more fluffy and perhaps a bit angsty. but i hope you like it anyway!

You knew things would have to change once the baby was born. Your routines had to accommodate a whole new, tiny, person after all. Most things were expected. Feedings, bathings, remembering to pick up nappies when you picked up milk and bread. You’d been prepared for all of it. Friends who’d given birth had warned you about how your intimate areas would be affected and had given you tips about saline solutions for milk blisters and frozen condoms for post-birthing pain. Books you’d read had offered advice for getting your newborn to latch on properly while you breastfed and what position he should be sleeping in. And Roger was an invaluable partner. His experience with having kids made you feel less anxious about getting things wrong, and you knew you could always count on him. But there was one thing that no one had thought to mention. Not your friends, not your books, not even Roger.  

Your usual dynamic was not so easy to maintain once your son was born. At first you didn’t really notice. Sex was the furthest thing from your mind as you worked out how to be a mother. Your body still hurt from the process of being pregnant and then going through labour. You were constantly exhausted, unable to shower as frequently as you had before giving birth, and your mood fluctuated constantly. Even after you stopped feeling so sore and started feeling a little horny, you and Roger were usually much too tired to actually do anything. But your dynamic had never just been about the sex. The biggest part for you was the comfort of being taken care of, especially while you’d been pregnant. But now both of you had a baby to focus all that affection and care onto.  

The weeks passed and it began to become clearer that your dynamic wasn’t quite what it used to be, but the differences were hard to pinpoint. Your son was getting better about sleeping, which meant you weren’t always as worn out anymore. Feeding was easier, and you’d got the bath time routine down to an art. And Roger was still loving and sweet, just not in quite the way you wanted. It made you feel bad sometimes, worried you were being too selfish. You were thrilled Roger was so hands-on and such a good dad. But you needed more than a few quick kisses and his fingers brushing your hair back when you fell asleep on the couch. You missed the stern way he’d talk to you when you didn’t prioritise your own wellbeing, the way he made you feel so safe and relaxed because you knew he was looking after you. He was still getting what he needed, the sense of control and the opportunity to be a caregiver for someone else. But you were also playing that roll and rarely had a chance to let it drop. And as it all became clearer to you, Roger too began to put together that something was amiss.  

A few months after you’d given birth he decided to surprise you. He’d been watching closely, paying attention to indications of your stress and discontent. At first he’d put it down to postpartum depression or at least stresses of new motherhood. He’d tried to help you as much as he could by taking the baby off your hands so you could rest and just generally being supportive, but that didn’t really seem to help as much as he expected it to. Your mood was still off, you would snap at him more frequently, and he could see the tension in your shoulders. It took a lot of consideration, thinking back to what you’d been like before the birth, as well as a couple of conversations with trusted friends, before he put the pieces together and realised he’d been neglecting you. So he organised something special to make it up to you.   “I’ve got a surprise for you. Tonight.”  “A surprise?” you asked, confused at what had brought it on and what he could possibly have planned.  “Your mum is going to stay the night.”  You frowned in confusion, “Okay? Why?”  “She’s going to look after bub so we can have a night to ourselves. I booked us a hotel.” When you kept staring at him Roger continued, “I thought it might be nice to just have some time for the two of us. I think we need it.”  The rational part of your mind recognised the gesture for what it was – a display of love, a way to show he wasn’t just thinking of the baby. But you were tired, and annoyed, and you’d have preferred to be consulted before Roger called in your mother. “Are you kidding? Have you seen the state of this place? Now I have to add a bunch of cleaning into my day to make the house presentable.”  “Your mum isn’t going to care about that.”  You ignored what you knew to be a valid point, “And I’m not even sure I’m ready to be away from my son for that long yet. He’s still breastfeeding Rog. I can pump and leave some bottles but what if he won’t drink from them?” Before Roger could interrupt you continued, “And a hotel? Really? Pretty fucking presumptive don’t you think.”  As if he’d sensed your mood, the baby started wailing from his cot.   “Y/N, c’mon. You need this.”  “What do I need, Roger? Your cock?”  “That’s not what I-”  “I can’t do this right now,” you sighed, hurrying to check on the baby. The front door crashed while you were rocking him and you assumed Roger had left. 

If you’d thought that was the end of it, you were wrong. Roger returned a few hours later having cooled off, and headed straight up to your bedroom. You hated that you’d argued when you knew he was just trying to do something nice for you and so followed, hoping to smooth things over. But when you reached him he had two overnight backs out and was packing clothes into them. A wave of panic made your breath catch and you steadied yourself with a hand on the doorframe, worried he was leaving you. Until you noticed that half the clothes he was packing were yours.  “What are you doing?” You hoped you sounded more curious than accusatory, wanting to avoid another fight.   “I told you before, we’re going to a hotel tonight.”  “Roger I-”  “No, listen Y/N. This isn’t about sex. I can’t be the only one to notice how tense it’s been lately. I’ve been wracking my brains trying to work out why and I think I figured it out. I’ve been so focused on being a good dada to him that I haven’t been a very good Daddy to you. I mean I’ve been trying to help...”  “It’s okay Rog, we have a pretty good reason our attention’s not been on it and you have been so helpful.”  “Let me finish Y/N. I know having a baby isn’t easy, I know how much you’re dealing with, and I think you could use a night away from all the pressure. I want to look after you properly. So I thought it would be easiest to get out of the house. We can order room service and cuddle up in front of the telly. If you want anything physical, you know I’m happy to provide that. And if not, we can just talk, maybe try and figure out how this thing works now that we have a kid. Okay?”  You felt yourself welling up before Roger had even got to the end of his speech and all you could do was nod in agreement, relieved more than anything else.  “Good girl. Now go and get our toothbrushes for me and anything else you want to bring. Your mum’ll be here soon.”  When he gave the direction, his voice had taken on the once-familiar commanding tone you’d not heard for so long. It felt so nice to let him take the lead again, to give up some control to him, and you couldn’t help but smile as you ran to obey his order. Roger was right, you did need a night off and some time to discuss how to make all the complicated pieces of your relationship fit together properly. Plus the idea of being able to have a long hot bath, and a really good dinner was beyond exciting.  

Roger was smiling too when you brought him the toothbrushes, his soft gaze meeting yours as he took them from you and tucked them into his bag.   “Anything else?” you asked, keen for another taste of submission.  “Just one thing.”  You giggled as he tugged you close, fitting his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The kind you’d not had for far too long. You were interrupted by your mother arriving, the evening punctuated by first the buzz of the doorbell and then by the startled cry of your son.   “I’ll get bub,” Roger said tracing his thumb over the corner of your mouth, “You go let your mum in before she rings that bloody bell again.”  You nodded and rushed to the door thinking that, if he kept kissing you like that, you might need something other than talk.