Hi! Can I request a fic with Lafayette coming back from France? Sorry if this is written poorly
Lover, you should’ve come over
m. de lafayette x reader
Wc: 2.4k
Sorry it’s pretty short but I really wanted to get something out. Anyway this song fits so perfectly with how I felt writing it, highly recommend y’all listen to it cus ya
“Lady Washington, the General requests your presence,” you spoke, bowing your head politely.
“Thank you, my dear. Please continue to distribute blankets to these brave young soldiers,” she said. The surrounding men smiled with pride.
Martha Washington was widely respected amongst the American colonists. She was courageous, she was kind–a symbol of hope, and just by stepping into a room she commanded veneration. Even with women being permitted to join the military, she still helped in every way she could, inspiring other women to join the fight. Filling in as nurses, supplying troops, working in military camps, and those special few brave enough to disguise themselves and join the bloodshed. Lady Washington was one of the main reasons you were there, in a tent, tending to injured soldiers. Her, and the man you had been in love with: Lafayette.
Also the man you had not seen since he left for France three years ago.
When you met Lafayette, he was only nineteen. Despite his youth, he was a general, and a great one at that. The Frenchman was eager to join the revolution, almost to the point of obsession. It’s funny, because when he was first starting out, Washington held much annoyance in his heart for the clumsy soldier. But after his display of advocacy and leadership on the battlefield, Lafayette quickly became one of Washington’s favorites, alongside Alexander Hamilton. Like a father and son relationship. It was through your connection with Eliza Schuyler, the woman Hamilton was courting, that you met Martha and eventually Lafayette. He was shot in the leg during his first battle, and you were the lucky nurse to clean him up. Somehow, even with all the blood, he managed to charm you. Before you knew it, restless nights of gazing up at the stars and lovesick letters would become your life.
Then, he broke the news to you in the summer of 1777. He requested a brief leave of absence to gather funds in France. Such a shame, too, because you had finally worked up the courage to confess your love for him. The letter was already written and everything, laying neatly on your desk, waiting to be shipped off.
While he was away, the letters slowed down, but your infatuation did not. Every couple months, a few pages of writing would reach you, detailing his stay in his home country and how much he longed to see you again. You cherished every word, every grammatical error, every loop in his cursive ‘o’s, hoping that one day he would return. Praying that the murmurs of revolution in France wouldn't take him. The day he left was the day you made a promise to yourself. To wait for him until he returned.
Shaking off the memory of your love life, you gave out the last blanket. It was a particularly cold night in the Boston camp, supplies were low, but hope was high. Even if you couldn’t provide blankets to every soldier, plenty of them reassured you that seeing the face of a pretty lady was enough to get them through the bitterness that war brought. Almost all of these men hadn’t seen their wives or loved ones in months. It had to be draining them, draining their capacity to keep up. Seeing a young woman brought them the hope they needed to persevere.
Footsteps crunched on the gravel, and you blindly assumed it was Lady Washington coming back, not bothering to check before speaking. “There were not enough blankets for every soldier, ma’am. Shall I request for more–”
“Ma’am?” A deep, French accent repeated.
You froze. Time froze. Your heart stopped beating and the world stopped turning.
Upon turning around, instead of the woman you so deeply admired, standing there was Marquis de Lafayette. He had a wide grin on his matured face, his beard was grown out, and all the physical labor he does must’ve built his muscles by the feel of it. Wait–how did you get in his arms again? Actually, that didn’t matter. What mattered is that Lafayette was back, in your embrace, holding you so tightly you weren’t sure if he’d ever let go.
“I missed you so much,” he rasped, his strong arms pulling you closer to his chest.
“You–you’re back! I didn’t know you would be back today,” you stammered, pulling your face from his chest to gaze up at him. His dark curls were neatly put in a bun, there were new lines and creases on his face, a sign of the war aging him.
“I said it in my last letter, non? Did you not get it?” His hands fit so perfectly around your waist.
“I don't think so,” you replied. Hesitantly pulling off, you scanned his appearance. He wasn’t the naive boy you once knew. He was a man now, eager to finish the fighting once and for all. “Doesn’t matter,” you shook your head, “I missed you, too. I was worried you'd never return to me.”
“Mon ange, I ‘ave spent every day dreaming about my arrival,” he held your forearms, “I would, without fail, find a way to your heart in every lifetime.”
Oh god. Those words flowed so naturally from his mouth, it made you weak in the knees. Had he been reading poetry? How did he know exactly what to say to make you swoon? Scratch that–he could say nothing, simply stand there in all his loveliness, and he would take your breath away anyway.
“Does this mean you’re staying?”
His sharp features twisted to guilt, a sheepish frown spreading on his lips. “I… non, not for much longer,” he revealed. “I am leaving tomorrow night to Chesapeake Bay.”
Oh.
It seemed like the moment you finally had him again, he would be gone in an instant. An ache ripped at your heart, gnawing at the base of your stomach. You had to swallow your disappointment, but it was still evident by the slumped shoulders and sad eyes. A soft sigh escaped him, the guilt of knowing this would be your only night together tearing him apart.
“I am sorry, ange, the war is not done,” he said.
Snapping out of the heartbreak, you nodded, hands falling to your side and taking a step back for some distance. It was improper to cling to a man who wasn't your husband yet.
“I–I understand,” you muttered somberly. “I’ll support you in whatever you choose to do. I have to ask, though…” you bit your lower lip, “join me under the stars tonight? One last time before you’re away again?”
“It would be my pleasure to accompany you. Old times sake, non?”
You smiled and opened your mouth to speak, but got interrupted by Martha’s return. She briefly glanced between the two of you, taking note of the dynamic and how his hand lingered on yours. “The Marquis de Lafayette, it’s wonderful to have you back. General Washington has been anticipating your arrival. I assume you understand the severity and desperation of our army's dire need for supplies?” She spoke, voice collected and smooth per usual.
“Oui. I am glad to be back, Lady Washington.” He bowed politely, and you couldn’t help but admire how the blue coat complemented his dark skin and hair. “Where is the General?”
“I will take you to him,” Martha replied. She turned to you, “Was a blanket provided to every soldier, dear?”
“No’m.” Your fingers found themselves fidgeting nervously. “There was not enough to go around. I can retrieve more, as well as medicine to combat the smallpox. I saw a few cases, although they were in the early stages.”
“Very well, thank you dear. General Lafayette?” She raised her eyebrows expectantly. He paused, glancing back at you with hesitancy. Martha noticed the reluctance to leave, and with a soft smile she said, “I will be outside when you're ready.”
Silence. It was clear neither of you wanted to leave after finally reuniting after three grueling years. He opened and closed his mouth, the words he wanted to say failing him. Couldn’t say you blamed him for being at a loss. He was being stripped away from you once again to continue fighting for democracy. To fight for your freedom. As much as you wished he could just stay here with you, forever in the comfort of your arms, it wasn't practical. So the best thing you could do was let him go, and pray that he comes back alive and in one piece.
“Y/n, I… I’m sorry. I just want–” He huffed, grabbing your hands.
You. You. I just want you. Say it. Why couldn’t he say it?
“It's okay,” you whispered, tucking a loose curl behind his ear. “Meet me here after sunset. I will wait for you, always.”
He smiled, feeling reassured from the gentle touch and the sincerity in your eyes. “I’ll be here.” With that, he gave your hands one final squeeze before disappearing with Lady Washington.
–
The full moon illuminated the campsite, the low clicking of cicadas being the only source of noise, along with the rustling of trees. You were leaning against the sturdy pole that held the tent up, waiting exactly where you promised. It was well past sunset. Lafayette still hadn't showed up, and you were growing a little restless. Did he perhaps forget? Or maybe not care?
Disappointed, you began to retreat back to your cabin. The crunch of gravel sounding from behind caused you to freeze. “Leaving already?”
Swiveling around, you came face to face with the man who consumed your thoughts. “Lafayette,” you breathed out, “I thought you forgot about me.”
He chuckled in amusement, “I would never. I think about you too much for that to ‘appen.”
Ignoring the way your cheeks heated up at the casual flirting, you began walking with him to an open field where you could study the stars. “Do you now?” You mumbled, debating on whether or not to interlock your fingers with his.
“Mmhm. It’s criminal ‘ow you're allowed to take up so much of my brain,” he teased. The grass clearing came into view, just far enough from the town for privacy.
It was still, serene. No talks of war, death, or revolution. Only tranquility as grass swayed from the gentle breeze. A shiver ran down your spine from the cold air which didn't go unnoticed by Lafayette. When you sat down, he pulled you closer to him for warmth.
“Cold?” He asked, holding you tight while you shook from the chill.
“A little,” you whispered, looking up at the night sky. The stars were particularly beautiful tonight. Or maybe it was because Lafayette was in your presence, and you were no longer haunted by the ghost of him. He was real. He was here. It was his arms wrapped around you–not the distant memory, not the fantasy of being embraced by him–it was him.
A comfortable silence fell over the meadow. The bright stars littered along the dark sky, mixed with the pale moonlight captivated you. So much to the point where you didn’t even notice Lafayettes attention was not on the stars, but on you. “It’s beautiful, isn't it?” You whispered.
“Oui,” he uttered, never stripping his gaze from your features, “it really is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.” You could feel his eyes trailing over your hair, nose, lips, taking in every little detail, admiring how the moon had you glowing. He still hadn’t looked up at the stars once.
His fingertips graced the edge of your jaw, his touch featherlight. Your breath hitched from how delicate he could be beneath the hard exterior–the callouses from war. Words found themselves stuck in your throat.
“I missed this,” he whispered. “I missed stargazing with you. I missed your laughter. This isn’t my home, but mon dieu I felt homesick while I was away from you.”
The crease in your forehead eased into warmth, a fuzzy feeling erupting you all over. And did it just get thirty degrees hotter? Because the cold air was doing very little in cooling the passion that flared your cheeks a shade darker. His large hand cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking back and forth in a soothing manner. The rhythm was hypnotic, the adoration in his eyes was divine, the honesty in his voice was angelic.
“Lafayette…” you mumbled. Somehow your hands found their place on the back of his neck.
“Among all the stars,” he continued, “you are the one that lights up my sky. When I’m gone again, remember my heart will hold you even if my arms cannot. Amour, my life isn’t complete without you. I want you to be mine.”
“Please,” the plea came out a breathy whisper, your face inching closer to his. Without much more thought, his lips captured yours in a tender kiss.
Years of yearning for one another poured into one moment. He’s been waiting for this since the day you bandaged his bullet wound—looking forward to when he could wrap his hands around your waist and pull you closer just like he was doing now. Your nose bumped his when the kiss deepened, and he furrowed his eyebrows as his focus was solely on memorizing this feeling. Storing it for later, something to look forward to. Neither of you wanted this to end. Unfortunately, you need oxygen to function, and you pulled off. After a few seconds, your eyes fluttered open, meeting his smooth chocolate-colored ones.
Words weren’t a necessity. Both of you were in silent agreement it would ruin it; instead, he pressed his forehead to yours. His thumb continued to stroke your cheekbone back and forth, back and forth. All you needed was to stay like this a little longer.
“If I could stay here with you forever, I would,” he said. How did he always manage to read your thoughts?
“I wish,” you murmured, “I really do. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; I’ll wait for you. Every day, every second, I’ll be thinking of you until you’re back.”
The corner of his lips nudged into a smile. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach from the sweetness it brought.
“I’ll find you when the fighting is over. I promise.”
He squeezed your hands, then pressed his lips gently against yours in a way that said ‘thank you for staying’ more than anything.
notes: tj’s a lil slut for ya, alexander’s next (/j.. or maybe not?), how do you write southern accents!!!:!:!, there’s a fluffier version, i swear!
Oh, your poor, poor husband. He had returned from his work; being the Secretary of State. You knew how hard his job could get.
Thomas had slumped on the couch, his hands covering his eyes in exhaustion. “Fuck,” He whispered, his tone of voice not like the man you once knew.
You came over to him, sitting beside him. “Dear? What has gotten you so.. worked up?” You ask, holding his chin up for him to face you.
His eyes softy lit up when he saw you, gaze softening. “Nothing you need to worry about, darlin’.”
You pout, knowing he wouldn’t budge unless you executed an action plan. A bulb went off your head. Aha!
He lifts a brow, wondering what you’re planning to do next. He knows you’re going to do something.. out of the ordinary, to say the least.
— He’d been dealing with a certain Alexander Hamilton, issuing his debt plan into action. He was exxxHAUSTED, as you can.. already, probably tell.
“Come onnnn,” You pout, giving him the best you could possibly attempt to try to persuade him into telling.
“Oh, come on, darlin’. I don’t wanna worry you..” Your uncharacteristically tired husband held your hand.
“But of course, I would. I’m your partner, Thomas, I should know what’s going on so that I could..”
“..make you feel better.” You say with the most innocent tone, your hands traveling to his lap and caressing it.
His breath hitches. Fuck, he loved it when you tease him. It makes him feel.. safe.
“It seems like you’re enjoying the show already, Thomas.” You say as you kneel down on the floor, both hands caressing his inner thighs.
His eyes widen. He could feel his growing erection go hard. Fuck.. you just looked so.. alluring. It made him wanna—
His thoughts cut off as you unbuttoned his dark magenta pantaloons, revealing his undergarments. You could only remember how big he was—and it wasn’t even his actual dick—it was only his pants.
You take off the last of his clothing, revealing his long, thick, and hard cock.
“Let me treat you tonight, darling..” You say, putting his tip in your mouth. Your tongue swirls and licks his tip.
His eyes roll back as he groans, hips bucking up. His brown curls bounce as he writhed and shivers under your touch. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.. ah..” He groans.
You took him in deeper. His head went back, hands went down to his own thighs. You held his hand, squeezing it.
The contrast of affection made his brain go haywire. You weren’t even close to being done yet, taking him in deeper, but..
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.. ‘m close, love.. ah.. yes.. hmf..” Thomas whispered with a needy tone.
“Ah-ah-ah. Not yet.” You pull out.
He whines. “But.. love..”
“Nope. Nada. None.” You smirk.
You stroke his dick, slow.. sensual.. strokes. You notice the way his eyes roll back, holding back whimpers and moans. “Come on, darling.. more vocal?” You pleaded, purposefully putting on a more demanding tone, testing his reaction.
And boy, you were right.
“Mhh.. ah.. fuck.. ngh.. yes.. more..” Your husband groans, biting his lip in need.
“More? More what, dear?” You purposefully stop.
He whines again. “Darlin’.. please.. can’t take it..”
“Oh? You can’t? Okay, I’ll stop..” You turn away—but he grabs your hand. He looks at you in need, eyes practically glowing with lust.
“What?” You chuckle with mirth. “You said you wanted to stop..” You reason with him, earning a more whiny pout.
“Daaarrrliiin’..” He whimpers.
“Oh, fine..” You start again, this time—
Using your mouth.
Your pretty little mouth.. so good for taking him in. He can feel the pool of heat coming within him. You could tell, too.
“Darlin’..” He breathes out.
“You can cum.” Those words made him break.
He came inside your mouth, his cum flowing through your throat. His body shook with lust as you felt his juices stop.
You chuckle at his exhausted state.
“Aww, my little Tommy’s tired?” You get up, standing in front of him. You tilt his face up, your hand on his cheek. You could feel his sweat.
@mwaeom @courire @noirellee @hwang4luv @jjumars @wonllitz all of yall jst hate me. THE MUSICAL IS PEAK, ITS LITERALLY 3 HOURS OF UR LIFE WATCH IT IDGAF IF UR NOT FROM THE USA IM NOT EITHER AND I WATCHED IT
Summary: Lewis can't help but reminisce about all the special memories he's created with his daughter over her three years of life. However, on her birthday, it's not his daughter who is surprised—it’s him.
Warnings: English is not my first language
Everyone moved swiftly around him, but for Lewis, time had come to a standstill. He struggled to grasp the fact that his daughter was growing up—his baby was no longer a baby—and he couldn't help but fear the day she would no longer seek his help and protection for the little things.
Y/N tried to soothe him, gently reminding him that his princess would always be his princess. And it was true: even though Abby was already three years old, she still sought her father’s company every chance she got. From the moment she woke up, the first thing she did was crawl into bed to snuggle against Lewis’s chest, where he would carefully wrap her in his arms and softly stroke her hair.
This simple gesture brightened the day for both Abby and her father, and they both struggled whenever he had a race week, which meant being apart from his little girl. However, over time, they had developed routines to make those days of separation more bearable. During those weeks, phone calls were constant; barely a moment passed without them talking, except when Lewis had to train, deal with the media, or attend important meetings. He also made sure to show Abby everything happening around him, hoping that the following year she could attend one of his races and see him in action.
A gentle tap on his back pulled him from his thoughts. He turned quickly, expecting someone from the decoration team to need his help, but he relaxed when he saw his wife standing in front of him.
"They just put up the garlands with Abby’s pictures if you’d like to take a look," she whispered, caressing his face before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.
"I’ll go now, my love," Lewis replied with a grateful smile.
He knew that these little details weren’t just important for his daughter, but also for maintaining his connection with his family amidst the whirlwind of his career as a driver.
Excited and filled with anticipation, he began to look at the pictures one by one. To his surprise, no one else was there observing them. It seemed like everyone had wanted to give him this moment to himself—a unique, intimate instant that he could cherish forever. It wasn’t that he was unwilling to share his emotions with the guests, but he also understood that his career had made him a public figure, attracting those who were only interested in gathering information about his private life, ready to exploit it whenever it suited them.
It wasn’t that this disturbed him too much; he had always been a reserved person, even before becoming famous. But over the years, the invasion of his privacy had become intolerable. Fortunately, this party was attended only by his family, a few close friends who had been with him and Y/N since the beginning of their relationship—to the point that they were already considered family—and some fellow Formula 1 drivers. Among them was George, his former teammate, who had witnessed many of his first moments as a father.
Lewis smiled as he recalled the day he found out Y/N was in labor. It had happened in the middle of a team meeting where they were discussing car improvements. Upon receiving the news, his mind went into such a nervous state that, had he driven himself to the hospital, he probably would have needed medical attention as well. Luckily, George was there and, without hesitation, drove him to the hospital, ensuring that he arrived in time to welcome his daughter.
As Lewis looked at the pictures, he couldn’t help but smile, but one in particular caught his attention. It was decorated with a small embossed sticker, glitter, and pink-toned details, giving it a special and intimate touch. In the image, he and Abby were the main subjects, captured in a unique moment—just after Lewis had returned from long weeks of racing.
To unwind and make up for lost time, they had decided to go to the park. It was a hot day, so nothing seemed better than enjoying an ice cream in the small private park near their home. That place was accessible only to neighborhood residents, meaning they could relax without worrying about curious onlookers or photographers trying to snap secret pictures.
Below the photo, a note written in black ink read:
"In this picture, we’re eating ice cream at the park. Look for a place in the house where we always keep cold things."
A little disoriented but excited, Lewis headed toward the fridge. As he walked through the house, he couldn’t help but smile at the number of people enjoying the party, entertaining Abby with games and laughter. He also felt a deep warmth seeing Y/N surrounded by her childhood friends—those who, despite time and distance, had always been there. Whether it was sending her encouraging messages during exam season, gifts and letters on special occasions, or sharing unforgettable moments like her wedding day, where they had been her bridesmaids—something that had deeply moved Y/N.
When Lewis reached the kitchen, he was puzzled not to find a note stuck to the fridge. He frowned, unsure if he had misunderstood the clue, but after thinking for a moment, he decided to open the refrigerator. He smiled tenderly when he found another photograph inside, along with a small note.
The image captured one of the most special moments for him: storytime. In the photo, Lewis was lying in bed with Abby snuggled against his chest, listening intently as he read from a small book. The note read:
"Our stories always connect us to our biggest dreams."
The card was decorated with a small moon, and as he read it, Lewis understood the next clue:
"Look under the pillow where, as you rest, your imagination never ceases."
Growing more excited with the game, he headed to his bedroom and carefully lifted one of the pillows. There, he found another note, written on star-patterned cardstock and cut into the shape of a star.
"Look in the garland for a photo where we're cooking together."
Wasting no time, Lewis returned to the garland and began examining the photos until he found the right one. In the image, the three of them were in the kitchen: Abby beaming with excitement, Lewis placing a tray of cookies into the oven, and Y/N holding all the ingredient jars she could find to decorate them. Abby always insisted that "when it comes to food, more is always better," and for her, no combination was too crazy. Chocolate, honey, and strawberries on a single cookie? Why not? The more colorful ingredients, the better.
The note accompanying the photo read:
"We love sweet things, but where do we usually keep them in this house?"
Lewis paused for a moment to think. He and Y/N maintained a healthy lifestyle, and due to his career, Lewis had to be especially mindful of his diet. They didn’t typically keep sweets readily available… until he suddenly remembered something.
With a spark of realization, he headed to the kitchen, to the shelf where they stored candies and treats for special occasions—Christmas, Halloween, or celebrations like this one.
There, carefully placed, he found a small box with a note that said:
"Open it to discover your treasure."
Inside the box, Lewis found a drawing that Abby had lovingly made. In the illustration, two large figures were floating over the city in a hot air balloon. In her sweet—though slightly wobbly—childlike handwriting, it read:
"Daddy, you are my favorite superhero. The best daddy in the world."
In that moment, Lewis understood everything. He didn’t need to worry about the future or about how his relationship with Abby would change as she grew. It didn’t matter if one day she stopped seeking his help for everything, if she went through a rebellious phase, or even if she decided to follow in his footsteps in motorsports—something that, to be honest, terrified him, and he had never been shy about admitting it publicly.
To Abby, he was already the best dad in the world, and that was the only thing that truly mattered. Even if he sometimes wondered if he was doing enough, even if he constantly looked for ways to be better, the truth was that, in her eyes, he was already more than enough. At the end of the day, no opinion from journalists, fans, or strangers would ever matter as much as that of his own family.
The rhythmic hum of Lewis Hamilton's car engine echoed through the underground parking lot as he pulled into a discreet corner. It was well past midnight, and the shadows concealed more than just the sleek lines of his custom Mercedes-AMG. Despite the hour, the Formula 1 legend stepped out, wearing a black hoodie and sunglasses. His movements were cautious but confident as he sent a quick text:
"I'm here."
A minute later, the side door of the parking lot creaked open. She stepped through, clutching her bag nervously. A psychology student in her final year, she had never imagined that a chance meeting at an exclusive event six months ago would lead to a clandestine rendezvous with one of the most recognizable faces on the planet.
"You're late," Lewis teased, his voice low but warm.
"You’re impossible to sneak around for," she shot back, rolling her eyes. But the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation.
He stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Worth it, though."
"Debatable," she said, though her tone was playful.
"Oh, come on," Lewis said, smirking. "You’re not saying this isn’t the highlight of your day."
"My day? Sure. My week? The jury’s still out." she quipped, leaning into him. "What if someone recognizes us?"
"That’s why we’re here," he said. "Relax. Nobody’s lurking in the shadows with a camera."
"Famous last words," muttered under her breath, though she couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
The two climbed into the car, where Lewis started recounting his latest race while she listened intently, occasionally throwing in sarcastic comments that made him laugh. Their ease with each other was evident—until a sudden flash lit up the interior of the car.
"What the hell?" she gasped, ducking instinctively.
Lewis turned sharply, spotting a man outside the driver’s side window with a camera pressed to his face. Another flash went off, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lens clicking.
"Stay down," Lewis commanded, his voice low and steady as he rolled down the window slightly. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?"
"Just getting a scoop, mate," the paparazzo said smugly, still snapping pictures. "Who’s your friend? She doesn’t look like she’s part of the racing world."
"Get the hell out of here," Lewis snapped, his usual calm veneer slipping. "Now."
The man laughed. "Relax, Hamilton. The world’s gonna love this. A little late-night rendezvous? Very on-brand."
Her heart was pounding as she sat frozen in her seat. "Lewis, let’s just go," she whispered.
But before Lewis could move, the photographer darted in front of the car, blocking their exit. More flashes erupted, blinding in the darkness.
"Are you serious?" Lewis muttered, throwing the car into reverse and backing up quickly. He tried to swerve around the man, but the photographer sidestepped, keeping his lens trained on them.
"Lewis, stop! You’ll hit him!" she cried, grabbing his arm.
"He’s not going to move unless I make him," Lewis growled, but he reluctantly braked.
"Call security or something," she said, fumbling for her phone. Her hands were shaking as she pulled it out and began dialing.
"Oh, don’t bother," the paparazzo said, smirking as he lowered the camera. "I’ve got what I need."
And with that, he turned and jogged off, disappearing into the darkness of the parking lot. They sat in stunned silence for a moment, the tension in the air almost tangible.
"You okay?" Lewis finally asked, glancing at her.
"No," she admitted, her voice trembling. "What just happened?"
"We got caught," he said bluntly, running a hand over his face. "I’m sorry. I should have been more careful."
"It’s not your fault," she said, though her voice was shaky. "But... what do we do now?"
Lewis sighed, starting the car again. "We deal with it. Together. Whatever happens next, we’ll handle it."
She nodded, though her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t help but wonder if their world—their fragile, private world—had just shattered beyond repair.
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?
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.”
it made us restless ────── my god, this reminds me of when we were young.
lewis hamilton is seen reconnecting with an old lover.
⌗ pairing : lewis hamilton x reader
⌗ tags : reader is female, and her faceclaim is established. reader is a singer. not proofread, possibly shitty.
⌗ notes : this is my 200 followers special!! a different sports!! i haven't done a 100 followers special because i'm technically supposed to write for a football athlete that is not from real madrid, but i haven't decided who i wanna do for that so... you get this first :3 also i tried doing something different with the header!!! title and description is from 'when we were young' by adele ♡ masterlist.
FACECLAIM 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ yura yunita ( instagram )
DISCLAIMER 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑
𐙚 i am not affiliated with yura yunita, lewis hamilton, or anyone mentioned in this fic
𐙚 any similarities in name, time, and place is purely coincidental
𐙚 do not mind the time stamps
𐙚 click on the pictures if it seems blurry
ynusername
liked by hamiltonsource, ynluvr, lewishamilton, and others
ynusername some of that ldt (long distance tennis) 🤪 @.lewishamilton
tagged lewishamilton
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lewishamilton <33
❤️ by author
ynusername <33
username okay so anyone else got recommended this post on their timeline... seven years later...
username let me tell you about the heart attack i got...
username i fr thought they were getting back together
lewishamilton i totally beat you though
❤️ by author
ynusername liar liar pants on fire
→ lewishamilton my pants aren't on fire??
→ ynusername i wouldn't know you're half the world away
→ lewishamilton aw sorry pretty baby :( <33
username oh... this relationship wasn't a hoax...
→ username ??? 😭😭😭
username they were CUTE cute huh..
username i love you my mother and my father please adopt me
username wow seeing my comment from 7 years ago here is crazy...
→ username 😭😭😭
username this must be a sign from the universe huh...??? HUH???
username it's literally just the instagram algorithm fucking things up again calm down
username REAL i'm not even following y/n
yourfriend cutiessss!
❤️ by author
ynusername i love you! 🥺
ynsource
liked by ynfanaccount, ynluvr, hamiltonsource, and others
ynsource my sources say that y/n is rekindling with an old lover 🤭
tagged ynusername
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username and what sources are these
ynsource trust me
→ username LITERALLY "trust me bro" SOURCE???
username creating unnecessary drama
username i feel like it's been a few months
❤️ by author
ynsource 🫣
hamiltonsource wait can u tell me
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ynsource ofc baby
username not the ship going so strong that their fan accounts are also in a love affair
username that's a dinner for TWO...
username she's allowed to have friends you know
→ username or other men idk
→ username no other men
→ username ?????
ynusername
liked by ynsource, lewishamilton, and others
ynusername some fresh air before the tour 🤝 which dates will you be going? :-) <33
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username oh she's teasing us
username guys.......... they're obviously talking again right
ynusername i'll see you all!!!
username I'LL SEE YOU I LOVE YOU
username SEE YOU SEE YOU SEE YOU
username vitamin SEE YOU!!!
❤️ by author
→ ynusername ohh that's cute
→ username WAIT ILY THANK YOU FOR REPLYING
→ ynusername <33
username I'M GOING TO THE ARLINGTON SHOW QUEEN
❤️ by author
ynsource work those hamstrings 😍
username i feel like i'm in a cult
hamiltonsource we will... be seeing you <33
ynusername which dates? xo <33
ynsource HOW DID YOU GET A REPLY BUT NOT ME??? @.hamiltonsource
→ hamiltonsource i'm just better baby
username london 2nd night! <33
❤️ by author
username she's fucking with us right
georgerussell63 monaco date
❤️ by author
ynusername which obviously exists
→ georgerussell63 🤣
❤️ by author
username great now we have both of *****' ex interacting with one another
username why are we so afraid to say the word lewis
username SHHHH THAT'S FORBIDDEN AROUND HERE
→ username wtf??? i'll @ him idc @.lewishamilton
→ username real
→ username @.lewishamilton
ynusername
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ynusername found some gems for a couple of years ago 🥰
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username were you getting married 😹
ynusername 🤫
ynsource to WHO!?!?!?!?
username happy bday queen
username it's not her bday yet 😭
ynluvr oh you are GORGEOUS gorgeous
❤️ by author
ynusername <33
username white is fr her colour
username whoever is going to marry her will be so lucky to see her walking down the aisle... 🥺
lewishamilton
liked by ynusername, hamiltonsource, and others
lewishamilton First paddock birthday in a while 🎂🥳 <33
tagged ynusername
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ynusername happy birthday to me!!!
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lewishamilton Birthday girl!
→ ynusername :-)
username HARDLAUNCH?????
username me when the world didn't end in 2015
username my mom thinks i'm insane for tossing my phone across the room after seeing this
hamiltonsource happy birthday mom @.ynusername
ynsource go away that's MY mom???
→ hamiltonsource OUR mom 🥰
username HEEELLLLLLOOOOO??
username OMG.....
username wait why am i emotional
username seeing lewis post y/n gave me such intense whiplash i think i was transported back to 2011
