This Is Literallt The Sweetest Thing Ever To Know People Are Thinking Of Me 😭😭 I LOVE U TOO SUKI!!!

Wait for it

I AM THE ONE THING IN LIFE I CAN CONTROLLLLL I AM INIMITABLE I AM AN ORIGINALLLLLL

ok seriously I’m working on a soulmate au rn, HOPEFULLY it’ll be out by tonight

A Night To Remember | ch. 2

j. laurens x reader

Faced with his biggest fear, you help him through it.

Warnings: swearing, cliche tropes that i overuse but love, ummm yah

Wc: like 2.9k?? I think??

John Laurens hates flying. Absolutely despises it.

There's something about being over 30,000 feet in the air and having no control over the weather that gets him. Paired with the possibility of crashing and burning, it’s scary as fuck. It’s not something he’s ever talked about with other people because he usually flies solo—or better yet, not at all. Being in a big metal tube wasn't ideal, especially with strangers. Thankfully he was rich, so the days of flying cramped between a misbehaved child and an old woman snoring were over.

As much as he would rather not deal with TSA, the tumultuous roar of the plane, turbulence, and liftoff, he had to. Tickets were already bought and he wasn’t too keen on driving in a car for four-and-a-half hours.

He wasn’t sure if flying with you would make it better or worse. On one hand, he found your presence pleasant. On the other, he absolutely could not show his fear of flying. How weak would it make him look? Especially in front of his pretty assistant who looks to him for guidance?

He sucked in a breath and shot you a text to let you know he was outside your building. Subconsciously, his fingers tapped the steering wheel in anticipation. It was 7:30 AM, just like he promised.

The door swung open and you hobbled out, a suitcase with a broken wheel behind you, and a tote bag on your arm. You gave him a tired smile and he got out to help you load your bag into the backseat of his Porsche.

“Morning,” he spoke, eyeing your casual wear. “All set?”

“I guess so,” you sighed, brushing off your cotton shorts and getting in the passenger seat. “This is a really nice car.”

“Thank you,” he hummed, backing out of the parking lot. “Took me years to be able to afford it, but I finally have it.”

You took the time to examine his car. It was a dark green Porsche with leather seats. There was a hint of cologne and coconut shampoo in it, as well as the forest air freshener he kept in it. Whatever the smell was, it was him, and your head spun. There wasn’t a speck of dirt or piece of trash. Considering the messy desk he has, it was surprising to see his car in such good condition. But to be fair, if you had this nice of a car, you’d keep it spotless too. It made you feel so poor compared to the rusty pickup truck you drove. Thank god he was picking you up and not the other way around.

“I feel like I’m going to ruin it just by being in here,” you bit your lower lip nervously. He let out a deep chuckle.

“Nah, you’ll only make it better by being here,” he winked. Was he flirting with you? “You can relax. Your shoulders look like they hurt from how tense they are.”

A deep breath escaped you in an attempt to ease the tension on your neck. He smiled lightly when you slumped into the seat, making yourself comfortable in the car.

“Have you been to D.C. before?” He asked.

“I did once when I was fourteen. It was a school trip.“

He nodded, and a semi-awkward silence fell over you. You could tell that he was procrastinating on talking about the party. The situation itself was awkward, and talking about it was uncomfortable, so you took matters into your own hands and brought it up.

“So…how am I supposed to pretend to be your date? Like, what does that entail?” You spoke hesitantly and slowly.

“Right, um, just stay by my side while I talk to some of the attendees. Play boyfriend and girlfriend, y’know? It’s a real high profile event. Most of the people going are above the age of 40, almost all either married or with someone, so I figured it would make me seem more professional if I had a woman with me. Maybe they’ll—“ he abruptly stopped.

You knit your eyebrows in concern, examining the way his jaw clenched and a different fire was in his eyes. “Sir? You okay?”

“You don’t have to call me sir. Just call me John or Laurens,” he sighed, keeping his eyes trained strictly on the road.

“Oh. Sorry,” you mumbled. The thought of calling him John felt wrong since you were conditioned to saying sir. “Maybe they’ll what?” You pushed in a gentle tone so as to not upset him further.

He didn’t reply immediately. No, he gripped the steering wheel tighter and uttered something to himself. Then, a defeated sigh escaped him and he caved. “It’s—it’s stupid, but I’ve noticed that they don’t treat me like I’m an editor-in-chief. To them, I’m not mature enough because of the fact that I’m 28. They seem to think I’m some playboy who won’t last because I got rich so quickly.”

He shook his head in frustration, and all you could do was sit and silently listen to his rant. It was an odd feeling. He was never this open with you, but it was nice. You knew he trusted you enough to open up. So you hummed, and almost put your hand on his shoulder but decided against it.

“I get that. Not being taken seriously by coworkers, I mean,” you said.

He let out a light scoff. “How so?”

“Well, there’s a running joke around the office that I can’t write because I’m just an assistant. It sucks, ’cause I know I can, but I haven’t written anything in over a year so I can’t help but feel like it’s true. But like you said, it’s as if I’m not being taken seriously because of my position.“ You folded your hands in your lap, the airport coming into view.

You glanced at him, and his face was filled with rage. He opened his mouth to speak, promptly closed it to take a deep breath, then softened his facial features. “Who’s making these jokes?”

You shrugged half-heartedly. “It’s hard to pinpoint one person. It’s not a big deal, really. Just a few comments here and there.”

“Y/n, that is a big deal. I’m supposed to be making sure there’s a safe working environment. And you’re my assistant for a reason,” he huffed. “You’re the only person I trust to check and edit works because I know you’ll do an outstanding job. You’re one of the best journalists I’ve seen.” He got in line to pay for a two-day parking spot.

“I—thank you, but seriously. It sucks that you feel like that around all the executives. If me being there as your ‘date’ makes you feel better, I promise I’ll be the best fake-girlfriend I can be.” You smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood, and shift the focus back to him. He seemed to take the bait and calmed down.

But what he said stuck with you. One of the best journalists he’s seen. So what are you doing still an assistant? Shouldn’t you be promoted by now? He wouldn’t be purposely holding you back from moving up in the world, would he?

“Thanks. You’ll do great,” he took his hands off the steering wheel.

“It’ll be just like The Proposal,” you joked.

He laughed, “right. Minus the falling in love rom-com part.”

For some inexplicable reason, his words sent a pang of hurt through your chest. You brushed it off nerves.

“Did you watch it?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Who hasn’t?”

“I didn’t peg you for a romantic-comedy type. Thought you’d be all over action movies or biopics.”

“Biopics? Really?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise. The conversation flowed nicely, and for a moment it felt like he wasn’t your boss, but rather your friend. Something you never thought possible, but never say never.

After finding and paying for a spot, you unloaded your bags and got in line to check in. When you got through every security measure, it was only 8:33, so you had plenty of time before you needed to board your flight. While sitting in the boarding gate, reading a book you brought, Laurens bounced his leg up and down. It was growing concerning how anxious he seemed. You put your copy of Today Tonight Tomorrow down.

“Are you alright? You seem nervous.” You frowned.

He stopped bouncing his knee. “Yeah. I’m okay, just not the biggest fan of flying.” He chuckled nervously.

Your eyebrows flew up in surprise. He failed to mention that when you booked the tickets. “Oh. I’m sorry.” You tried to offer as much sympathy as possible. He muttered his gratitude and pulled out his phone as a distraction.

It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it further from the way he was squirming uncomfortably, so you dropped it. Perhaps you’d bring it up later.

—

First class is way nicer than economy. Way nicer.

You were sitting next to John with an armrest big enough for both of you to lay your arms on it. And it had cup holders. And despite the fancy seat TVs and the massive amounts of leg room you had, he still looked nervous.

Pitifully so.

When the plane started rolling, he gripped the edge of the arm rest and held his breath. It looked like he were about to break a cold sweat.

“John,” you whispered, turning to him.

“Yeah?” He turned to you, trying to play it cool. Your eyes softened.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

He paused, and before he could reply the plane took off into the air. He drew a sharp breath in and faced forward, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Hesitantly, you reached out and put your hand over his. You faced forward, but could sense when he opened his eyes and shifted to your hands.

He didn’t say anything.

It was odd, you’ve never seen him like this before. He’s usually angry, and if he’s not angry at someone or something, then he’s stone-cold killer. Sometimes he laughs, like earlier in the car. But most of the time, he doesn’t have a reason to.

You felt right bad for him. People were seldom kind to him. Everyone fears him, and he knows it. The only people who treat him like a friend are Marquis De Lafayette and Hercules Mulligan, and that’s because he knew them before becoming editor-in-chief. Everyone else who works for him does what he says and does it quietly. He seemed kind of lonely at times.

You knew he didn’t have any family left. When the holidays roll around, he continues working. He doesn’t receive any phone calls from people claiming to be his parents. The only person who calls without fail is Alexander Hamilton, the same man he reached success with. Hamilton is possibly the only person Laurens will talk about with a bright smile on, reminiscing about the good ol’ days. He doesn’t talk about women, he doesn’t talk about family, only his friends. You weren’t entirely sure if he had siblings; he may have briefly mentioned them but they must not be in contact anymore.

When the plane reached a steady pace and he calmed down, you took your hand off his. It wasn’t necessary to keep it on the whole time. All it would do is cause you to feel things you shouldn’t for the man who signs your paycheck.

Sometime during the ride, you fell asleep to rain noises playing in your headphones. He shook you softly to wake you up, and informed you the plane had landed. You wiped the drool that formed on the side of your mouth and nodded groggily.

“How—how’re you feeling?” You yawned.

“Good. I’m fine, thanks for um…y’know,” he trailed off awkwardly.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you nodded, sitting up fully. A heavy silence hung in the air. You wanted to ask him why he was so anxious to fly, but you weren’t sure if he would get mad or not. It was only natural that you were curious—it’s human nature. So you spoke.

“What is it about flying that you don’t like?” You asked, tone as gentle as possible. He paused briefly, an uncomfortable look flashing over his face.

“I hate all the noise and the possibility of crashing. I don’t like not being in control. Especially when it’s over my own life.”

Him wanting to be in control all the time tracks. He is your boss, after all. He’s used to having power.

“I can understand that. It is pretty scary. If you want me to cancel our flight back, we can take a train or something?” You offered.

“No, no,” he shook his head, a small smile cracking on him. “My car is already at the airport. And besides, I need to get over my fear anyway.”

You exited the aircraft, got your bags, did anything else necessary to leave the airport, then stepped foot into the Washington D.C. air. It was 11:10 by the time you got out, and it was a dry seventy-nine degrees. You both agreed to check into the hotel so you could drop off all your bags, then would explore the city until the ball at six. He called an Uber and you sat at a nearby bench until it came.

The trees in D.C were beautiful. The area where the airport was was relatively flat, but the greenery in the surrounding area was gorgeous. It was flush with life, yellow and pink flowers littered everywhere, a gentle breeze in the air, and the sun shining high.

“Are you hungry?” He asked, “because I’m starving.”

“I could eat,” you shrugged, knowing full well you neglected to eat breakfast and instead opted for a protein shake with a banana.

“Perfect. There’s a spot I used to go to with my friends. I’m thinking after we drop off our stuff we could head there?”

“Whatever you wanna do, boss,” you hummed. He raised an eyebrow, a small smirk curling on his lips.

Before he could respond, the Uber pulled up. He opened the door for you, letting you crawl inside the tiny black car before getting in next to you. It was cramped enough to where if you spread your legs a little wider, your knee would be touching his. You made yourself as small as possible while he made small talk with the driver.

For whatever reason, men have the tendency to dismiss women. Especially when it’s a conversation. You hoped this isn’t what the ball would be like, because this sucks. His knee would occasionally bump into yours on turns, and it would send a jolt of electricity through you every single time, even though it shouldn’t. Whatever you were feeling had to just be nerves, or not having been with a man in over eight months, or the prospect of a very attractive man sitting mere inches from you.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you stared out the window. The Washington Monument stood tall. A bright smile spread on your face, and you leaned further to the window to try and absorb the scenery.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” The cab driver spoke, grinning widely.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Lived here my whole life and I still can’t resist looking at it every time I get the chance,” he chuckled. The landmark left your field of vision, so you turned to John.

He was already staring at you, a soft smile on him and an even softer look in his eyes. It made your heart skip a beat, as much as you didn’t want it to. His eyes flickered over your face. You suddenly grew hot under his gaze, and shifted to looking back out the window, a newfound flush on your neck. He shouldn’t make you feel this way. Not him.

“What’s your favorite part of living here?” You asked, desperate to have the cab driver fill the silence.

He did, because he talked the rest of the time about D.C., jumping from topic to topic about the history to the food to the culture to the people. You internally thanked him, because every so often, John’s eyes would linger on you a moment too long.

The hotel was huge. You almost got lost trying to look for the front desk because there were so many different sections. On the bottom floor there were restaurants, as well as a bar, a Starbucks, and a fucking grocery store. Convenient, yes, but confusing as hell.

When you finally found the front desk and got your room key, the next struggle was finding the room itself. It was ten past noon by the time you found it.

“Is this the right room?” He set his bag down in disbelief, eyes wide as he scanned the proximity.

“Yeah? 224. Why, what’s wrong—“ you stopped in your tracks the moment you saw the room.

There was only one bed.

I loev high and dry bc I have problems with my mom so it’s like “guys this is so me” I say as I bury myself in a hole and cry to Radiohead. I LOVE YOUUU WRITER!! MWAHHHH!!

no bc I have literally NO problems w my mom at all, me n her are super close so idk why I chose this to be the lore 😭😭 anyway crying to Radiohead is so real 😜 LOVE U 💋💋💋

The latest chapter should be labeled as murder for ripping my heart into shreds 💔💔

I’ll put it back together don’t worry 😉

Come back the kids miss you💔💔

BROO I don’t know what to writtteee 😭😭 anybody got ideas PLEAS

Hey, roomie! Ch. 3

thomas j. x reader

warnings: swearing, nongraphic depictions of blood/injury, second hand embarrassment

Thomas helps you ease into talking to guys.

Word count: 2.6k

“If you want to get better at talking to guys, you just have to go out and talk to them.” Thomas walks beside you in Central Park, scoping out any single men looking to mingle.

“That’s way easier said than done.” You cringe, following his gaze to a man reading on a bench.

“You’re gonna have to get comfortable with rejection, sweetheart,” he stops, putting his hands on his hips. You keep your gaze focused on the lonesome man immersed in his book.

“Ugh—but I don’t know what to say…” You took a step back, accidentally hitting Thomas’s chest. He puts a hand on your shoulder and turns you to look you in the eyes.

“Sweetheart, it’s gonna suck, but if you want to improve you have to be comfortable with discomfort. Just go over and ask him what he’s reading. Say you thought he was cute and wanted to know if you could get his number. I’ll be sitting over there,” he nods to a fountain, “come find me afterwards. I’ll be picking up women of my own, so don’t rush it.” He winks, pushing you out slightly and patting your back.

You took a deep inhale and marched over to the guy. You nervously sat by him, but he didn’t budge. He kept his eyes on the printed words.

“Uh, hi,” you started off, turning to face him. He looks up, a little surprised to see someone talking to him. “I saw you reading and I thought you were cute, a-and wanted to know if I could maybe get your number?” You fiddled with your hands, struggling to keep eye contact.

He looks genuinely shocked that you said that, but with a polite awkward smile and laugh, he spoke. “I’m sorry, I have a girlfriend. But thank you anyway.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. Have a nice day,” you quickly stood, power walking to where Thomas was sat at the edge of a fountain, observing the interaction between you and the guy.

“So?” He asks when you reach him.

“He has a girlfriend,” you sigh, taking a seat next to him. “Thomas, that was so awkward. It actually might’ve been the worst attempt to pickup a guy I have ever tried.”

“It couldn’t have been that bad. Sure, you looked a little nervous and you fidgeted, but unless you said something weird—“

“I literally stuttered! That’s embarrassing!” You exclaimed, covering your face in pure horror from the interaction. He laughed loudly, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“But you still did it! That takes courage,” he says in an attempt to comfort you.

“What about you? Did you find any women to pick up?” You quickly change the subject to him in hopes of distracting yourself.

He shakes his head, giving a halfhearted shrug. “Nah, didn’t really see anyone interesting. Let’s go find someone else, shall we?” He grins, standing up. You sigh, following after his lead in the park.

After talking to two more guys, you got one number. One outta three ain’t bad. Granted, you don’t know if you’ll text the guy that often since he seemed a little boring. You gained more confidence than you thought you would, and really you had Thomas to thank for that. He was your wingman, hyping you up and coaching you on what to say or do. And throughout your messy attempts, he was patient. It struck you how odd it was that he could go from so incredibly annoying to kind in one day.

“How about we call it a day?” You plead after he starts searching for someone else. He glances down at you, back to the crowd, then shrugs.

“Okay. Your call, sweetheart.” He says. You let out a sigh of relief. It was all starting to get overwhelming—your sweater was itching and your palms were sweaty and you really needed to pee. You were just ready to go home.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, checking his watch and seeing that it’s 12:30. The feeling of hunger that you’ve been pushing down bubbles up and your stomach rumbles. You perk up and eagerly nod.

“Yeah. There’s a cheap pizza spot not far from here if you want?” You offer, pointing in the vague direction of where Pizza Co was located. He nods, grinning and falling into step next to you as you start walking.

The walk was pleasant. It was a nice day, and conversation flowed surprisingly easy. You didn’t know you had so much in common with Thomas; he loved gardening and philosophy, as he quoted Aristotle on “a friend to all is a friend to none” when the topic of his dislike for Alexander Hamilton came up. He was also a huge science nerd, which you figured from being his lab partner in college. For a good five minutes, he yapped on about the Jovian-Plutonian Gravitational effect where Sir Patrick Moore discovered that Pluto and Jupiter would weaken Earth’s gravitational field at 9:47AM in 1976. In simpler terms: people would be able to float around and objects wouldn’t be affected by gravity for a solid minute.

“Well…did it work?” You asked, genuine curiosity sparked in your voice. A mischievous grin lit up on him and he chuckled.

“No. It was an April fools prank, but that didn’t stop people from calling in on the radio show to report that they felt it. Some say when they jumped at the perfect time, they floated across their backyard like balloons.” He explained. You couldn’t miss the passion that was in his eyes. The way he talked so excitedly about this phenomenon as if it were real, and the way he talked about other similar incidents like when the BBC claimed they discovered a colony of flying penguins.

He even showed you the video that went along with it, depicting penguins launching off the ground and flying to the Amazon rainforest and hanging with toucans!

“No way people believed this. You can literally see the editing when they fly.” You laugh as he puts his phone back in his pocket.

“Some did. Well, anyone stupid enough to believe penguins have wings big enough to propel their fat little bodies off the ground.” He beams.

Before you know it, you reach Pizza Co and he holds the door open for you. Once you order your greasy slice of pepperoni pizza, you pull out your wallet to pay, but Thomas stops you.

“I got it,” he smiles, handing a ten to the cashier and ordering another slice of pepperoni. You huff, wanting to protest but the cash was already out of his hands. He gives you a smirk and winks.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say after receiving your comically large pizza slice on a crappy brown paper plate.

“I wanted to. Relax, just enjoy the pizza,” he waves his slice around in front of your face, laughing before taking a bite.

You roll your eyes and eat your pizza, the blended flavors melting on your tongue. If heaven were a taste, this was it. That, or you’re just really hungry and anything would be good right now.

—

“Okay, how about this one. Chris, 27, he’s looking for new friends and someone to maybe cuddle with.” You cringe as you read the last line, then show Peggy a picture of him.

“Nah. Swipe,” she laughs, her nose scrunched up and you raise your eyebrows, swiping left to read the next profile.

You were currently at Peggy’s apartment that she shares with her boyfriend, who was out for a business trip. Her sisters were on the way since this was supposed to be a girls’ night, and you were counting on them to show up because they had all the booze.

After swiping left on most and right on a select few men, you got a match. Eli, 24, and three miles from you.

“He’s cute,” Peggy comments and you bite your bottom lip, typing out a message to him. You went back and forth with casual conversation, most of it boring. Something inside you didn’t want to look for other men today. You just didn’t feel like it, oddly enough. So you turned your phone off.

“Not interested in him or what?” Peggy gives you a confused look.

“Nah. I’m more interested in you,” you smirk, shooting her a playful wink. She cracks a grin and shakes her head softly.

“Glad you finally came to your senses. Let’s kiss.” She fake flirts, doing a kissy face and leans in. You laugh and push her away, standing up to get a glass of water.

The doorbell rings and she perks up, hopping to the door and swinging it open. “Angelica, Eliza! Come in, come in. Party’s just gettin’ started,” she smiles, opening the door wider for them to enter.

You greet them with a wide smile and brief hug before getting everything all set up. Movies, snacks, alcohol, and blankets. This was going to be the best rewatch of How to lose a guy in 10 days in history.

Right when they were at the scene where they’re in the bathroom and kiss, your phone buzzed. You ignored it, assuming it would just be your iCloud telling you to update your storage. Then it buzzed again. Okay, either iCloud really wants you to make some changes or someone is a double texter.

You sigh, flipping the phone over, going to silence your notifications but the name caught your eye. Thomas. What did he want? He knew you were at girls’ night and you told him not to bother you.

Thomas: do we have any rubbing alcohol and gauze

Thomas: pls respond

You: There’s rubbing alcohol in the bathroom cabinet

You: are you okay?

You furrowed your eyebrows, worry overtaking you and your ‘Mother Mode’ (as Peggy likes to call it) kicking in.

Peggy irritably told you to get off your phone or take it in the kitchen, to which you muttered an apology then silently stood up and paced to the island counter.

Thomas: yea it’s just a scratch

Thomas: is there any possible way you could bring home gauze when you get back?

You: I’ll stop by cvs

Another sigh escapes your lips, different from the one you heaved earlier. The other was frustrated, annoyed, and ready to tell off anyone who was double-texting you. This one was impatient, anxious, and confused. Saying it’s just a scratch wasn’t much help to ease your nerves. He could be seriously hurt and just not telling you—which was most likely because you don’t need gauze for a scratch.

“Who is that?” Angelica appeared behind you, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. “Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she smiles sheepishly, refilling her cup with the spiked punch Eliza made.

“Thomas was asking if we had rubbing alcohol and gauze,” you respond, tapping your fingers nervously against your thigh.

“Oh. Is he okay?” She paused, knitting her eyebrows together.

“I don’t know, he said it was a scratch but I don’t believe him. Should I head back? We don’t have any gauze and I told him I would pick some up on the way,” you ramble, not realizing that Eliza and Peggy had entered as well. You heard an ad for insurance playing in the background.

“What’s happening?” Peggy asks.

“Y/n is debating if she should go home right now since Thomas is hurt and needs gauze,” Angelica replied for you.

“Uh oh. What happened?” Eliza winces, crossing her arms across her chest as she leans against the counter.

“I don’t know—he didn’t tell me.”

“You seem worried, maybe it would be best if you go. The movie's almost over anyway, and we’ve all seen it before,” Eliza reasons. Her sisters nod along and murmur in agreement. You sigh, biting your lower lip. If you left now you would miss the rest of girls night and you weren’t sure you wanted to ditch them like that, but if Thomas was seriously injured you might.

Despite your distaste for Thomas, if he was hurt (or anyone for that matter) you would help. Especially if they came to you asking for help. So instead of dwelling on the past and your silly emotions, you sucked in your breath and nodded.

“Okay. Okay, yeah, we can always do this again, right?” You acquiesce, grabbing your tote bag from off the counter. The other girls smile and give you short hugs so you could leave quicker.

The moment the door shut behind you, they immediately started talking again.

“I forgot she was rooming with him.” Angelica blinked.

“I know, I need to make sure Alex didn’t get into a fight with Jefferson or something,” Eliza joked, texting her fiancé off to the side.

—

“I got the gauze, Thomas, where are you?” You call out in the eerily silent apartment. There’s some shuffling before his voice rings out.

“I’m in the bathroom,” he replies. Instantly you knew something was seriously off. His tone was different than his usual laid back demeanor.

You rushed over and found the door wide open. There were a few drops of blood littered on the floor, and when your eyes met the sink where he held his bleeding hand over, your stomach dropped.

He gave a pathetic, squirmish smile as you moved over to him.

“Jesus—what did you do?” You immediately move to examine his hand, removing the soaked cloth that he held to it.

“Well,” he starts, “I was getting a drink of water and accidentally dropped the glass. It cut me when I tried to clean it up.”

You glare up at him. “Thomas, did you use your bare hands to pick up shards of glass?”

He forms his lips into a thin, awkward line. A sheepish smile spreads across his face. “Guilty.”

“You fucking idiot.” You sneer, grabbing the gauze and unfoiling some. “I was worried about you. Wash off the blood and I’ll wrap and disinfect your hand,” you sigh, and he follows your instructions.

“‘M sorry love, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he muttered.

“It-it‘s fine. Wash your hands, Thomas.” You whispered.

There was a long moment of quiet, where the only sound between you two was the running water and occasional wince from Thomas. While he did that, you put some rubbing alcohol on a wash rag.

“Hold still,” you instruct, gently dabbing the wash rag on the cut. He hissed, instinctively pulling back but your harsh glare brought him right back. After, you apply some ointment to help it heal and then wrap it in gauze, gingerly touching his wrist to signal when to turn. More examination shows he has cuts on the tips of his fingers, too, but you’d worry about that in a second.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and look up at him. He was already staring at you, and if you had to guess he’s been looking at you the whole time. His eyes delicately scanned over your features.

“Thomas?”

“Hm?” Your voice seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, and he straightens up, glancing at his now bandaged hand. “Oh. Thank you.”

“Yeah. It’s fine just don’t—use your brain next time you break glass, okay?” Your breath hitched mid sentence when you realized how close you were to him, and you backed up, wiping your hands on a towel.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment more, watching you scramble out of the bathroom.

For the first time since moving in, Thomas had actually managed to leave you feeling flustered. And this time, he wasn’t even trying to.

*Warning important question (my friend asked)*

Hello Kitty pajamas girl or a goth femboy?

😭😭😭

Uhhhhh I’m gonna say hello kitty pajama girl (I have no idea what this trend is tbh so i don’t know what my decision says abt me😭)

Hey pookie 😊 when are you coming back ☹️☹️☹️

COME BACK THE KIDS MISS YOU

(Only when you feel better ofc!)

Hello children, currently I’m working on a Laurens fic but we’ll see how it goes. Thank y’all for your patience and support 🫶

Will you be making a pt 2 for high and dry ?

Yes it is in the works rn 🫶🫶