#workday learning

[workdaytrainingg]

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[bright-eyed]

i am sooo much better at my job than i was even 3 months ago good lord. I guess that's just what no longer being on the verge of a mental breakdown does for u...

[daforged]

god i fucking hate group work. tell me why i'm in a group who despite me CONSTANTLY pushing at them to move on because we only have 25 minutes for this stupid ass project decides to linger and hem and haw over bullshit we already have an answer for instead of trying to actually fucking finish what we've been assigned

[unravelingsofanarrator]

all I want to do is take my dog on walks, go to the yoga studio, lift weights, listen to good music, and drink tea.

[carsonian]

Decided to take a break from the fic I'm writing to do some graphic design. Been thinking about the "Star Spangled Man" theme, specifically the more jingoistic elements of its lyrics & how it feeds into the characteristics Steve's got vs what he builds on for the Cap mantle--real chicken & egg type inquiry. But anyway, this isn't me writing an essay. This is me relying on the "a picture paints a thousand words" gimmick to do the hard labour instead. Cheers 👍

[disdaidal]

So, I met my nurse today and she said I'm finally getting scheduled for the ADHD testing on Dec 18th—after all these years. Albeit she said that it may not change a thing, but it's good to test it anyway.

I also had a discussion with my teacher today about my problems and we went through some stuff, and I might feel a little bit more enlightened about some things, which will hopefully help me.

Still. I'm having trouble with planning some stuff at my workplace because the staff there simply doesn't have time, and my instructor is also a very busy person (plus she's fussy and impatient and a little upset/disappointed with me which is not making it any easier for me), so that is still giving me a lot of stress right now.

So, I don't know. On the other hand, one teacher says I'm doing a good job and that I shouldn't quit. Then again, this particular school and their style of teaching simply might not be the thing for me and I expressed that concern today as well. I need help getting through with some stuff and nobody has time for me, so it's obviously not good.

I also need to find another place to train soon and that workplace would have to be something where I wouldn't have to manage 15 things at the same time and well. Finding that could be a challenge, too.

But. I suppose we're going somewhere.

[onrainynights]

I'm about to be so annoying btw

[afairerplace]

Oh would that I were not an absolute moron in Python!

[exopelagic]

applied for a job!!!

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

On occasion I have been known to enjoy "soft life" "divine feminine" "high-value" content but I'm also a logistics manager by trade and disposition which is... the opposite of everything that whole idiocy is supposed to cater to and champion

[pandoratelenor]

Working 10-19 with around 1 hour commute home

(So i am away from home between circa 9-20)

Sure is a slog when i got an all freshly downloaded ready to play for first time dragon age: the veilguard at home!!

Make the workday go faster please

*shakes fist at the concept of work*

[stalkcd]

Longer threads must await unfortunately - I have some med-tech lectures to catch up so been listening to the recorded class. So, I am doing small things meanwhile so I can keep my main focus on lectures.

[jontheredrc]

Well, it's about that time again...and I think I'm afraid of sleep. I had an afternoon shift yesterday and I have a morning shift here today. I convinced myself that it would be easier and less risky to stay up all night between the two shifts. But the risk is from that thing I'm harping on so often, where I can't breathe in my sleep. And not just the obvious risk of, like, a severe health problem...even if I have a mild or partial apnea or whatever, that still makes my head and body ache, and it still makes my vision blurry, and sometimes those can still be severe enough that I have to call out. So now, instead of being relaxing and healing, sleep feels like a dangerous pastime, which it turns out is a fucked up way to feel about something so necessary as sleep. So yeah, I guess I really didn't need a mental health professional's help on figuring that one out...

Anyway, have a great day, everyone! Love you! This is it! Day five of five, and I get the next two days off! My ex-roommate comes over tonight, and...I dunno, I would like to stream Christmas NiGHTS to my friends at some point, maybe they'll have time... 👋💕

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (4) | Only Human

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Even with your growing community and a town slowly becoming filled with friendly faces, someone continues to rain on your parade. From the beginning most of the citizens are fine to do business with; with slurs uttered under their breath or a lack of manners when trying to complete simple transactions but none have been as routinely problematic as the one and only vixen–Margarine. 

“Well well out on a shopping trip? All by yourself? What a rarity.”

“Please get off my car, Margarine.”

“Aww~Make me.”

You wouldn’t realize Margarine is who she is until your fourth run-in with her, called out by one of her cronies. While the faces of her group tend to change from time to time, the Fox hybrid is a constant. Her laughter is as backward-sounding as her animal ancestors, constantly ringing out when you try to quietly go about your errands in town. At first, it starts with mere leering, laughing, and marveling at your existence from a distance. Saying:

“Oh look, a big-headed hairless mole-rat—oh wait. Even those hybrids have actual strength.”

Or

“Can you believe that thing got into our town? Probably blackmailed their way in because it felt ‘excluded’.”

Or 

“Look the human got a poor animal to do manual labor for them. Watch your necks everyone they might put a collar on you next.”

They’re words you don’t mind kinda. You can learn to ignore it but Margarine like many in town begins to realize that sitting back and watching just wasn’t enough. She is the first of her cronies to start with the small things. Egging your car, slashing your tires, cutting holes in the wooden boxes filled with produce you just bought; that’s all before she outright begins prodding at you.

“What are you looking away for human? Look at me when your better species talks to you!”

“Margarine, your nails! They’re digging into my cheeks–”

“Claws, honey! That’s what’s digging into your cheeks! Get it right, ape!”

It gets to a point that Margarine lays in bed at night laughing to herself as she replays the tearful expression on your human’s face. Playing with her tail as she goes through the workday as she updates her favored column in the Town’s Weekly. Which just so happens to be about the latest gossip in town which conveniently has been talking about you for the better part of three months. Now more than ever she’s getting the recognition she deserves and it just so happens to be by doing her new favorite thing—messing with you. But as the third month concludes some new obstacles arise. 

“Isn’t this a sight? Enslaving our neighbors are we? Looks like those human instincts are finally taking hold.”

“...Margarine please.”

“Please what? ‘Please don’t defend my fellow hybrids from your ‘oh so mighty’ reign.’ I don’t think so–”

“Marge.”

“....Miss Tiffany.”

“Surprised to see you out here. Shouldn’t you be getting coffee for the Chief?”

“I was on my way until I smelt something out of place. Just doing my bit for the community.”

“...I see. Well, the next time you decide to ‘do your bit for the community’ just know if you put a hand on their head around me I’ll tear your squirrelly hide with every bloodhound–guard dog–fox-tearin’ bone in my body. We clear young lady?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

She’s such a liar. Despite the other members of your newfound 'friend group' each giving separate and likely real threats against her abuse of their human. Despite feeling as though she’d pee her pants every time their predatorial gazes landed on her, she still couldn’t shake the desire to fall into her usual routine. She got away with it for a while, poking at you while she orchestrated something to keep those worrisome guardians away, to leave her to enjoy finding some new weakness to rant about in her column. Once again everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

“You’re going to have to…tone down this bias towards the unnamed…subject.”

“What?! Why?”

“The complaints we’ve received have doubled since the column first started. And these complaints…who’s giving them can’t be ignored.”

Who’s giving them? Surely that snobby cow and those dogs weren’t big enough…then who?

“So what? Have I lost the column or what?”

“Just…lean into those counterarguments you seem to have.”

“W-w-what!?” 

There was a heavy subtext that even Margarine had decided tried to ignore. With every harrowing tale, to save the face of the alias she assumed she always left something of a counterargument towards the end of every column. A typical ploy in writing to seem unbiased. That’s all it is….and yet as Margarine pouts and ponders going over her old columns, she realizes an interesting trend. Her counterarguments sound….incredibly endearing. 

For all the obvious weaknesses they have, it’s not that bad of a survival skill if someone finds it adorable.

Or

They cry far too easily, perhaps it’s another tactic that’s supposed to make you want to comfort them.

Or 

The way they shy away as their self-proclaimed guardians defend them, some might say is another tactic to get a predator's heart pumping erratically with the need to protect. But not me, never me.

It was her. And with an annoyed swag of her tail and the blood burning in her cheeks, she writes the totally in+sincere turnaround that gets attention on her column. While she didn’t think her pride would allow her to just ignore the anger she felt at your peaceful little existence, with your clawless little hands, and your clumsy little walk. She’d allow herself to be ‘learning’  in her column which seems to revitalize her popularity. But just because her alias is going to learn doesn’t mean she has to. She has no intention of stopping her role as the town bully.

“Haha getting comfortable are we, human?”

“Margarine what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Going to get first place at the contest tonight.”

“Awfully confident.”

“Yeah considering the competition I won’t have much to worry about.”

“There’s still 4 other contestants including me, I really don’t get—”

“I’m not going to let you get anywhere near that podium and as long as I do this, you’ll stay where you belong. At the bottom.”

“...We’ll see.”

She won’t dare write about how exciting it is to see the defiant look on your human face as your confidence grows. Or how easily you lock eyes with her in any given crowd, the challenge immediately there. It might be a fear response but in the end, it’s a bond not even those dogs or that cow or that snake could understand.

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM Margarine?  What do you hate about me so much that you just can’t leave me alone!?”

“Let’s see where do I start? Maybe it’s your voice, your stare or maybe it’s because you’re so disgustingly weak or maybe it’s the fact that you're a grubby colonizing self-righteous human who’s walking around my town like you own the place!”

“What are you insane?!”

She admits to herself, she might’ve taken it too far this time. The competition was an annual event in town. A little romp where everyone competed in a series of challenges to win the Mayor’s Golden Carrot. The golden vegetable does come with a couple of benefits but no one actually cares for those. It’s for the social advantage. The golden trophy that makes everyone in town look at you with respect and admirable envy. A chance for you to gain the community’s respect with the help of your canine neighbors, your new roommate, and your new friend. That was the hope as Mama Tiff successfully won the baking challenge, Eudora the fashion competition, and Stein– who somehow got the award for most fearsome wonder who voted him for that. All that was next was you. A small faceless competition for floral arrangements. 

You worked hard on this….for months you ordered the flowers and grew some yourself. Placing them on your self-made wire skeleton makes the amazing shape of a bunny on its haunches. It was going to be a work of art and with the mayor judging you would have had this in the bag. That is until you return to your tent from a bathroom break to see your flowers in tatters and the one standing above them is–

“Margarine!? How could you!?”

“I always knew you were a stinky fox I just didn’t think you were rotten too!”

“....This is especially despicable even for you.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU AND HANG YOUR TAIL ON MY WALL!”

She doesn’t care that in no uncertain terms they all threatened her life. It’s you. Glaring and screaming at her with a ferocity she’s never seen. You’re stabbing your finger into her chest and practically growling out all the hateful thoughts you’ve never expressed. People are staring. Others are whispering. Some of the children who are old enough are filming. 

“You—”

“NO! Shut up Margarine I’ve taken a lot from you and I’m sick of it! If you hate humans just say that but DON’T EVER go out of your way to interfere with my life again. Otherwise, I may revert back to ‘my savage ways’. But if I did it will only be because you made me!”

And for once her cheeks burn in embarrassment when it’s over. Her tail curling in around her as everyone continues to oggle but it’s not at the human stomping around the fair. It’s on her. Likely chatting about what she’s done and watching still as she scampers to the uncrowded space behind the stalls. Wringing her hands onto the fluffy end of her tail.

She battles with her feelings. Burning embarrassment and something else…something that makes her heart shrivel a little smile widely. As tears fall down she holds her head high already brainstorming how to take herself out of the event for her column. By tonight the whole town will be talking. 

“Why should I care what they say…or make me feel…they’re just a human!”

Rules | Kofi | Commissions

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @li-ravings @librarymouses @cooldonbutt @whoreforeverythingspice @ethereallyoccultazalea @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee amethysttigerfigurine @n-lol @ask-kokusu2 @greensunflowerjuna @simpforanimeboys @pocketfulofposies

[luveline]

i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common. 

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately. 

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.” 

“She won’t sit down.” 

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.” 

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?” 

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.” 

“Then why doesn’t she stop?” 

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.” 

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly. 

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better. 

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.” 

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says. 

“So?” Hotch prods gently. 

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the…” 

“The hates you one?” he offers. 

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.” 

“Just hormones, Spence.” 

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around. 

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley. 

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults). 

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty. 

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in. 

“Just the essentials.” 

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though. 

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.” 

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?” 

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.” 

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.” 

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.” 

“That works?” 

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently. 

“I guess I worry too much.” 

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.” 

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy. 

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time. 

He finishes his paperwork a little while after. 

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying. 

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?” 

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.” 

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully. 

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.” 

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice. 

[velmalav]

Northern Downpour - Frank Langdon

Northern Downpour – f.l.

masterlist - open to requests!

synopsis: You start having an affair with Dr. Langdon, something purely need driven, or at least that’s what you tell yourselves.

warnings: SMUT 18+, cheating!frank, swearing, 3400+ words

It started on a rainy Tuesday evening.

You’d been in a shitty mood all day. You and your husband, Jake, had had a massive blow-up first thing in the morning. The words exchanged had been rushed and hurtful and in the midst of you hurrying to get ready for your shift in the ER. Words that echoed, rattled you even during the busiest hours of your workday.

There had been a lot of tension in your marriage for months, always stemming from the same issue. Your work. It took a toll, the long hours, and the constant tragedies you absorbed daily didn’t exactly help your mood when you were home. But you’d been trying, really trying, so it was like a punch in the gut when he brought it up again in a way that diminished all of the hard work you were doing. Not only that, but Jake wasn’t exactly the most perceptive guy, especially when it came to your feelings. In the throes of all of your conjoined problems, he’d never once noticed how unhappy you were with him.

You’d never been one to dwell on your own needs and wants; you simply accepted the hard truth that asking for what you want doesn’t make it so. Especially with him. A fact you learned in the early stages of your relationship, and now looking back, wished you’d advocated for yourself more. Because it’s always his needs and what he wants, never a lingering consideration for you. The resentment you harbored for him always took a backseat because deep down, you felt it was silly. Pathetic.

You and Jake hadn’t had consistent sex, or good sex, since the work issues really started kicking off. What started as a simple turn away in bed during a fight escalated into fragility, hesitancy to touch even when you weren’t arguing. You were always the one to try and start something in the bedroom, and as the months progressed, the more he pulled away. Almost like a punishment. And when he did accept your advances, he put nothing into it. No foreplay, no talking, just fifteen minutes in the dark that left you unsatisfied.

The weight of it all hit you in the parking garage after your shift with the realization that you’d have to return to it. Jake hadn’t sent a single text all day, a sign that he had no intention of speaking to you when you arrived home. You sat there, the engine on, staring at the concrete wall through the windshield wondering how many bones you could break if you hit it hard enough.

You’d been contemplating a strong seven or eight when a knuckle tapped on your window. You looked up to see Langdon, your fellow senior resident, standing there with his hand still up in the knocking motion. You rolled down your window.

“Didn’t get enough of me for the day?” you said, the twinge of banter you usually have in your tone defeated to an exhausted, strained one.

He huffed a laugh, resting his arm on the window ledge. “No comment on that,” he quipped back, also sounding just as tired. And tense. “My, uh, car won’t start. Think you could give me a ride home?”

You nodded immediately. The idea of having a little extra time before you had to face Jake is exactly what you need. Langdon threw his bag in the backseat before jogging around to the passenger side. He settled in, leaned back with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

“Thanks.”

“Trust me, it’s not a problem,” you replied, turning around to back out of the spot. “Just put your address into my phone.”

“Can you open it for me?” Langdon held the phone towards you.

You waved him off, “It’s 0707, maps is in the top right corner.”

He put the code in quickly. Turned his head, eyes full of curiosity. “Any reason you picked that one?”

You gripped the steering wheel and bit down the urge to roll your eyes at his question. “It’s me and Jake’s anniversary.”

In your peripheral vision, you caught Langdon’s expression. Confused, even more curious. Clearly, you weren’t doing a good job at hiding your bubbling aggravation towards your husband. But thankfully, he didn’t say anything, just finished typing the address in and put your phone back on the dash.

Both of you sat in silence for most of the drive, the only sounds the muffled radio and the rain as it pattered on the windows. You’ve never been close at work, but in that moment you were really hoping he’d start talking. Just to keep your mind off of it all. The longer you stayed in your own thoughts, the more the anxiety grew.

“How’re your kids?” you blurted out when the anxiety got to be too much. Knuckles flushed at the insane grip you had on the wheel.

Langdon whipped his head toward you, whatever reverie he was in seeming hard to shake off. You could’ve sworn he seemed just as volatile in the way he fidgeted with the bracelet on his wrist and the tightness in his jaw.

“Great,” he replied, blank and unassuming. “Tanner made the baseball team, so that’s good.”

“That is good. Good for him.”

A lot of ‘good’ being used by two people who seemed much of the opposite. You side-eyed him when he turned back to the passenger window. There was definitely something off about him, and your question appeared to have made it worse.

“How’s Jake, by the way?” he suddenly asked, voice distant and faraway in his thoughts.

“Fine,” you said all-too-quickly. Holy shit am I bad at pretending tonight. Get it together.

When you didn’t elaborate, Langdon turned back to you with the same curious look he had before. “That’s it?”

“Yep.”

Still facing you, he leaned towards the passenger window, as if sizing you up. Raised eyebrows, parted lips. “Okay,” he finally said. “If you say so.”

“As if you’d care anyway,” you muttered under your breath, not as a dig, but a rogue thought that popped out of your mouth subconsciously. Langdon’s brows reached new heights, shocked by your sudden aggression. “No offense, we just don’t talk about that kind of stuff with each other.”

He nodded in understanding, face neutral again. “True. None taken.” Again, he turned away, resumed fiddling with the bracelet. “But if you wanted to talk about it, I’d listen.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s whatever. Better if I don’t right now anyway.”

It’s your turn to be confused when you arrived at his destination. It’s a ballpark, stocked with two sets of bleachers and dugouts and a small baseball diamond. It must be where his son plays.

“Why did you want to be dropped off here?”

Langdon faced in front of him and stared out into the field, eyes hollow, drained. He sighed in the way you do after an especially rough night with Jake.

“I don’t live far from here,” he stated plainly in the dark, eyes transfixed on the rain now coming down in sheets.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I don’t want to go home, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. His eyebags were more pronounced, veins protruding from his neck like he was holding a mountain of baggage back. Is this what I look like?

“That’s okay,” you murmured softly, flickering your stare to the rain, too. “But if you ever want to talk about it, I’d listen.”

Langdon snorted; an empty smile appeared on his face. You smiled, too, but you didn’t need a mirror to know it didn’t reach your eyes either. Hypnotized now by the worsening weather, you both stayed like that for a long time. Just staring forward, trying to let your afflictions wash away with the rain. It was refreshing to have someone next to you, just being there, not feeling like they have to say anything to comfort or make you feel like you have to do the same.

“What’re you gonna to do about your car?” you suddenly asked. Breaking the barrier between you and the rest of the world.

He shrugged, stifling a laugh at your random question. “Don’t know. Thought maybe I’d set up camp in the parking garage for a while or something.”

“Can I join?”

You both laughed, genuine ones at that. Spent the next hour dreaming up intangible scenarios to avoid the shitty parts of your life. Planning how you’d both fit in a small four-door Toyota Camry, how efficient it would be to get to work, how you’d hold a big barbeque after a rough shift with the new grill Langdon’s brother-in-law got him for his birthday. For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe. And you could tell he felt the same.

It didn’t last as long as you’d hoped. Once the laughs had died down, they were replaced with the inevitably of your responsibilities. Your respective families would be wondering where you were soon. The realization was like a knife, quick and fast, jumpstarting your anxiety again. You glanced over at Langdon to see he was already staring at you, eyes scouring, as if trying to read your thoughts.

“My husband hates my job,” you uttered abruptly. Your gaze flickered to your lap. “And I think he hates me, too.”

“Doubt that. Well, the second part at least,” Langdon said, hard eyes softening. There was a vulnerability in him after he said that. Shoulders slumped, eyebrows sloping downward. “Do you hate him?”

His tone was nonchalant, but the question was a boulder. “I-…I don’t know.”

You’d considered how you were feeling about him, but not nearly enough to have really fleshed it out. All of your focus had been on Jake, and how we was feeling, and how you needed to fix things.

“If it’s any consolation, my marriage isn’t doing any better,” Langdon muttered, tone now filled to the brim with bitterness.

“It isn’t,” you whispered, gnawing at your cheek.

“It feels pathetic sometimes,” he continued on as if you’d not said anything at all. “She’s supportive, she’s there, but I just—”

His sentence ends strangled, unable to fully emerge. You couldn’t tell if it was because he thought he’d said too much or because it was just too difficult to admit out loud. Probably both. Something about the rigidity in his words, in his body language, feels familiar. You’d had the same tautness anytime you thought about the conversation you wanted to have with Jake about your intimacies.

“Feel like you’re asking for too much?” you finished for him, posing it as more of a guess.

Langdon snapped his eyes to yours, a quiet understanding between you. He slowly nodded, as if he was processing something. Then he spoke words that went straight to your chest, an undirected stab.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to ask her to just…want me.”

Your face fell, again unable to hide the obvious emotion etched on your face. The car felt like a cage all of a sudden, almost as if you’d said the words yourself. Not sure how to respond, you just nodded, hoping your eyes showed the cognizance you failed to vocalize.

Langdon took a beat to digest your acknowledgement before he pushed the car door open and fled out into the rain. You watched him, pitiful tears clinging to your lashes as you felt sorry for yourself. And him.

He stood with his hands in his jacket pockets in the glow of the headlights, his back to you. You could see how slick his hair already was from the storm, strands blowing in the harsh winds. This was the opposite of how you’d known him; he’d never seemed the angsty type, just a normal resident with a bad mouth and an attention-deficient disorder. And seeing him like this, it changed the way you saw him. Less shallow, and pitifully, more attractive.

Which is part of the reason you also stepped out of the car, slammed the door, and approached him with absolutely no hesitation. He turned at your presence seconds before you lassoed a hand to the back of his neck and jerked his mouth onto yours.

It was rash, dangerous, ethically just fucking wrong. You weren’t thinking about anything but what it would feel like to have someone crave you. You weren’t asking for someone to want you; you were demanding it.

Langdon was surprised, body stuttering, but he didn’t miss a beat. His wet hands grasped your back like a lifeline, lips parting to take a single breath only to slam back onto yours. Your other hand trickled its way into his hair, balling up a section to yank towards you. You hadn’t felt this turned on in a long time, unable to stop yourself from moaning directly into his mouth as his teeth ground into your bottom lip.

“Backseat,” he fumbled out breathlessly. He kept his hands on you wherever he could as you both booked it to the car, haphazardly discarding your soaked jackets behind the seats.

You fell into the back seat first, back against the opposite door, legs stretched out as he climbed in between them. The undressing was vicious, carnal, fingers tearing at the fabric of your clothes. Once you were both just in your underwear, Langdon gripped your hair, yanking down so your head thudded against the seat before reconnecting your lips. His other hand roamed down the column of your throat as if to feel your unsteady breaths.

You parted your lips to bring his tongue to yours, devouring every inch of his mouth like you’d never taste it again. And maybe you wouldn’t. Then you felt something spongy slide onto your tongue, eyes flashing open at the spearmint flavor.

“Didn’t have time to spit it out,” Langdon said, hovering just above you, rain droplets bleeding onto your cheeks. You responded by pulling him in again, tongue exchanging the gum back to him, causing him to let out an aroused groan.

Your hands scoured his back, fighting the urge to scratch into the skin. He lifted your leg to wrap around his back, the other following suit. He pulled back to start licking at the column of your throat, sucking softly to garner a moan from you.

“Can’t leave marks,” you rasped out, but your head fell back against the seat anyway. Langdon hummed in agreement then kissed lower until his lips enveloped your left nipple. The silver nipple ring you had on danced between his tongue, causing you to indent your nails into his shoulder blade and release a loud moan.

“Fuck, sorry,” you gasped out at the realization you’d left crescent moons in his skin.

“If I could have you the way I want, I’d let you,” he responded in the midst of sucking, and as fucked up as it is, it only made you wetter.

As his teeth gnashed at your nipple, one of his hands travelled lower until it found your panties, finger stalled above the fabric, right where you need him. He drew circles on your clit, and though it wasn’t direct contact, your hips jutted forward for him without thought. You could feel his growing smile on your nipple at your reaction.

“Frank, I need you. Now.” you demanded, despite the brittleness of your voice. Langdon sprang into action, ripped open a condom he found in the center console, and shimmied out of his boxers. You helped him put it on when you noticed how shaky his hands were and pushed your damp panties to the side.

Then he’s lined himself up, towering over you with beads of rain or sweat dripping onto your heated skin. You wrapped your hands around the base of him, wanting to feel him bottom out inside you.

“Holy shit,” Frank stammered as his hips meet yours, the arm that held him up faltering. You exhaled at the feeling, all of the worries and frustration from earlier leaking out of your body like a balloon. It’s wrong – definitely wrong, but it feels so good. “God, you’re so wet.”

He started to thrust, hard, right out of the gate. You pushed yourself up on your elbows and gripped the back of his neck. Your foreheads were touching, but you both closed your eyes, chasing after the high and avoiding all of the guilt that comes with it.

Strings of curse words leapt between you, you rocked into him to quicken his pace and kneaded circles on your clit. Then you dared to open your eyes, feeling Langdon’s hot spearmint breath fanning your face. Eyes shut, his lips were parted in ecstasy, neck thrust up to expose his throat. There’s nothing else in the world but you two in that moment, just you, him, and the blissful feeling of him thrusting in and out. You dipped down, glistening lips meeting his throat, teeth grazing there.

Langdon moaned in response, and his eyes flashed open. You leaned back up to level yourself to him, and without words, opened your mouth.

His pace faltered at your ask and his eyes were swimming as if intoxicated by you. He wrapped his mouth around yours, tongue gliding out to pass the gum. You accepted it immediately, leave the kiss with a pop and stared right into his defenseless eyes.

It was completely accidental, or at least you convince yourself of it, that right in the moment after you pass the gum, Langdon reached his high, tumbling forward with a groan. All he managed to choke out was a slurred, “fuck, I’m—” before it happened. He had you pinned to the seat, faces inches apart, thrusting through his orgasm. The recognition of what you’d just done sent you tumbling over the edge, your hips jutted into his with an unholy string of moans.

Only a minute passed of you both regaining your composure before reality set in. Langdon pulled himself upright into the opposite seat, unable to meet your eyes as he pulled the condom off and tossed it out the window. You remained lying there, eyes transfixed at the ceiling.

What the fuck have we done?

The air was thick and heavy when you both redressed. The car being so small, it was difficult to do so without brushing against one another, every movement another shocking reminder of the betrayal. You silently passed him a brush from your work bag without looking at him. He took it and began to cover his tracks.

“We fucked up,” you state with a voice overflowing with dread.

Langdon was quiet for a long time. You finally looked over to see him gripping the brush with white knuckles.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “We did.”

Silence returned, stifling the conversation but igniting all the worries you had been trying to escape. The worst part was even in the thoughts of regret and self-pity and excuses, deep down it felt like a façade. Like that’s what you were supposed to feel. Because as awful as what you’d done was, you’d felt wanted for just a few minutes. And given the option to take it back, you wouldn’t.

“I regret it, but I…I don’t,” you found yourself saying, not necessarily to him, but just to say it. To analyze if this was real, if you truly felt that way.

Langdon’s head turned; guilty eyes fastened to yours. He leaned towards you, a palm reaching to wipe off the rain splattered to the side of your face. A simple gesture, not something you’d usually dwell on, but at this moment, it’s an unspoken agreement. He wanted it, too, and in the dark parts of him he doesn’t let anyone else access, he still did.

You both found a way to curb the need you’d been too scared to ask for, and though it wasn’t a sensible way to get it, it was now out there as an option. And, as much as you hated to admit it, an easier one.

So with a newfound arrangement, a deep-seeded, unspoken one, you drove him home. And then you went back to your turbulent home, your turbulent husband, and went to bed alone.

Despite every fiber in your being screaming that it was all wrong, you went to sleep knowing you’d be giving Langdon rides home for as long as he needed them.