#khadijah:thread

she knows that she shouldn’t come here– that she has no right to turn them into a temporary band aid for a relationship that she knew was choking her. she hates that it’s so easy with them– that all it takes is their hands on her waist, mouth on her neck–and everything stops hurting. but she still finds herself on their doorstep– tear stained cheeks and a frown on her lips. when they open the door– the petite brunette crosses the space between them and wraps her arms around their waist holding on tight. “don’t wanna talk about it.”

She’s feeling impatient. she hate how adele get’s under her skin and spurs her into decisions she wouldn’t normally make (like driving across town to her not quite ex girlfriends house). It’s difficult to regret it when adele..is well...adele. witty, overwhelmed and startingly beautiful.Khadijah’s missed her-- missed knowing her-- and even though the decision to walk away was a mishmash of her insecurity and poor communication, the second the blonde opens the door--she feels a searing regret. She doesn’t even bother to shrug off the leather jacket she’s wearing, or get rid of the cute little dress--and heeled boots before she’s closing the space between the blonde . All she wants is to kiss her. Khadijah’s hand wraps around Adele’s bare waist and presses a soft kiss to her lips. 

It’s familiar. It’s sweet. It’s achingly a bit too much like home. (one she no longer lives in) 

“so-- this year--do you think i should have a halloween party--- or a vacation to celebrate my slow--and steady journey towards a surgeon’s knife? Hmm?” 

khadijah is comfortable.  her lean form is stretched out across their bed, writing notes in the margins of a screenplay-- looking every bit like she belonged there.  she’s dressed in nothing but stray rays of sunlight that manage to break through the half drawn curtains. for a moment their movement distracts her and she looks up, watching them as they get dressed. she pouts slightly, letting the script fall to the way side. her stomach is in knots-- because this thing they have-- felt increasingly less casual every single day and she’s reminded of it-- when they leave.  

“you know-- you could just-- not go to work. stay home... eat me out in the kitchen”

he’s been away too long.

that’s why she’s half dressed and in his bed when he comes home. she let’s herself in-- and changes into a black corset and thigh high stockings. she lights candles and dims the lights-- sets the scene for a very particular kind of welcome back and tries to subdue poirot for the night. the dog--sensing it’s mistress was occupied--snuck off to another section of the house. when he opens the door she’s propped up against the sheets with her legs crossed and a large smile on her lips.