#Sleeping sheep (Shops closed)

[avoidthings]

kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot. 

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again. 

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten. 

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something. 

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier. 

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint. 

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight. 

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders. 

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight. 

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber. 

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.” 

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks. 

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth. 

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said. 

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly. 

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway. 

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips. 

“Open.” 

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest. 

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late. 

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view. 

“Terry--” 

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart. 

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh. 

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin. 

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties. 

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered. 

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long. 

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you. 

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth. 

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals. 

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh. 

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him. 

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal. 

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.” 

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy. 

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle. 

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display. 

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon. 

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. He promptly grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brush on that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax. 

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping at granite behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you. 

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and my God what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth gritted at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar. 

“‘Gonna cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen. 

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?” 

Ice cream.

--

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won. 

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

[hope-drunk]

HARVEST MOON

| a year ago, abby left you suddenly after a month long love affair. now she's back to convince you she's changed.

| cw: me writing southern accents and it's bad, talk of father death, jerry anderson is homophobic, talk of food, reader showers three times in this who knows why, f!reader, oral & fingering (r!recieving), petnames, umm that's it but like abandonment issues i guess? abby like dips hard LOL

| wc: 3.8k

The mugginess hasn’t let up in recent days, causing your hair to look a mess, and you to have a strong urge to be naked all the time. Getting comfortable in your bed was a pain. The sheets were too hot; the pillow pushing your sticky hair onto the back of your neck. You don’t think you’ve gotten a good night's sleep in ages. The fans in your room weren’t doing much; nothing could battle this southern heat.

You were already awake before your alarm went off at 6 A.M. You quickly silence the screeching sound of the clock and roll out of bed, throwing on a loose tank top that lays on your floor. You’re instantly annoyed by the fabric but try to push it off. You stroll into your kitchen, opening the fridge and standing there for a few seconds to absorb the cold air that blows out. You grab some scraps of breakfast and eat quickly, already running a tad behind because the heat is making you move slower. 

You go to the bathroom and take off the flimsy tank top and your panties. You step in immediately and let the cold water wash over you. Your shower goes faster than you wanted it to, but you step out and dry off. You don’t bother to dry your hair, hoping that the dampness might keep you cooled off for a little bit longer. You get dressed in your usual attire, a self cut tank top made out of an old t-shirt and jean shorts.

You walk to the field behind your house, first checking on the chickens, collecting the eggs the hens dropped and making sure they have food. Then you moved to the sheep, replacing their water and giving them their feed. 

After you think the animals are situated, you begin your walk into town. It’s summer days like these where you wish you owned a car, or even a bike. But in a town this small, it always seemed useless. Everything was a five minute walk. The only thing that was further than five minutes was the gas station that sat on the edge of town near the highway, and that was only about a ten minute walk. Your journey to the grocery store feels like it takes eons. But when you open the door and the air conditioning blasts you, you think you see heaven.

“Hot one, huh?” The store clerk says to you in response to your sigh of relief.

“Tell me about it,” you say, smiling politely and walking to grab a basket.

You take your time with your shopping, swinging the green basket against your leg over and over while you scan the aisles. You spend extra long in the freezer section, and decide to treat yourself to some popsicles, you put them in the basket and let the door close by itself. You don’t notice the pair of strong arms that are crossed by the door. 

You turn away to go get your next item, “Not even gonna say hello?”

Your head whips around before your body does. You gulp at the realization of who it is.

“Popsicles, huh,” she nods to herself, grabbing the box out of your basket. “Didn’t know you liked these ones, darlin’.”

You snatch them out of her hand and throw them back into the green plastic, “You don’t know anythin’ about me, Abby.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Abby’s voice drips like southern honey, but it reminds you of gasoline. One spark from you and the town would be on fire. 

You don’t answer her, just go back to your shopping. You scan the shelves for the next thing on your list. You can see her out of the corner of your eye still following you around, but you don’t pay her any mind. It’s honestly a shame, because you were gonna spend your sweet time in the air conditioned store, and now you can’t, because Abby decided to show up.

You remember now that it was exactly a year ago today that she showed up in town before leaving a month later with no warning. She had seemed so perfect, so normal, you’d never felt like that before with anyone. You let her stay in your house. She was planning on just passing through, staying the night at the motel for the festivities then going on her way, but she told you you changed her mind. Abby told you that she wanted to stay and be with you. What a load of bullshit. 

You finish your shopping, continuing to ignore Abby as she trails behind you, in her stupid t-shirt, with her stupid muscles, and her ridiculous boots. 

“This all for y’then?” The cashier asks.

“That’ll do it.” You reply, pulling out the cash you’re using to pay. 

You take your bags and thank him, rushing towards the doors and pushing one of them open with your back. 

Abby stops at the clerk to get her brand of cigarettes; running out behind you after she pays with a crinkled up ten dollar bill.

“Hey! What’s the rush?” She says, rushing up to you. She smacks the pack of cigarettes on her palm before opening it and popping one into her mouth; swiftly lighting it with a blue lighter.

“Don’t wanna see you, Abs. Thought you would be able to figure that out.” You say, silently hoping that that will be enough for her and that she’ll turn around and never come back to your town. But Abby, ever so stubborn, continues walking next to you.

“What? You still mad about last summer? Told you I had to go.”

You scoff at her. “Yeah, then you also told me you were never gonna leave me. Wanted to help raise my chickens and sheeps. Live in my house with me. Start a life here. Look, I don’t have time for this; too goddamn hot to deal with your bullshit.”

She nods her head; takes a long drag of the almost gone cigarette. “‘Least let me carry your bags?”

That you oblige to, handing over the heavy plastic bags that you swear were getting sticky from the heat. You just wanted to be home, with your fans, and your animals; without Abby. You didn’t even want her to see the inside of your house. You didn’t want her to be in the four walls of your bedroom again; it would be painful for you. To see her in your house again, where she made you all those promises. It would be painful because now you know that all you were to her was a quick fuck and a free place to stay.

Your house comes into view and you pause in the road, motioning your hands so she’ll give you your bags back. She does reluctantly, and you can’t help but notice the droplet of sweat dripping down her large muscles. You huff away the memories, taking the bags back and walking up to your front door.

“Not even gonna invite me in? No lemonade for my hard work?” Abby asks, trying to make light of the situation.

“I seriously never want to see your face again, Abigail.” With that you open your door, slinking in and closing it behind you.

You press your back to the door once you’re inside; willing yourself not to cry about her. You’ve done enough of that; swear you could fill an ocean with your tears. You know that you shouldn’t get so worked up over something that lasted a month, but it was the first real thing you’ve ever had. It’s not like there were any other women who liked women around here, so when Abby rolled in and made you all those promises, you thought you had actually found something. You thought you would be able to start a life with her and do all the things you’ve dreamed about doing since you were a little girl. Then, she was up and gone, and you were left alone again.

It took you a while to get used to your solitude again, and you were doing a damn good job at it now. Sometimes you wonder if it was even Abby you missed, or if you just missed having someone to do everything with. You try to stop thinking about it, forcing your body off the door and into the kitchen. You slowly put all the groceries away, scared that when you finish your mind will wander. 

You do pretty good for the rest of the day. You keep yourself entertained and busy, tending to your animals and reading a book. You only think about Abby a few times, but are able to brush it off. You think you’ve got it under control; you think that her little visit didn’t affect you. Once it hits around 7 P.M. you huddle the animals into their respective cages and barns. You go back inside and take another quick cold shower. It’s hard work herding those animals, and even though the sun is getting lower, it’s not getting any less humid. You dry off and put on fresh clothes, walking out into your kitchen to prepare your dinner. 

What you don’t expect to hear is a knock at your door. You silently question it before waking up to the door swinging it open; prepared to tell off some church people who just won’t stop trying. But there she stands. Abby has a bouquet of assorted carnations and daisies, a few roses thrown into there. You cross your arms, waiting for her to speak.

“Will you please let me explain? Please? Just a few minutes and you can decide if you want me to really go or not.”

“I’m timing you.” You say, walking back into your house and sitting down on your couch.

Abby moves into your living room. She’s changed from what she wore at the store. She now has on jeans and a black cut off tank top and her same signature braid.

“I’m gonna try not to stumble over my words– been preparing for this. I loved being here with you, first of all. Leaving you was never because of you. My dad got real sick, the type where you go and say goodbye. He had been in and out of the ICU around that time, but, when I got that phone call, swear I could feel it in my bones that that was it.”

You straighten out your back. You knew a little bit about Abby’s dad. Mostly that they were very close until she came out to him.

“And I didn’t know how to tell you. Didn’t know how to tell anyone. I wish I could’ve ignored it and stayed with you but I just–” she shakes her head to herself.

“He’s your dad.”

“Yeah, he was my dad.”

The past tense makes you let out a sigh, suddenly your heart breaks for the girl all over again. You will your brain to remember what she did. You feel bad that she lost her dad, but she could’ve communicated.

“I’m sorry, Abby. But, you still had no right to leave me like you did.”

“I know, I know. I got scared. I knew if I stayed with you that– he wouldn’t see me. I could have handled it better. I had every intention of coming back sooner than now, but I felt like you wouldn’t wanna see me.”

“You’ve got that right.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know how this is supposed to work. All I know is that everything I told you is true. I miss living here. I hate running around the country anymore. I just wanna be here with you. Herd your fucking sheep and collect the eggs. Have you make me that killer omelet that I love. I miss you, all of you. Didn’t know what I wanted a year ago, but I do know. I’d like to be with you, if you’d have me.”

You try to process all that she’s saying; try to take in the massive amount of information she’s dumped into your hands. You just stare past her, straight at the wall. Do you want her to come back? You did– a few days ago when you were crying about being lonely. You don’t want to forgive her this easily though. What? A few words and an explanation and she’s just allowed in your house again? Hell no, there’s no way in hell that she can just creep back in here. What if she leaves again? Are you gonna embarrass yourself like that all over again?

“Abby…” you trail off, unsure of what to actually say to her.

“I know. I don’t want to be the victim here, and I’m sorry if I’m making it seem that way. I just want you to know that, it really, really, wasn’t your fault.”

“Thanks for that, cowboy.” She smiles at the nickname, you do too. Her long history of speedrunning through small towns made you come up with it. “Alright, well, you can stay for dinner. But, I have the right to kick you out at any time.”

“Yes ma’am,” she says. 

You start to make her favorite meal from you with ingredients you bought today. She keeps you entertained, staying out of your way but talking your ear off. It feels normal; it feels like old times. You can’t help but let her ease her way back into your space. She takes off her boots, undoes her braid and puts it up into a bun. You ask her to get you something and she knows exactly where it is. It feels too simple. Honestly, it feels like a dream. You feel like you’re floating through this strange reality where Abby never left and you’ve kept living in this home ever since she showed up this time last year.

You eat dinner at the table in the spots you always sat in. Continuing the laughter and the fun. You don’t even mind the heat anymore. You don’t care about anything other than Abby’s gray eyes staring back into yours. You get shy under her gaze all over again. When you’re both done, you can’t get up from the table, you get too invested in your conversation and neither of you want to disrupt it. You wish you could’ve kept your stoic face on, but Abby was something else. She always has been. She’s the only one who’s ever made you feel truly comfortable with yourself, in this town. Finally, you get up and take the plate from in front of her, moving it to the sink.

“That’s not what happened, and you know it.” Abby practically yells.

“I mean, I watched you fall in the sheep shit myself. Y’trying to gaslight me, Anderson?”

“I’m not saying I didn’t fall in the shit. I’m saying that what you’re saying led me to the sheep shit is wrong. I wasn’t looking at your ass and then tripped. I was– looking at the sign on top of the barn.”

“Well, your eyes were awfully low to be looking at the top of the barn.” You shrug your shoulders with a small giggle.

Abby waves her hand in the air, a small blush on her face from the memory of the second time she came to your house. 

“I missed you a lot, y’know.” Abby says, mostly under her breath.

When you look at her, she’s looking up at you through her eyelashes. Her chest rising and falling steadily. She sits with her legs slightly spread and her elbows on her thighs. Those strong fucking thighs. You thought you could get along with her as friends; you thought that’s what she wanted– to be friends now. 

You look away from her so you don’t give in. “Abby, I don’t know if I can.” 

“I’m here. I’m here again; it’ll be good, like it was before.”

“That’s what you said before you left. ‘I’m here for you. Never gonna leave you, sweetheart. You’ll never be alone again.’ Then I was. I was the loneliest I’d ever been. I don’t blame you for leaving, Abby. But I can’t take it if you leave again.”

Abby gets up from the table and walks over to you. She towers over you, grabbing your face between her hands and forcing you to look at her. “Not gonna leave you. Ever. I learned my fucking lesson. Feel like I need you to breathe. Like my chest was tight the entire time I was out of this goddamn town. Swear, the second I pulled in, I felt my lungs fill up for the first time in a fucking year. Please, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let y’down again.”

Her chest is moving more rapidly now. It’s hard to look in her eyes. She hasn’t taken hers off of you. “I swear.”

You push your lips up so they reach hers; she sighs into the kiss, hastily taking her hands away from your face and wrapping them around your body. You push her back away from the kitchen and towards the bedroom. She doesn't break the kiss once as she walks backwards, avoiding any and all furniture; like she’s always known where everything is. In a way she has, but it’s still impressive. A whole fucking year without her in your house and she still moves swiftly around the furniture towards your bedroom. She moves like it’s built in her bones; like she’s always meant to be here.

You enter the bedroom and she breaks away only to shove your discarded clothes that lay on your bed onto the floor. You rip your shirt off in the meantime, you were going to take off your shorts too, but Abby is back on you in a second. Kissing everywhere; licking everywhere. You don’t think your heart has ever beat faster. It’s scary how well she knows you. Just like the house, she still has every part of your body memorized. She still knows the spot below your collarbones that makes your hips buck. She knows how much rubbing the outside of your thigh while she kisses you turns you on. She knows that you need the anticipation built before you go straight into fucking. Abby knows you. 

She slides down your stomach, mouthing at the skin there, you push her head down, trying to get her to take the hint that you haven’t been laid in a year and you’re worked up enough. She scoffs into you and continues kissing you. A whine escapes your mouth, and she finally moves to where you need her. You lift your hips up while she removes your shorts and panties.

She starts to rub tight circles onto your clit, eyes connected to your face; waiting for you to look back at her. You don’t. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to overthink the situation you’ve found yourself in. With every circle on your clit your head grows fuzzier, making this feel more and more like a dream.

“Not gonna leave you.” Abby says, like she can read your mind. “Never leaving your side again. You’re gonna be fucking sick of me, angel.”

You moan; open your eyes to take her all in. All you can manage is a nod. Abby growls and takes away her hand. You go to gasp, but in seconds she’s connected her tongue to your clit. You moan now, a sound deep from your chest that blossoms like a flower fed fertilizer. You forgot how good Abby was at this. The good memories pushed to the back of your mind. You’ve only been able to focus on her leaving for so long. The only thing you think about is waking up to that empty bed. 

She grunts into your cunt, “Missed how you fucking taste. S’goddamn sweet, princess.”

She’s here now, you remind yourself. She’s here forever. You’re sure the doubt will creep in at some point. You’re sure you’ll be scared to sleep next to her for a while. But right now, this is all that matters; her tongue drawing intricate shapes into you. You push your hand on top of her head.

“Don’t leave me,” you pant out.

Abby removes her mouth and pushes two thick fingers into you, forcing your back to arch off the bed. She moves up to your face, “Y’forget how to listen, doll? Gotta train you t’be my good girl again, huh? I ain’t leaving, never again. Got that?” 

You forgot how bad her accent gets when she’s turned on. 

“Answer me, tell me I’m gettin’ through that thick skull of yours.”

“Yes, Abby. I understand.”

“There y’go, sweet thing. Just lay back and take it.”

You do as she asks, finding it easy to fall back into submission under her. Your brain is basically blank by now, only focusing on the slow pull and push of Abby’s fingers inside of you. You moan and whine and buck your hips. Not scared to be messy or annoying. You’re not scared of anything in front of Abby. She loves you, you know it. She takes you how you are. 

“Don’t think I’m gonna– last long.” You say.

“That’s alright, so pent up, ain’t you? Let it all go for me. Let it all out.” She reconnects her mouth with your cunt and you know that you’re in for.

You feel the knot get tighter and tighter in your stomach. It feels like fire is spreading across your body. You feel a bead of sweat fall from Abby’s forehead onto you, and it gets to you. She’s real; she’s back. She’s eating you out and making you cum the way only she knows how to. The small band holding your orgasm back snaps. You cum with a sob, bucking your hips into her face so your clit brushes up into her nose. You start to cry from the pressure that was built up in you that’s finally being released. Abby works you through it, lets you grind on her face and you swear you can feel her smile into you.

She comes up to lay beside you when you finally stop twitching; shushing you when she removes her fingers.

“Missed seein’ you like that.”

“Bet you did,” you say, voice hoarse.

“Missed seein’ you in general, but the way you look when you cum, man. Ain’t nothing like it.”

You suddenly feel embarrassed by the crude talk, you roll over away from her and face your closet. She whispers a few sorry’s before using her arms to roll you back over and pull you into her chest. She kisses the top of your head. 

“It’s so hot I might die.” You say into her, tracing a shape on her chest.

“Wanna shower?” 

“Don’t gotta ask me twice.”

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Jake Seresin And The Unfortunate Hat Situation

jake seresin x fem!reader 3k words

summary: You’re visiting Jake’s family in Texas for the first time and so far, it’s been going well. Just that Jake may have forgotten to mention the hat rule. 

another cowboy fic because i fucking can

disclaimer: strong allusions to smut. im not kidding. this is basically straight up dirty talk all the way through

a/n: i’m warning you once about all the inaccuracies in here and thats it. read at your own risk. i have literally no clue whatsoever about texas and/or cowboys and did not have it in me to research cowboy history for hours on end, like- i tried, okay? i really did try. i know facts about cowboy hats now that i never felt the need to know (though “dont sleep with your cowboy hat on”, um... yeah? thanks? i totally would have done that otherwise) but i still do not have the information to back this shit up lmao

top gun masterlist

(yes i did have to use an everybody wants some gif. during the past week ive rewatched this film more times than i can count and i will take every opportunity i get to talk about it)

“Enlighten me”, you chuckled, spreading your arms, a bottle of beer in your right hand. “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats? Isn’t that kind of their thing?”

You were visiting Texas for the first time - a week off of work, away from the Navy and the Dagger Squad for a bit, to meet Jake’s friends and family back home. You’d talked to most every one of them over the phone whenever he had found the time to call, but you’d never actually met them in person before this. So it had been an adventure from the start: getting on a plane in San Diego to take you to Texas where Jake had grown up, being picked up at the airport by his mother, driving two hours to the farm they owned (”You grew up on a farm?”, you’d asked when he’d told you, wheezing at the mental image of teenage Jake herding sheep), meeting his dad, being surprised by both his sisters, getting to see his childhood bedroom. 

And then, to top it off: the sound of his alarm at the crack of dawn this morning to go teach you how to ride a horse. 

Needless to say that you’d been buzzing with nervous energy for the past few days. Not that you weren’t happy - it was just all a bit much at once. 

After lunch he’d taken you into the city and you’d gone shopping for some real cowboy boots. He’d planned to take you to a bar in the evening, to introduce you to some friends. After all you only had a week here and neither of you felt like missing out on something. 

When you’d wanted to try cowboy hats in the store too, Jake had snatched them from you and grabbed your hands, pulling you close to him, telling you that you’d get one when you’d become a real cowgirl. Since you doubted that would ever happen, you’d pouted and tried to convince him with kisses and, when that hadn’t worked, half-hearted threats, but he wouldn’t be persuaded even the slightest. He’d only looked down at you with raised eyebrows until you’d caved and satisfied yourself with cursing under your breath. 

So here you were: Cowboy boots, jeans shorts and a button-up and no cowboy hat in sight. 

Actually, there was one in sight. Jake was wearing his, in all his Texan glory, laughing with some of his friends at the bar. The thing was, he was the only guy wearing his hat. There were some cowboys strutting about with them on their heads, but most of them didn’t have one - hat hair, yes, but no hat. Hence your initial question: “Why are none of the cowboys wearing cowboy hats?” 

“Shit, Jake didn’t tell you?”, Kendra - one of Jake’s only female friends here, who’d immediately decided she liked you and pulled you to one of the tables for some girl talk - let out a laugh. “No wonder it’s still on his head. We were getting worried already.” 

It was pretty clear to everyone that you weren’t from around here, so you saw no reason to hide your confusion.

“Now you’ve lost me entirely. What?”, you asked, masking your frown with a laugh. You’d been here for hardly two days and you didn’t think you’d felt as embarrassed ever before. You knew about literally nothing. At least you’d done somewhat well at horseback riding, which could’ve been because of Jake’s arms around you and his hands over yours as you - he - held the reins, but either way you were proud of yourself for not falling off and landing on your ass. 

“It’s like this: Ladies didn’t wear hats for a really long time. Cowboys wore the hats. So when you saw a lady with a cowboy hat on - that was her man’s. A sign that she belonged to him. Property shit and all.” She waved it off as if dismissing the concept. “Changed over the past few decades, of course. Better that way too. Ladies can wear whatever they want now. But the thought kind of stuck. You see a guy without a hat, he’s probably taken. You see a girl with a hat, that’s probably her man’s. And before you ever steal a hat, you should know the hat rule.” 

You raised your eyebrows. Your stomach did weird little flips as she talked. Jake hadn’t explained any of this to you. 

“The hat rule?”, you asked. Kendra grinned and leaned in, pretending to let out some big secret. 

“You wear the hat”, she said and paused for a second for dramatic effect, “You wear the cowboy.” 

You breathed out. 

“Oh.” 

Oh my ass, you thought. 

Jake hadn’t let you buy your own hat for a reason. And then he’d gone ahead and not given you that reason. What the actual fuck. 

You would’ve loved to wear his hat. You would’ve loved the thought of him claiming you like that, letting you wear his hat, showing everyone that yeah, you were Jake Seresin’s girl. But no. He’d left you completely in the dark, hadn’t let a single word slip. And he was still wearing that goddamn hat himself. 

Like a single fucking guy, not a man in a loving relationship.

Somehow, now that you knew, you were more annoyed by the fact that he was wearing it than that he just hadn’t told you at all. God, he could’ve left it at home. He could’ve taken it off. He could’ve just put it on your head without telling you why if he didn’t want to. 

And right there, that was the part you just didn’t understand. Why hadn’t he told you? He should have known you well enough by now to realise that you would absolutely adore wearing that hat. Not only because you wanted to wear a hat (which you did) but also because you wanted to wear his hat (which you did even more). After all, it wasn’t only him claiming you - it was you claiming him as well. And as horrible as the history of that hat rule was, in this present day you felt like it would only have been fair of him to tell you. You wanted to have that chance of showing him off. Of him showing you off, which he did so happily back in San Diego. 

“Hey”, Kendra said, her expression a bit more serious as she put a hand to your arm and pulled you from your thoughts. “I’m sure Jake didn’t mean to hurt you. He may seem like a bastard, but he’s actually a real sweetheart.” 

You snorted at her, nodding along. 

“He is”, you agreed. “Which is kind of why it hurts even more. I don’t get why he wouldn’t just tell me. It’s not like he’s ever been scared I’d say no to him or something.”

Kendra smiled and squeezed your arm reassuringly. 

“Try not to worry about it too much. Just ask him when you get home later, yeah? Communication is key.” Her smile turned into a grin. She winked at you. “And hey, you can always wear my hat if you’d like.” 

You forced yourself to smile as well as you took a sip of your beer. “If I actually were single, I’d definitely take you up on that offer, but I’m not, and I don’t think Jake would like it much.” 

Her grin only deepened. She had dimples, you realised, and the hat on her head matched her eye colour. You were glad to have her here with you. She was someone you were sure you could become good friends with over time. 

“That makes it even better”, she said conspicuously. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her ankles over the edge of the table as she tipped her hat back. “He never told you about the hats. You don’t know anything in his eyes, honey. Use it against him.” 

There was a twinkle in her gaze that told you she was looking for nothing short of mischief and you had the distinct feeling that she’d been the ‘bad influence’ on Jake in high school that he’d talked about so often. She seemed like a troublemaker. But she also seemed genuine. And she was right - in Jake’s eyes, you were getting to know one of his friends, talking about some girly stuff (which he probably assumed was himself), having a nice night. Not learning about cowboy customs that he’d just so forgotten to mention. 

Jake usually didn’t get jealous. He trusted you the same way you trusted him. But he got possessive nonetheless - always with a hand on your back when you were talking to someone he thought was flirting with you, kissing you at the most inappropriate times, making sure that everyone knew you were his. Now he’d had the goddamn chance and hadn’t taken it. And you didn’t fucking know why. 

But you were damn determined to find out. 

Kendra slid the hat off her head and offered it to you. You took one deep breath before you reached for it. 

You let your fingertips skip over the rim for a moment. Were you really about to do this? Then you put it on your head. 

Alright. If Jake wasn’t going to tell you about the way this worked on his own accord, you’d make him tell you. 

Kendra emptied her beer and you followed suit before the both of you got up. She grabbed both bottles in one hand, turning to you to send you another of those winks. 

“I’ll bring these back to the bar and get us new ones. The dancefloor’s all yours.” 

With a nervous smile, you adjusted your newly aqcuired hat and made your way onto the dancefloor. There was soft music playing in the background - country, of course, loud but not loud enough to disturb conversation. It wasn’t late enough for that just yet. Which was honestly a relief, since you had zero clue whatsoever about line dancing or whatever it was they did down here. This way there were only a few couples twirling each other back and forth and some people moving to the beat all on their own. You let out a breath and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to really feel the music: the guitar, the steady drums, the vocals. 

Slowly, you started swaying - from one side to the other, turning, twirling, one step, then the next, heels here, toes there. A grin was making its way onto your face. The music grew, not as much in volume as in pace, and you didn’t know just when you had started to forget about everything except your movements (like the people watching, for example), but then the song changed and you gasped as you realised you knew it. Eyes fluttering open, hands coming together to clap, lips twisting into an actual laugh as you sang along, catching Kendra’s gaze and waving her over. 

She joined you with a laugh, grabbed your hand to twirl you around, and god, her voice was heavenly. For just a split second you wondered how Jake hadn’t ended up falling for her. You certainly would have. 

And speaking - more like thinking, but whatever - of the devil, you felt an all too familiar hand on your shoulder. You turned at the same time that Kendra let go of you, allowing you to admire your boyfriend in all his furious glory. 

Not that he actually looked furious. Not to anyone but you, not with that facade he wore whenever anyone got under his skin. But you, well... You’d been with him long enough to understand that twitch of his jaw, that tension in his shoulders, that flicker in his eyes. And yet - the cowboy hat still sat on his head. 

“I got it from here, Kendra”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, as you held your breath. She snorted, but still made to move away, muttering something under her breath that you didn’t catch. Then Jake spoke again. “Take your hat, Kendra.” 

He grabbed it from where it rested on your head and threw it at her without looking away from you. She sucked in a breath. 

“If you throw my hat again, I’ll kick your ass, Seresin”, she said and you could tell that even though they were friends, she wasn’t kidding. Shit, the people here were really fucking serious about their hats. Another reason why you were mad at Jake for not telling you about any of it. 

“Next time, don’t set it on my girl’s head”, he growled - growled, really, you didn’t know what else to call it. She scoffed and walked off. 

“How could she know I was your girl?”, you whispered, challenging him even though he already looked like you’d crossed some line that he’d drawn without telling you. “How could anyone?” 

For a few moments, he kept quiet. You defiantly stared up at him. Should he think whatever he fucking wanted to, this was entirely his fault. 

Then something changed in his expression. 

“You found out about the hat rule”, he said, “And the first thing you did was go and put on somebody else’s.” 

“Well if my boyfriend doesn’t want to have me wear his hat-” 

You couldn’t react as quickly as Jake had gripped you by the waist and pulled you close to him, forcing you to tip your head back to keep looking at him. He was, in fact, so close now that you could just kiss him and honestly, you were tempted. Just as tempted as you’d been when he’d come out of the bathroom looking like that, just as tempted as you’d been when you’d left the house, just as tempted as you’d been in his truck. But you were also stubborn. And you had good reasons not to kiss him right now (even though they were getting harder and harder to remember by the second).

“Darling, I’d go wild for you with my hat on.” 

You swallowed. Hard. 

“So why am I not wearing it?”, you asked through gritted teeth. You couldn’t quite believe just how easily this whole situation was getting under your skin. But it seriously hurt your ego - and not just that. The fact that Jake hadn’t told you about something so important in his hometown, some, as ridiculous as it may be, piece of culture, something that would so clearly show everyone that you were dating him, really, actually, seriously dating him, stung more than you wanted to admit. It was like someone had asked him outright if he was taken and he’d said no. 

“‘Cause I told you to wait”, he drawled, “Didn’t I? Wait ‘til you’re a real cowgirl.” 

Curiosity and frustration were mixing in your stomach, a weird, dangerous combo. You grabbed for his collar, pulling on it just a bit too hard - nothing he couldn’t stand his ground against. You were feeling insulted by all this and you found that you should let him know. 

“What’s a girl like me gotta do to become one in your eyes, hm, Hangman?” 

Hangman. You only called him that when you meant business. It was like a mother using her child’s full name whenever it got in serious trouble. Jake stiffened, fingers digging into your hips so firmly that you were sure you’d be able to see the marks in the mirror later on. You’d hit a nerve. Always did when you called him by his callsign. No more Jake, no more baby, none of that. 

“Behave”, he said, eyes fixed on yours, that one word carrying so much more meaning. You didn’t care. For once, you really didn’t fucking care. You wanted him riled up, wanted him furious, wanted him right at this breaking point. So you smiled.  

“Like a dog?” 

He’d smashed his lips on yours before you could react. 

All teeth and tongue, decisive, possessive, angry. You didn’t want to give in as quickly as you did. But he hardly left you a choice - he was everywhere, arms wrapped so tightly around you, chest pressed so firmly against yours, not giving you the option to escape, to duck away, to tease him any further. So instead of doing that, instead of making him run after you more, you let him have the control. All of it. Instead of turning, instead of making him chase you, you pulled him close to you by his collar with all the force you could manage, pulled him into you, pulled him with you as you stumbled backwards from the sudden change of weight, put your entire trust in him to keep you upright. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t want to if that meant letting go. 

Not with how much emotion you were putting into this fucking kiss. 

Jake was the one to break away first. Pupils blown, cheeks reddened (you were sure you looked even worse), panting. You loosened your grip on his collar and ran a hand through your hair instead. 

Somewhere in the back of your head, you remembered that you were still in a bar, still in the middle of the dancefloor, still under the watchful eyes of his friends. A different part was screaming at you to fuck it and fuck him right here, right now. 

“Shit”, he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. His hat let a shadow fall over both your faces. “You’re gon’ be the death of me someday.” 

“Hopefully not too soon”, you teased, a smile playing on your lips as he pulled back just a bit. “I still gotta find out how to become a cowgirl after all.” 

The corner of his mouth quirked up as well. He raised his eyebrows, examining you for a second. 

“You really wanna know, sweetheart?” 

You let out a laugh. “Fuck yeah.” 

He leaned in close, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, and you had to swallow. This felt intimate, somehow. 

“You’re gon’ be a cowgirl once you rode your cowboy.” 

Your breath caught in your throat. He pulled back with a grin. Smug, you realised. He was so fucking proud of himself for this - for having caught you off guard like that. You couldn’t let him win that easily. Not with that already inflated ego. 

“All of this just to get me into your bed?”, you chuckled. “Damn, Seresin. Lotta work for no reason, hm? I’m in it at the end of every day anyway.” 

He shrugged - as best as he could with his hands still on your waist. 

“What can I say? I aim to please.” 

You couldn’t help but grin too. The angry, sizzling tension had dissolved into something much more pleasant, much more dizzying. Something that set your skin ablaze and your mind on fire. You grabbed one of his hands from your waist and intertwined your fingers with his. 

“Want to get out of here?”, you asked. He leaned in and kissed you with a smile - slow and steady and sensual, wholly different from before. 

When he pulled back, you were breathless again. 

“Always.” 

[catherinetheprincessofwales]

James Middleton: Kate, William and the dog that saved my life. The younger brother of the Princess of Wales was so depressed he came close to killing himself. Then Ella, his faithful cocker spaniel, stepped in — and even found him a wife. He tells Matt Rudd about his ‘waste of money’ education, family therapy and the help Prince William gave him. The Sunday Times, 22 Sep 2024.

I’m in a cottage on a farm with the brother of the Princess of Wales and his eyes are filling with tears. He has a cocker spaniel called Luna on his lap and I have a cocker spaniel called Inka on my lap. Both dogs are looking anxiously at their owner as he tries to tell me about the death of their mother, Ella. It could be a bit awkward when a man you’ve only just met starts getting very emotional about a dog that died nearly two years ago. Instead it’s the moment I realise James Middleton isn’t exaggerating. A dog really did save his life.

On a winter’s night in late 2017, Middleton climbed a ladder to the roof above his parents’ flat in Chelsea and contemplated suicide. Overwhelmed by feelings of failure, he had decided that the labour of living was no longer worth the effort. As his thoughts spiralled, it was only the sight of Ella, watching him carefully through the skylight, that gave him pause. How could he leave her, he wondered.

Over weeks and months Middleton had isolated himself from family and friends, ignoring increasingly desperate phone calls and texts. When his sister Pippa came to the door, he would hide in his room. When he tried to go to work, he got as far as the car park and then drove home again.

“I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t sleep, I was constantly agitated,” he says. “If I sat down I had to stand up again immediately. I couldn’t eat because I felt constantly as if I were about to throw up. What was most challenging was that I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong. It wasn’t living, it was just existing in this awful state of anxiety.”

As his mental health crisis deepened, it was only Ella and the routine of looking after her that kept him going. “I was never alone in a time when I felt very lonely,” he says, stroking Inka’s ears. “I’m surprised there weren’t marks on the carpet from the laps I was doing, but she would sort of get in the way. It was a silent interruption, but for a fraction of a second it would stop the spiralling. “Something was taking over my mind, but not knowing what it was made it very difficult to talk about. And I didn’t feel as though I had a right to be depressed because I’ve had everything, because I am privileged.”

We are meeting today, I should mention, at Bucklebury Farm Park, a genteel sheep-petting outfit plus farm shop (excellent organic pesto) at the more desirable end of Berkshire. It is owned by his sister Pippa Matthews née Middleton and her hedgie husband, James, who is, among other things, the next laird of Glen Affric. Carole and Michael Middleton, parents to James, Pippa and Catherine, live in a manor house a stone’s throw away and Middleton’s own farm, which he bought from the parents of a prep school friend mid-pandemic, is a mile over there. It’s quite the empire.

Now married to the French financier Alizée Thevenet and father to 11-month-old Inigo, Middleton is happy to talk about his annus horribilis and his dog-assisted recovery. He does so at book-length in Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life. But it’s a good question: what does someone born into such wealth and privilege have to be depressed about?

The roots of his 2017 crisis can be found, like most roots of crises, in childhood. Born in 1987, the same year his mother set up the mail-order company Party Pieces, he followed his two older sisters to Marlborough. If the prestigious boarding school demanded academic excellence and his parents expected it, both were to be disappointed. Diagnosed with dyslexia then, and with attention deficit disorder when he finally sought help in 2017, he struggled where his sisters had excelled.

“School is about comparing yourself to others,” he says, recalling how he would avoid friends phoning to compare exam results in the summer holidays. “I didn’t feel despair when I failed because it happened so often, but I was embarrassed. I felt let down because I didn’t think that those results properly represented me.”

In the early chapters of the book he charts his struggles with expectation — his mother is frequently in tears, his father just as frequently exasperated. Even without VAT, it must have taken a large chunk of the trust fund established by Michael’s grandmother, the heiress Olive Middleton, to put his son through Marlborough. When that son had to spend a gap year retaking his A-level chemistry four times, a “humiliating record” for the school, he tells him his education was “a waste of money”.

Although today Middleton studiously avoids criticising his school or his beloved parents — he learnt valuable survival skills at Marlborough, he tells me, and “Mum and Dad just wanted the best for me” — the pressure was clearly intense. He sought escape from that pressure in nature and in dogs. “I was an outcast … alienated from my classmates,” he writes. “But dogs never judged me. Mum asked repeatedly if I wanted to bring friends home to stay at weekends. But truthfully all I wanted to do was to see Tilly.”

Tilly was the family’s golden retriever, but from an early age Middleton was desperate for his own dog. His parents, on the other hand, continued to be desperate for him to succeed. And so, after that long summer of resits, he squeaked into Edinburgh University, choosing criminology, environmental studies and geography modules because he was “pretty certain they would all be multiple choice”. They weren’t, of course, and he failed his first-year exams. More crying from Mum, more exasperation from Dad, more solace from a dog, this time his own.

“For all my reservations, I shall be eternally grateful for the time I spent in Edinburgh because it is thanks to Ben, a university friend, that I find my adored dog Ella,” he writes, introducing us to the dog that saved his life. Despite his best efforts, puppies and student life are not compatible, and when he was banned from bringing Ella to lectures he finally abandoned his studies. “I knew that if I left university I’d be responsible for that decision,” he says. “It was a big step, but I had Ella with me, as my companion and my responsibility.”

Middleton’s story is not exactly Angela’s Ashes. When he announces that he is ditching his degree to become an entrepreneur in London, he is cut off, he tells us, from the Bank of Mum and Dad, but he can still move in with his sisters at the family’s flat in Chelsea. His uncle Gary Goldsmith, he of Celebrity Big Brother 2024 notoriety, is also on hand to invest in his cake kit start-up. Nobody in this story is going to find themselves on the street.

But cynics desist! Don’t underestimate the impact of parental expectation, nor of not conforming to the traditional model of success. Middleton, anxious and increasingly socially uncomfortable, had left his friends in Edinburgh and washed up in London with his dog.

“She was my shield,” he says. “Through her I could enjoy things. I could take her for a walk and see what she was seeing. I process a lot of things in my mind and that can be overwhelming, but she helped me open my eyes and realise everything was OK.”

There are, I’m sure, many advantages to being royal adjacent, but when his sister Catherine started dating Prince William in 2004, Middleton found the level of media interest “shocking”. A young man who used his dog as an excuse to leave parties early was not equipped for the spotlight, for stepping out of the flat into a sea of flashing cameras.

“I’d never seen a royal wedding,” he says, rather sweetly. “There hadn’t been one in my lifetime. Not a big one anyway. I wasn’t aware of the scale or the global interest. I just felt privileged that my sister was asking me to do it, and it meant something to her. I wanted to make sure I did it.”

His description of the intense amount of practice he put in to the reading is like a potted version of The King’s Speech — he stutters, he stumbles, he takes lessons with the voice coach Anthony Gordon Lennox, he reads nervously and then more confidently to an audience of one dog ­— Ella, of course — in Chelsea Old Church. And then it’s the big day. “Really, the build-up to Catherine’s wedding was no different to Pippa’s or other friends’ weddings,” he says, unbelievably. Just the family, 1,900 guests, Her Majesty, an archbishop and a few world leaders. Watching the recording back today, there’s no hint of nerves — Middleton, 24 at the time, gives a bravura performance. Afterwards an American production company wrote to ask if he’d like to star in his own film — their opening offer was $1 million.

“They even ventured,” he writes wryly, “that members of my wider family might like to take part.” Middleton is not unaware of how everything is distorted by his proximity to royalty.

On the surface the next few years of Middleton’s life read like a Hello! magazine special — parties, holidays on Mustique, holidays in the Alps, a blossoming relationship with a glamorous older woman (the actress Donna Air, about whom his parents were hesitant because of the eight-year age gap), weekends at Sandringham (“Did you get my message, James?” the Queen asked the first time he visited. “Ella is welcome to stay in your room.”) But then came the night of despair in pyjamas on a Chelsea rooftop. Long sessions of cognitive behavioural therapy followed with a psychiatrist who was happy for Ella to attend too. She was, Middleton says, the only reason he kept going.

In December 2017, his mental health still fragile, he left London without telling anyone and holed up in a remote cottage in the Lake District. While his family grew frantic with worry, much to his irritation (“I’m a grown man”), he describes three days of elemental existence — fetching firewood and water, heating soup, walking Ella and her two pups. For the first time in a year he enjoyed a deep sleep and, in front of the fire after a wild swim with his dogs, he felt fleetingly happy.

“Dogs are amazing,” he says and all five of the dogs in the cottage with us — three spaniels and two beautiful golden retrievers — look delighted. “They do just sense things. Ella had been with me in every therapy session, she was always with me. I think we can learn from dogs. They’re not thinking about yesterday or tomorrow. They’re not even thinking about the next couple of hours. They’re thinking about right now. I’m here, they’re here, in the moment.”

As Middleton’s recovery continued, he says his sisters understood — they both had friends who had depression — but his parents struggled. “They were uncomfortable with the fact that I’d been labelled ‘clinically depressed’,” he writes. “To people of their generation, I can understand why it was concerning. Society was only just starting to break through the stigma.”

The solution, in the end, was to invite the family to the therapy sessions. “I felt guilty because I knew they were worried,” he says. “They felt guilty because it’s really hard if you’re not able to help the people you love the most. I was finally understanding how I felt but I got nervous trying to translate that to my family without the help of an interpreter. When they came into the sessions they had the opportunity to ask questions that I couldn’t necessarily answer.”

In the 13 years since Catherine’s wedding Middleton’s hair has receded a little, but he now has a beard for balance — a little twirl of his moustaches and he could be a not-too-distant cousin of Tsar Nicholas II. He probably is — this generation of Middletons is not the first to hang out with royalty. He looks less bright and bushy-tailed than he did in 2011, but that might be fatherhood or the weekend with friends he has just returned from in Norfolk. Or it might simply be the passing of enough eventful years.

Whatever it is, he tells me he is now happy, which, given the depths of his depression, he still finds extraordinary. His idea of what constitutes success has changed — he is no longer motivated by money but by the things in life about which he is passionate. He doesn’t even like the word entrepreneur any more.

Having stepped away from Boomf, a marshmallow delivery company (Boomf is the sound a marshmallow makes falling from a letterbox), he started James & Ella, a “premium freeze-dried raw dog food” company in 2020. He clearly finds it easier to be passionate about dogs than marshmallows. But it’s in his personal life that the change has been most dramatic.

“I remember sitting in the therapist’s chair with Ella’s head on my lap, wondering how long it was going to take to get better,” he says. “But within a year I had met my future wife. And we’re now here with an 11-month-old son, living on a farm with six dogs. If someone had told me that would happen, I’d have been annoyed. It would have just seemed so ridiculous.”

He met Thevenet, 34, at a members club in South Kensington, west London, in 2018. Ella, having actively disapproved of several previous girlfriends, broke the ice by going over to her table. They married in the south of France in 2021 (a Hello! magazine world exclusive, naturally) and Ella was a flower girl. And everyone lived happily ever after.

Except, alas, the dog. It is one of life’s cruelties that man’s best friend has a much shorter life expectancy than man. Just asking Middleton about the death of Ella, early one Saturday in January 2023, makes him emotional. Despite being given two weeks to live the previous September, she had made it through Christmas, perhaps buoyed by the thought of one final week in the Alps. Of course Middleton was with her when she took her last breath at 3am. The whole family, including William and Catherine, gathered in his parents’ garden for what sounds like an extensive memorial on the Sunday.

“Saying goodbye to Ella was not just saying goodbye to her as a dog,” Middleton says. “It was everything I’d been through with her. She had arrived just as I was starting out in my twenties and she was leaving as I’d finally figured things out in my mid-thirties. She put me on the right path and I didn’t want another day from her. I didn’t want another hour. I would have loved it but I didn’t need it. “She was sent to me before I even knew I needed her, but she chose me. She was able to transform my life better than any human could have done and then she put me in the capable hands of someone and together we’re now raising our own family.”

Eight days after Ella was buried in her favourite sheepskin, Alizée interrupted Middleton’s mourning to announce that she was pregnant. He is convinced Ella knew and that her death was a kind of passing of the torch. His son, Inigo, was born last autumn. “I hope there’s an Ella who will find Inigo, if there’s a time in his life when he needs it,” he says, as one of the golden retrievers has a long stretch.

If you’re not a dog person, you might find this cosmic canine intervention a bit much. Whether Ella was the ultimate therapist or a very effective placebo, it worked for Middleton. His sisters’ families are also fully invested in the joys of cocker spaniels — Pippa has one of Ella’s sons and Catherine, whose announcement of the end of her chemotherapy treatment comes a few days after this interview, now has one of Ella’s granddaughters — no corgis to date. Middleton himself now regards his mental health crisis as a blessing. “Although I would never wish it on anybody and I would never want to go through it again, I’m pleased it happened. It was an opportunity to recalibrate and to re-evaluate what matters.” Happiness, he says, is what matters. Happiness and lots of dogs. Meet Ella: The Dog Who Saved My Life by James Middleton (Radar £22). 

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Can you write Lambert hopelessly smittened for a wolf reader who dresses like a sheep, in fleeces and wools, literally a wolf in sheep's clothing but to Lambert they are somehow the ideal sheep for him.

Being a literal wolf in sheep's clothing was something that was..truly admirable to Lamb.

Although no other sheep existed in the lands, you make clothes that closely resemble wool. Like sweaters for the coldest nights and fleeces with hoods that kept your ears dry on rainy days.

You’ve even become the cult’s tailor, owning a little shop near the sleeping quarters. So you do regular business with the other followers.

And you also like to scavenge for resources, going on missionaries for your leader.

Whenever you come back from a risky one (with a less than 50% success rate), Lamb always embraces you tightly before you could even give them the resources.

Definitely not because you're a comfort to them since you understand they lost their entire species and your clothes were a tribute to them..nah.

Just the way you dress has made them hopelessly in love with you; almost everyone in the cult could see it.

It is ironic for a lamb to love a wolf. But they can't help it.

Apparently opposites do indeed attract.

[firstjake]

[5:53am] — Park Jay

you can't fall asleep without jay by your side | wc: 739

As is almost always the case when he’s not around, you’ve been up for the whole night. Much to his upset, there’s something about the absence of Jay’s presence that has an adverse effect on your sleeping pattern. 

In the event that you have to sleep apart, most nights Jay finds himself calling you to chat until you get tired, your parts of the conversation trailing off into little hums here and there until you’re out (though he continues to speak as if he doesn’t notice the change).

He had come with you to your parents house for the weekend, where the two of you find that things are just as they were before you moved out, still not allowed to sleep in the same bed. 

Jay had bought you a colouring book for nights like this, the efforts of staying in the lines both calming and exhausting. Forgetting the consequences of a night with no Jay, you'd left the book at your shared apartment. Big mistake.

The alarm clock on your nightstand tells you it’s nearing 6am and you’re certain you’ve counted all the sheep in existence. Tossing and turning, trying as hard as you can, sleep doesn’t seem to find you. You sigh, deciding to think instead about what you and Jay might get up to when you get back home. 

Grocery shopping, even though you’re not short on anything in particular. There’s something in the hectic nature of the supermarket that you and Jay both find a comfort in, enjoying the time you spend together hand in hand, making up stories for the other shoppers based on the items in the carts they push past with. 

Face masks, wine, a movie. A shared bubble bath and some much neede— The sound of what you think might be the softest knock you’ve ever heard pulls you from your thoughts. A knock so soft you’re not even sure it happe— Another knock. 

Followed by another, slightly louder now. 

Though you don't need to, you stretch as you sit up in bed, swinging your feet over the end and getting out. Despite how softly you step across the floor, it creaks a tiny bit as you make your way to the door. 

Jay’s tall frame greets you when you open it, a small smile on his face at the sight of you, hands resting on your waist. "Hey, pretty." He whispers, kissing your forehead.

"What are you doing up?" You ask softly, pulling him into the room.

"I had a feeling you might be." 

Jay shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can and watches as you walk over to the bed, laying down under the covers. He doesn’t even realise he’s staring until you say, “Lay with me.” Your words are dripping with fatigue and he feels his heart ache as you pat the spot next to you. 

He groans, head falling back as he points out that, you know we’re not allowed to share the bed. His sadness at the fact that you struggle without him and his desire not to disrespect your parent’s rules are at odds with one another in his mind, watching the way you sleepily roll your eyes at him. 

"No.” A shake of your head. ”We’re not allowed to sleep in the same bed." Your words barely audible through the yawn you let out. 

The smile on his face and the tiny laugh he lets out through his nose make you so giddy you have to look away from him, missing the love in his eyes as he walks towards you. 

The bed dips a little to your right as Jay climbs in next to you, leaving a soft kiss on your temple. “You think you can sleep if I stay for a bit?” He asks, letting his arm wrap lazily around your shoulders as you rest your head on his chest. 

It’s obvious in the way you barely manage to nod your head that you’re close to drifting off already and the room falls into silence as you lay together, Jay drawing patterns on your arm. 

 “I missed you.” You mumble. 

"Tonight?"

"Mm.” You confirm. “I hate when you're not here."

Jay leaves a kiss on your head, whispering to you, “I hate being away from you.” He just hopes you can’t feel the way his heart rate picks up a little as you whisper that you love him. 

[thoughtsafterdark]

Hospitals and Airports are the closest modernity can come to reaching the Divine

Have you noticed how some places seem immune to time and social conventions. Like airports, those monoliths of now. Harsh lights burning and souls criss-crossing, tongues melting together into a writhing throng of humanity, a steaming cesspit of consciousness. Steeped in camaraderie yet drenched in isolation. The electric blue arrivals sign glares with neon brightness at 3am, a beacon that signals the end of the road.

Here comes a family of 4 on their way home, crossing through automatic doors into the balmy drizzle of a British night, carrying their loot of straw hats and cheap pendants, tan lines and peeling red lobster skin. A girl no older than 5 limps after her parents and older brother. She lugs her bright pink unicorn behind her and hugs the hood of lilac pyjamas close, rubs the sleep out of her eyes whilst her mother shouts at her to hurry. Soon she’ll tuck herself into bed, in the attic of their ordinary red brick London row house, and she’ll watch the sun peak over the trees in the back garden for the first time in her life. It will become a core memory she will think fondly back on for years to come.

By the first class lounge they hurried past, a man in an impeccable suit (Sheep’s wool, the finest money can buy. The grey colour of the Thames on an early morning) paces back and forth restlessly, briefcase in hand, phone in another. Gold amber eyes like a hawk, close cropped black hair and neatly trimmed beard, square pocket matching the deep tan of his shoes (authentic leather). He is barking orders to someone in Arabic, closing deals, building empires. A bloodied napkin he used to stop a nosebleed earlier falls out of his pocket and winks up at the scaffolding exposed ceiling, high and arching like the dome of a cathedral. He’ll make the sale, then visit the airport bathroom again before hailing a cab to the closest 5 star. In the morning, the maid who took the job to send money to her ailing mother in the Philippines will find his cold stiff body and scream. She’ll call the police and be taken in for questioning. She never signed up for this.

At the hospital coffee shop – two streets and half a lifetime away - a 4th year med students sips on a cortado like her life depends on it. Caffeine surges through her veins, bracing her for the day ahead. Unbelievable how exhausting trying to take up as little space as possible can be. She hates the spiel, it’s the same every time. A new dawn, a new face, a new team. The introductions, the smiling, the grovelling, the headache. She’s 5ft flat with bright orange hair, aspirations for Neurosurgery and a bright pink notebook, so why would they take her seriously.

It’s 8:30, and she’s scheduled for 9am clinic, so she has time for a hurried breakfast today. (Eating any earlier makes her gag). Small mercies. The off-red stained scrubs she nicked from the theatre changing rooms cling to her like a second skin preparing to moult. She squirms in them, the comfort undeniable. They make her feel like she belongs. They make her feel like an imposter.

Her table – she comes here so often; she thinks of it as hers - sits right by large windows overlooking the main entrance and staircase. She sees it all from here, her quiet unassuming throne. The doctors and nurses, physios and pharmacists. Rushing rushing, running, stressing. Wishing, hoping, waiting, waiting, waiting. For the shift to end, for the time for bed. For this rotation to change, for the exam to pass. We’ll go on that holiday next month, next year. When money isn’t tight, when things are more settled.  Before they know it they’ve wished their lives away.

Their patients understand, all too well and all too late. The same father with the IV drip and the metal stand comes down here every morning to see his daughters. They run up to him, he holds them close and beams. But his grip is getting weaker, smile is getting thinner. He doesn’t answer when they ask when he’s coming home. It’s funny what we can’t hear when we’re too busy wearing stethoscopes. Next month she (I) will be stationed on the Psych ward. We’ll have to do it all again, but maybe they’ll hear me this time. Maybe it’ll get easier.

Between them all and among them, if you squint and unfocus your eyes during one of those ungodly hours at the Starbacks across from Boots and WHSmith, leaning against a grey white pillar you might see him.

He is the spectre that haunts airport lounges and waiting rooms alike, the handsome stranger with the black snapback and the beats headphones and the khaki shorts. The one who lives out of a rucksack and wears a travel pillow like a crown. With the kind eyes and crows feet, and honey chestnut curls. He is that boy from your high school everyone liked, with a kind word for everyone; the one with a charmers smile and the charisma to bullshit his way through anything. The one who – when pressed for future plans, would laugh and shake his head, looking down bashfully. “I just want to travel for now, see where it takes me. I want to see the world”, he’d say, eyes twinkling with the possibilities. On someone else, the words would likely merit a telling off, they’d be seen as the paper thin excuse to fuck around and get high. But he seemed so genuine, and his teeth were such a dazzling shade of brilliant white when he smiled, even the strictest careers advisers couldn’t resist.

He lives in those moments, the liminal fabric between worlds that’s so hard to put your finger on. Blink and you’ll miss him in the old alleys of Rome, the spark of his cigarette lighter blending amongst the city lights.

You’ll find him among the most remote hiking trails of the Peloponnese, laughing with local shepherds and German tourists alike, sitting on jutting rocky cliffs and admiring the blue Mediterranean below. If you really pay attention, you’ll see his staff isn’t like the others. Something suspiciously like a pair of snake slithers up and down. You could swear you heard them whispering just now, but when you look again it’s just a wooden stick.

He is the patron of us wanderers and travellers, those of us with movement in our blood and restlessness in our hearts. The ones who beget the will of changing winds and shifting tides. The ones who can’t allow themselves to sit still, lest the dust settle and the coffee get cold. The mortifying ordeal of being seen and known. Or the ones that carry a hearth with them, in the bottom of a suitcase, in the heart of a trailer. The ones who move and weave through the Earth not because they are running but because they are coming home. He dances and jokes with the kids amongst campfires, always welcome, always a pleasure. And if he helps them pick the odd lock, swearing solemnly to secrecy, who are we to judge.

His bronze skin smells of cinnamon and nutmeg, vanilla and cedar and a thousand other spices. He reeks of incense and market stalls, moles and freckles tell the story of trading routes and old silk roads, of cotton shawls from Alexandria and silk from Pekking. His fingers and eyes twinkle with the good-natured mischief of petty thieves and sleight-of-hand magicians, tricksters and circus performers. He picks apples from behind ears, presents jewel necklaces to his lovers.

She sees him now, amongst the patients. He helps an old lady up the steps, pulls a balloon out of his back pocket to the delight of a sick child. She locks eyes with him and they nod at one another She has been seen now, and known. Perhaps she’ll find him again one day, if either stop running.

[salamanderinspace]

How Many Holes Make a Grave Digger?

short Good Omens season 2 fic. On Ao3 also.

(full disclosure: I didn't watch episodes 5 and 6.)

Elspeth tried to "be good." She went to a more reputable inn for the night, but only ordered corn porridge--that's what a good one does, yeah? Good and virtuous ladies don't make themselves fat on roast in the middle of the week. She only took one pint and turned in early. In the morning, she had a wash--something she never enjoyed, what with the cold and the damp creeping in her ears and making her feel all moldy.

When she went down to pay, she gave the barman a guinnea, and waited for her change at the bar. A lot of sad sacks were strewn around at midday, out of work and out of hope, burying themselves in ale. Some looked at her a little too long. Too too long, in fact, as the barman didn't return. "Oi!" she called. "My change, sir?" He didn't come out. What does a good and virtuous young woman do? she wondered. Certainly not go jumping over bars and making demands. She looked around, and as she did, luck would have it, she saw someone pass out the window. A constable. She ran him down, catching him on the sleeve, at which he drew his baton.

"What's this?" he barked.

"This innkeeper is jacking me for my change, sir," Elspeth explained. "I paid him a guinnea and he went in the back."

"Oh yeah?" He looked her up and down. "And where'd a rat like you get a guinnea? Found it in the gutter, didja? Run off or I'll take you to the station."

He seemed to mean it, so Elspeth did as she was told. She kept the rest of the money close, after that. She thought of going to a lawyer but couldn't be sure he wouldn't do just the same. No--she needed to look like a credible lady, first, so she went to a shop and ordered a dress. "Can't I just wear it out?" she asked.

"I've got to order the fabric," the tailor lady huffed. "And it'll take time to do the adjustments. You never bought a dress before?" She looked suspicious.

"Me mum handled all that," Elspeth lied. "Before she passed." The fib was automatic, and the urchin kicked herself after. Lying wasn't "being good," was it?

The lady said to come back next week, so it was another week sleeping in the gutter. Without Wee Morag to watch over her, Elspeth couldn't rest but in short snips, for the danger of men lurking. She developed a cough. In a week she fetched the dress and paid the hefty price for it, and with a hefty tip, the tailor let her have a wash there. "You're not going to ruin it with your filthy streaks," she said, but she looked sympathetic.

Elspeth went and got a bite to eat. She felt desperately sleepy, after, but still had nowhere to lay her head, and she figured she should go straight to a law office. "I'm here to buy a farm," she announced, after waiting on the hard chairs in the waiting room. Her dress was too warm in some places and too cool in others. She couldn't slouch properly in her chair, either, as that would pull on the laces.

"And your husband?" asked the law man, without looking up from his letters.

"Dead," Elspeth said. Another lie.

"Sorry to hear it," he said, not sounding sorry. "Well, what's the property in question?"

"Was hoping you'd help me find one."

"Were you?" He looked up at that, and raised a brow. "That can be a time-consuming matter," he said. "My hourly rate--"

"Yeah, I can pay," she answered.

"Very well. Come back next week, and we'll look at a few properties."

That bit went as smoothly as one could hope. Most places were out of Elspeth's price range, and she had to settle for a very wee lot with only a few sheep and chickens established. "Will you be needing to hire day labor?" the lawyer asked.

"Ah, no, I've got it," Elspeth said. She signed the papers and the lawyer left her with a bill. The house on the land was small and dark--no windows. The only nice thing about it was that she could hunt and fish at her leisure--though she'd have to teach herself how to do the fishing, as she'd never had a proper pole for it.

The days were long and lonely and hard. The lies came often. Merchants who wouldn't do business with an unwed woman. Merchants who tried to take her for twice the value of their goods. The money ran out before winter and she was forced to creep into the neighboring manor's coal-cellar and take a little, just a little, to get through. She imagined herself as a miner, digging for ores. Sometimes there was pretend and sometimes there were lies and it all ran together.

She'd imagine Wee Morag with her. Would talk to her, make jokes, even share a touch or two. She began to wonder, after all she'd seen with the two strange men in the graveyard and their dark magick, if spirits were a great deal realer than she'd thought when she was hawking corpses. She'd never seen a ghost, after all, not until … whatever those men were. On her market days she dawdled at the occultists' stall, and eventually struck up a conversation.

And her cough never really went away.

The days were a river of sameness. The same chores, the same dark and damp. She planted crops, which got blight and died. Paying the doctor for a bad lambing wiped out her savings. The sun rose and set and she drank and slept and it started to feel like there was very little reason not to go and get another vile of laudanum.

And if there was nothing to lose. What could it hurt to..?

That's how Elspeth found herself under the full moon, with the occultist and his eleven apprentices. The smell of charcoal and goat's blood, of briars and late-season lavender. The crisp air of October. Her heart beat with the chanting, the initiation. She called out to Wee Morag and felt her return. She swore herself to her Dark Master. She was no longer alone. She would never be alone again.

And she would never "be good."

[skzhocomments]

In the Dark - Choi Minho SHINee Fanfic - Chapter 14 - A family

General masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

---

Chapter 14 - A family

chapter word count: ~2.6k words

After sleeping with Minho, my nights at his place became more and more frequent. It became a usual occurrence to wake up at his house and cook breakfast for the three of us, then for him to drive Nari and I to school.

It was a comfortable routine, and with each week spent away from my apartment, I’d keep bringing and leaving my things over Minho’s house. It started small: a blouse, a dress, a pair of pants here and there, until I eventually got my own personal space in Minho’s dressing room.

Since I was spending so many nights over, I brought over my skin care and make-up products as well, and each time I was about to finish something, I would find a new box of said product. Minho always checked if I had enough of whatever it was that I was using, be it skin care, shampoo, even tampons. I had no idea when he even had time to go shopping in-between our meet ups and his work, especially since we were spending our whole time together.

It was one of these nights at his place when we fell asleep embraced. Well, better said, he fell asleep, and I listened to his steady breathing on the back of my neck, because I was always the last one to go to dreamland, while Minho had no issues to do so whatsoever. He just needed to close his eyes and he’d be out as light in a few minutes, whereas I took my sweet time counting sheep, planning entire lessons in my head and debating with myself different plots of TV shows I’d watch.

It was funny, really, how closely he snuggled up to me when sleeping, considering how huge the bed was. You could easily fit 3 Minhos in it, and still have enough space for one Jieun and possibly a Nari.

Just possibly, because Nari, although small, would take up the whole bed just like a cat.

However big the bed was, Minho didn’t take advantage of the space at all. Instead, he always wanted us to cuddle.

I almost drifted off to sleep, when all of a sudden, a small knock made me regain consciousness. The door opened softly, but I was unable to see anything due to how dark the hallway was.

“Nari?” I whispered and shifted away from Minho, careful to not wake him up.

The moment the little girl heard my voice, she opened the door fully and ran away towards me. I took her in my arms and pat the back of her head softly.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I had a- a-” She tried speaking quietly through small sobs.

“A nightmare?” I pouted. “Poor baby. Do you want to sleep here?”

I got out of bed and helped her to the middle of the bed. Then, I laid down as well, facing her. Poor thing was still trying her hardest not to cry too loud, so I took her in my arms, and she snuggled close to my chest.

“Was it very scary?” I asked.

“Mhm.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Okay. You know, Nari? Even if your nightmare was very scary, and even if it felt very real, it wasn’t. Whatever happened in it was just in your dream.”

“But- but the monster was so big and scary, and daddy was not home, and…” She cried a bit harder, making it difficult to keep speaking.

“Shh, it’s okay. Daddy is always home, baby. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But what if he’ll leave somewhere?”

“Where would he go without you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. Work.”

“Hmm… then grandma will be there as well.”

“But what if even grandma is sick and can’t be there?”

“Oh, baby. You also have me, don’t you? I’ll protect you from any scary monsters.”

“But you are a girl.” She countered.

“So what? Girls are strong! They can fight off monsters!”

“They’re not as strong as daddy.” She stated as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

“That’s true.” I laughed softly. “But that doesn’t mean that girls aren’t strong too. I don’t have to be as strong as daddy to fight monsters off for you.” I boasted, pinching her nose.

“But- but what if the monster will come get me when you’re away with daddy?”

“Sweetheart, where would I be away with daddy without you?” I caressed her face. She stopped crying thankfully.

“I don’t know…”

“Well, in that case, why don’t we go shopping tomorrow? We can go to a plushies store and pick up a cute little fluffy stuffed animal to protect you just in case. A little guardian. How does that sound?”

“Yes! I want to do that!” She spoke enthusiastically a bit too loud, making Minho shift a bit behind her. She instantly covered her mouth and we both started laughing quietly, as if sharing a secret between us.

“Good. Daddy and I will protect you tonight, and tomorrow, we’re picking up the cutest plush.” I whispered once I was sure Minho didn’t wake up.

“Okay.”

“Are you ready to go back to sleep now?”

“Can I stay here?”

“Of course, baby. Where else?”

“Okay… then… I’m ready to go to sleep.”

“I’ll be here in case the monster comes back, yeah? And daddy is just a nudge away.”

“Thank you for defending me.”

“Always, my sweetheart. Now, go to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight… mommy.” She spoke quickly and pushed into my chest again. Her words made my eyes go wide and my heart beat faster, but I didn’t say anything back. I just hugged her tight and kissed the top of her head, then closed my eyes as well and fell asleep.

~

“Shh, if you talk too loud, we’re gonna wake her up, daddy.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Minho’s soft chuckle rang in my ears.

“Is it morning already?” I yawned and struggle to open my eyes as I was so comfortable. When I did, I saw the father-daughter duo embraced, both of them facing me.

“Mhm. Good morning.” Minho smiled and Nari waved a bit too fast for what my eyes were ready to comprehend so early in the day.

“Can we eat pancakes today?” Nari asked.

“Pancakes? Hmm… do we have any eggs left?” I yawned again and sat up, stretching my arms. Nari followed suit and hugged my side. “What is it?” I laughed.

“Nothing~”

“Can you go to the kitchen to check, Nari?”

“How many do we need? Two?”

“Yeah. Check if there’s milk as well.”

“Okay mommy.” Nari said in a quick pace, and before I got the chance to look at her, she already ran out of the room.

Minho and I looked at each other, both of our eyes wide.

“Minho, uhm, I’m sorry, I don’t know why she-” I started, but he immediately grabbed my arm and pulled me towards him in bed, forcing my head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m not mad. Just surprised.” He chuckled.

“Don’t you think it’s… a bad idea for her to call me that, or something?”

“Why would it be, Jieun? She loves you and you’re the only mother figure she’s ever known.” He caressed my hair.

“Are you sure…?” I asked again. Truly, I was scared Minho would be unhappy with this, and I didn’t want to intrude or replace his late wife in any way that he wouldn’t be comfortable with.

“I am. Are you sure you’re okay with this, Jieun? If it’s too soon, or you’re not ready and aren’t sure that you want to be Nari’s mom yet, or ever…”

“No!” I exclaimed and sat up again. “No! God! It’s not that. Minho, I love Nari so much, I also see her as my daughter, it’s just- I don’t know how to say it so that it doesn’t come out wrong.”

“Just tell me, dear.” He grabbed my hand and pressed a kiss against my knuckles.

“I was just scared of your reaction to her calling me that… I was scared you’re going to think I’m trying to replace Ellie and that you wouldn’t want me to do that. I just didn’t want to cross any boundaries you might have, you know?”

“Jieun… Nari’s never known a mother’s love. If anything, I’m happy you two got so close that you view each other as family.”

“Really?” I asked, feeling my eyes swell up with tears.

“Mhm.” He nodded and caressed my cheek.

“We have 6 eggs and milk!” Nari busted through the door and jumped on the bed, and I made sure to quickly wipe my cheeks of any tears that might’ve fallen before she got the chance to see.

“Really?” I exclaimed. “Perfect! Let me go freshen up real quick and let’s make some pancakes!”

~

“Jieun, what do you think about marriage?” Minho asked me all of a sudden, making me let out a loud gasp.

We were currently having dinner in a restaurant by ourselves, as Minho’s mother had Nari for tonight.

“What? Do you mean, like, right now? Are you proposing to me?”

“What?” Minho chuckled. “No. Do you think this is how I’d propose? At a casual Friday dinner?”

“Well, why not? It’s a nice place, and we’re well dressed. My nails are done.” I showed him my hand, which he grabbed and kissed with a large grin.

“That means you wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

“Opposed? Minho, you and Nari are my whole world.” I smiled softly. “I would marry you any day. Hell, we could go to the City Hall right now and I’d marry you.”

“It’s closed, unfortunately…” He replied dejected, and I started laughing.

“I was just saying. I love you.”

“I love you too. And we will get married, I promise. Just let me do it by the book and arrange something special first, okay?”

“Can’t wait to see what you have in store for me.” I laughed. “By the way, since we’re on the topic of marriage anyway…”

I hesitated, and Minho raised an eyebrow.

“So, I have a doctor’s appointment next week.”

“Okay… Are you feeling well?” He asked, a tint of worry lacing his tone.

“Yes. It’s not about that. It’s, uhm… Do you think it would be a good idea to get off birth control?” I asked, and Minho’s face lit up instantly.

“Really?” He asked with a huge smile.

“I don’t know…” I laughed, unsure. “I love our little family, I really do. But… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we would add one more to it?”

“Or three more?” Minho chuckled, grabbing my head. “Just joking. But Jieun, do you really want a baby?”

I looked him in the eyes and smiled with a nod.

“What about you?” I asked, holding my breath in anticipation.

“It would make me the happiest man in the world to make our family larger. However…”

He hesitated, making me frown.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, Minho. Just tell me the truth.”

“It’s not that… I’d love to see you pregnant with my child and to grow our family, but I have some anxiety, I think. If something were to go wrong…”

“Hey.”

“Sorry…”

“No, don’t apologise. It’s okay. I also have some anxiety, but I also want to believe that nothing will go wrong. We have enough resources and access to the best doctors out there. I think we’ll be just fine.” I smiled compassionately.

When you go through what Minho’s been through, it’s understandable to have some reservations.

“Besides, it’s not like you to let anxiety stop you from anything. You’re the bravest man I know. Even Nari said so. You’re always protecting her from the monsters under her bed.” I nudged his arm playfully, and he chuckled.

“By the way, about that! Your idea to get a new plush and ‘hire’ it as her guardian was brilliant.”

“Right?! I was so shocked when she picked that hideous gorilla though. It’s such an eye sore, that orange unfortunate thing.” I burst out laughing.

“As long as it works…” Minho shrugged and followed laughing with me.

The server brought us our wine just then, and after he filled our glasses and left our table, I decided to make things a bit more interesting.

“I have something for you.” I said, reaching to my bag and pulling out a little unsealed envelope.

Minho raised an eyebrow grabbed the paper from my hand, curiously looking inside at the small card.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, you’ll also need this” I rummaged through the small clutch and pulled out a pen as well, handing it over.

“You didn’t.” Minho started laughing as soon as he pulled out the little card.

“What?” I laughed as well. “Don’t you want to fill it in?”

“Jieun, this-” He laughed again, “Are you serious?”

“Why not? It was fun to do it that way when both of us were on In the Dark.” I smirked and watched him shake his head with a large grin on his face.

He started scribbling down on the paper, and a few moments later, he took a big gulp of his wine and handed me back the card.

---

CHARISMA – personal form

THINGS I ENJOY: everything about you

THINGS I DON’T WANT TO DO: ever let you go

CONDOM / NO CONDOM: are you seriously asking?

SPECIAL REQUIREMENTS: red lingerie set – please?

---

“Oh my, you didn’t write too much!” I chuckled to hide the blush creeping on my cheeks as I’m going through his form.

“Don’t I get a form back?”

“Not this time. But I do agree with all your requirements. And also, we somehow had the same idea regarding this…” I said and looked at him as I discreetly pulled one of my sleeves to the side, showing the deep red strap of my bra.

“Oh, my.” Minho licked his lips, gulping down the rest of his glass.

“More wine, sir?” The server approached us holding the bottle in his right hand.

“No, thank you. I think we are done for tonight. Jieun?” He smiled and looked at me, and I winked.

~

“You couldn’t wait to get out there, could you?” I laughed as Minho kissed me hastily.

“How could I, when you’re teasing me like that in front of everyone?”

“I think our cab is here.” I pushed him away slightly.

Minho opened the backdoor for me and helped me in, then followed me inside, placing a confident arm around my shoulders and pulling me towards him as he made small talk with the driver.

As he did so, his perfume invaded my nostrils, and I felt my heart start beating faster. My hand travelled to his abdomen, and I involuntarily squeezed his shirt, making him look at me in the process.

The driver’s words became white noise in the background as our lips touched again, Minho’s kiss being soft and tender this time. I tasted the wine on his tongue and squeezed his shirt tighter, and in that moment, it was just him and I, and nothing else mattered, and I’ve never been more in love with someone than I was with him.

His hand didn’t leave mine even as we exited the taxi, as if it was painful to let go even for a second. We got to our apartment quickly and kissed some more as we made our way inside, both of us eager to feel even closer.

We were grateful for the darkness and quietness of the apartment, for Minho’s mother who took Nari every weekend to allow us some time for ourselves, thus allowing the creation of intimate moments such as this one, where my back was pressed against the mattress and Minho’s weight was on top of me, our clothes disappearing quickly and our bodies becoming one in passionate movements and careful touches.

Slow breathing turned into pants and short gasps, my nails dug in Minho’s back, his fingers pressed against the skin on my hips, and our lips were bright red, kissed and bitten, my lipstick smeared all over our faces.

It was passionate, it was messy, but it was perfect, just the way I envisioned my life to be, now that I was certain I’d always have Minho by my side.

~

(Picture of the unfortunate orange thing below)

~

Chapter 13 | Chapter 15

[martsonmars]

Happy Wednesday, friends! Words are still not happening, and normally I wouldn't post, but I have a busy day ahead (well, after sleeping) and need to know I'll find validation on Tumblr.

I am, however, attempting to plot what might become my COBB fic. I promised to myself that I will sign up as a writer only if I manage to fully outline it and start writing before sign-ups close, so it might not happen (I signed up as an artist anyway!), but last night I figured out some plot points that were troubling me, so I have hope.

I am writing random lines that I'm not even sure I'll use in the fic, so have some of them (heavily redacted, or where's the fun?):

“So you all came here with every intention of [REDACTING REDACTED], and then [REDACTED] was [REDACTED], and none of you did it?”

———

“This doesn't make any sense.”

“Unless they're all lying.”

“They must be,” [REDACTED] said. “Because I don't feel particularly [REDACTED].”

———

“Sweet Jesus,” the man said. “Are you the real Basilton Bitch?”

Basil thought of removing his sunglasses to emphasise his glare, but the [REDACTED] sun was unforgiving, and it made him miss England more than a decade of [REDACTED] had. He hoped the man suffered from a severe case of mispronunciation of plosive sounds, but the whole high-on-life vibe he had going on seemed to point in a totally different direction.

Basil straightened his back. “It's Mr Grimm-Pitch to you, thank you.”

The man's grin didn't falter. He extended his hand with the enthusiasm of a puppy eager to be pet. Basil didn't recoil (10 points to him for another successful social interaction), but he stared at the unwanted gesture until it was no longer in his field of view.

———

“I thought you said you'd stop with your panic-induced online shopping. Not that you'd start ordering literal trash.”

@wellbelesbian @urban-sith @tea-brigade @sillyunicorn @mostlymaudlin @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @forabeatofadrum @johnwgrey @fatalfangirl @prettylightsbigcity @whatevertheweather @confused-bi-queer @moodandmist @bookish-bogwitch @letraspal @dragoneggos @captain-aralias @takitalks @excalisbury @cutestkilla @ileadacharmedlife @gekkoinapeartree @bazzybelle @aroace-genderfluid-sheep @basiltonbutliketheherb @ivelovedhimthroughworse @nightimedreamersworld @artsyunderstudy @ionlydrinkhotwater @yellobb @orange-peony @ic3-que3n @whogaveyoupermission @yeonjunenby @erzbethluna @larkral @chen-chen-chen-again-chen @shrekgogurt @raenestee @onepintobean @stitchyqueer @hushed-chorus @theearlgreymage @technetiumai @jbrrring @stardustasincocaine @angelsfalling16

[dreamdripdistance]

I'll always love a good Dizz tag rant about how much plastic fabrics suck ass <3

FVDSHKFBHDSUGDEWHJKFBZXJK im glad i have a brand!!! because like if someone doesnt need polyester for a specific purpose for its specific properties, why WOULD you prefer it over a natural fibre for an everyday use????

like. ethically sourced leather (which is a byproduct of the meat industry, cows are always going to be killed or will die for one reason or another, wasting their skin when it could instead be a Really good textile is STUPID and ILLOGICAL) or wool (something that will always be available as long as sheep roam this earth, and DOES NOT harm the animal and actually is integral to their survival!!) or cotton or linen or silk or whatever will always be a better, more ethical and healthier choice!!!!!

like just off the top of my head, linen is always going to be a better choice for bedding than anything else, especially in the way its literally a Stronger textile when wet, and its breathablity and antibacterial properties. all things you want when using and caring for your bedding????

cotton is GREAT for underwear and clothing kept close to the skin because of its breathablity. by the fucking way, ppl with vaginas? if youre wearing polyester underwear Every Day, i hope you know youre literally just inflicting yeast infections upon yourself??? like wearing cute lacy undies is great once in a while, but pleaaaaase. wear (loose fitting) cotton underwear to sleep, especially.

and also, wool is the greatest insulator that you could possibly get, and is key to making sure you dont also sweat (which can be dangerous and also gross even when its extremely cold), and is a great thing to use in your doonas if you can afford it (WHICH I CANT AND I CRY EVERY TIME)

like, yeah theres ethical issues regarding natural textiles, like leather dyeing processes (and that its an animal byproduct, which im not gonna talk about indepth bc idgaf), and the historically (and currently) evil practices being used to farm cotton, and the widespread fast fashion-ification of Everything rn even with natural textile garments.

but like. think about it in comparison to the mass manufacture and discarding of polyester fabrics, and the microplastics going loose in every single wash, and how polyester waste is literally just PLASTIC waste, so when your PU leather coat disintegrates, thats just going to go in the bin, where as a coat made of real leather is going to last for however as long as you can keep it conditioned and protected from damage (which can be fucking DECADES)

also, synthetics are Fine. like they have a time and place especially in the medical field and in situations where you reaaaally dont want anything coming in or out of what youre wearing. nylon was fucking revolutionary as the first entirely synthetic textile so like. i dont hate polyester? but again it has a time and place!!!

like, polyester is cheap as fuck, and if polyester or "cotton rich" (aka poly blend) bedding or clothing is all you can afford or find, then cool! im sorry about that, but i have no qualms about it! ive bought polyester clothing, like, my work pants are all polyester, because they were the cheapest dress pants i could get at kmart that were my size after trying and failing to find smth in an op shop! but like !!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGHGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHHHHH IF SOMEONE HAS THE MEANS TO BUY ACTUAL LEATHER (WITH NO QUALMS WITH REAL LEATHER OR W/E) AND THEN GOES TO DROP HUNDREDS ON A PU LEATHER (AKA PLASTIC) COAT, IM GONNA MAUL THEM!!!!!

anyways in conclusion, as i always say:

[breakerwhiskey]

059 - FIFTY-NINE

Please visit breakerwhiskey.com for more information or to send a message to Whiskey's radio. Breaker Whiskey is an Atypical Artists production created by Lauren Shippen. If you'd like to support the show, please visit patreon.com/breakerwhiskey.

Transcript under the cut. For more episodes, click here.

[click, static]

Breaker, breaker, this is WAR1974, talking to even more of no one than before, because I am deep in the Wyoming wilderness.

I mean, most of Wyoming is wilderness. But I’m intentionally heading off the well beaten path onto the road less traveled. I raided a camping store in Jackson—the whole town was untouched. Pristine, almost, if you ignored how overgrown the streets have become. I even saw—I even saw some Bighorn sheep wandering through main street, though they bounded off before I could get close.

I still need to get that polaroid. Or maybe I should go to a library again and learn how to develop film. Not that I’ve been paying close attention to how many film cameras are lying around. But, well, I guess I haven’t been looking all that hard for a polaroid camera either.

Anyway, the camping store was a gold mine. I got a much more modern camper stove, a tent, some knives, a new axe, fire starters—you name

it. But the stuff I’m really excited about is my new winter coat and new winter boots.

They didn’t have very many women’s clothes—really just some gloves —but I’ve always liked shopping in the men’s section anyway. It took me a bit to find boots small enough but I’m not that small myself and with all the thick socks I got, I think it’ll work out fine.

So, this is all to say—I am going camping. Honest-to-god camping. I haven’t been camping in...jesus, maybe twenty years? But I mean, but what have I been doing the last six years if not a weird form of camping —

[click, static]

It’s surprisingly warm here. I don’t know why I expected October in Wyoming to be below freezing, but it’s in the low sixties today. Practically bikini weather.

I doubt I’ll stay when the frost comes, unless I want to hole up in cabin somewhere, but, I don’t know, a week or so of sleeping under the stars instead of roadside motels or my passenger seat might be just the thing.

I’m not going to be able to take the radio with me obviously—I don’t have any way to power it outside of the car. I guess I should add a battery-powered radio to my list of things to pick up.

So, it might be a few days before you hear from me. I think I’m going to hike into National Park a little, find a good spot to camp. But I don’t want to carry all that much. So. You know, I’ll be back.

Not that you’ve said anything in a while. It would be good to hear from you, Birdie.

[click, static]

But for now, this is Whiskey, going quiet. [click, static]

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2022 Day 3 - Digital

It was quiet – too quiet. No brother companionably snoring in the twin bed across from his. No traffic rumbling past the motel window. Apparently this one horse town closed up shop as soon as the sun set – which it had done a few hours ago.

Pulling in to the first motel he had seen in miles was biting him in the ass big time. But after a brutal solo hunt and a long day on the road, Dean stood by his decision to take a room for the night. A good meal, a hot shower, and a comfy bed. That's all he wanted – not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately he was denied all three. The diner was closed, the water was lukewarm at best, and the bed was lumpy. Sam's reaction to his list of woes had been less than sympathetic. He hung up on the bastard, and flung himself on the bed hoping to get a little shut eye. So far, that hope had been in vain.

When counting sheep failed to transport him to dreamland, Dean amused himself by counting the minutes as they passed, all the while tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position, despairing of ever falling asleep.

The digital clock on the nightstand cast an unnervingly blood-red glow, the display endlessly flashing twelve o'clock, twelve o'clock, though Dean's watch clearly indicated it was closer to three a.m.

Fed up with the persistent flashing, Dean leaned over and unplugged the damned thing, refraining at the last moment from chucking it across the room.

What was it with motels and digital clocks? Even in the middle of nowhere you couldn't escape them. Not for the first time that evening, he wished that he was home. In his own bed. With the hynotic tick tock, tick tock of the old clock on the wall marking the passage of time. It filled the emptiness of the night with the illusion that he was not alone: that there was a warm body in his bed, Dean's head resting on their chest, their steady heartbeat lulling him to sleep.

That the person he most often pictured lying next to him happened to be Castiel didn't shock him the way it used to. After all, how often had Dean seen a fierce look of longing on the angel's face when he looked his way? A longing Dean knew was reflected in his own eyes. Maybe someday they would find the courage to act on their feelings. Maybe. Someday.

Dean smiled, imagining what such a coming together would mean: the comfort he would find in Castiel's strong embrace; the welcome murmur of a voice speaking words of love; the whisper of a kiss shyly placed in Dean's hair; the joy of finally, finally admitting this was what he'd wanted all along.

The heady, otherworldly scent of the angel would wrap around him, tantalizing his senses, driving him mad with the desire to touch, to taste.

The serenity of the moment would vanish then, swept away by passion.

Yeah, a man could dream...

And dream Dean did, slipping easily now into slumber, his heart beating out the rhythm that he so yearned to share.

[docholligay]

What's the three best and three worst places you've been?

I assume this is like, cities, and not, you know, prison.

Cities to which I very likely can and will return someday I enjoyed them so much:

London, UK

Boston, USA

Minneapolis, USA

Glasgow, UK (I know this is four I know I know shut up)

Cities where I am unlikely ever to darken their door except by absolute necessity:

St. Louis, USA

Cambridge, UK

Atlanta, USA

I enjoy so many more places than I do not enjoy, and this was shockingly hard for me in the positive to narrow it down to three. I have friends outside of London and Boston, and so I had to think carefully on whether or not that affected my answer. I enjoy seeing them, and so that's always a positive.

So, what cities would I return to outside of getting to see a single person I know? The other problem with this is I'll go almost fucking anywhere, I am a very adaptable person and find many ways to have a good time. Even NYC, which was very very hard for me the first time I went, I think I've figured out how to have a great time there. So even my bottom of the barrel, given a cheap and easy chance, I'd probably give another shot, just with knowing what I know now and trying to massage the things I didn't like.

London: Samuel Johnson said that when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life, and that's remained true for me. Not only is there a lot to do--this is true of many big cities--but the vibe of the city is much more low to the ground is the only way I can think of to say it, compared to NYC and LA, both of which genuinely have a lot offer but feel extremely frenetic to me in a way London does not. Narrowly beat out Paris simply because the subway is better than Paris'. Also it is I think more chill than Paris, but I sort of like the ways Paris is out of its mind.

Boston: This is another one I would call "Low to the ground" in a way that I think makes no sense to anyone but me. It feels like people live in Boston. Also I eat my weight in oysters at least once a trip. Great food scene on both expensive and cheap ends.

Minneapolis: The whole world is sleeping on Minneapolis. They have a rapidly growing food scene, great craft beer scene, the sculpture park is immense amounts of fun even in winter (a/n: I am cold-hardy), and minnesota nice is a REAL thing. We walked into a brewery and were standing at the counter, I said something offhandedly to Jetty about how it was real wet and cold out that day, and the guy at the counter was like, "Oh you don't have to buy a beer just to get out of the cold! Go ahead." I wanted the beer, mind, but I thought the attitude was great. We went to a piano bar that made its own mini pop tarts that were shockingly great, also go to Black Sheep Coal Fired for pizza.

Glasgow: I will spend the rest of my natural life trying to talk people into going to Glasgow, and probably fail because everyone wants to go fucking Edinburgh because it's instagrammable and ~'arry Potter~ and whatever. Anyhow, I did not hate Edinburgh at all despite that bitter little screed, but much like Minneapolis, people are sleeping on Glasgow. Great boutique hotels at extremely fair prices, amazing Indian food (Dishoom did beat Mother India out, but damn is it close as fuck, and Ashoka won for me for casual Indian), and again, like Minneapolis: The people. Are so. Nice. Legit if I had left my passport on a bus in any other city I feel I would have been fucked, but on a weekend, the bus system and the extremely nice people at the coffee shop were all working to try and get it back to me (and we did!) And the gal at our little hotel took time to chat with us every evening (full disclosure: She was Irish, and when she found out we were from a rural part of America, she spent so so much time trying to talk us into rural Ireland for our next trip, because we'd love the vibe of it. Someday), and I had the ABSOLUTE WORST old fashioned of my life made by the most amazingly kind woman in history, and I drank the whole thing and thanked her profusely. The pub near our hotel was incredible and homey (little boutique hotels are in neighborhoods there. Fantastic.) Glaswegians GET THEIR PARTY ON EARLY, mind.

[godtivente]

i’m all alone on the farm since last friday, taking care of 24 sheep, 10 chickens, 2 cats, harvesting leek, sweet potato, planting next year’s garlic, turning this year’s excess of chilis into the most aromatic sweet sauce, testing carrot jam, opening and closing the farm shop, gathering wood for heat and hot water, sleeping like a rock when the day is done, and of course thinking about being alone here, about life, feeling strong, crying and singing and talking to the animals, yesterday i screamed primevally to the four o’clock moon when i went down behind the hill to gather silage and managed to lift the ball onto the wheelbarrow by myself and all the muscle i’ve built since april (mental and physical)

[artificialqueens]

🎁 And It's a Potion (Lady Camden x Bosco) for Puppy - Athena2

SECRET QUEEN 2022 by @buffyathena

Summary: Bosco works at a magic shop, and must track down her crush, Camden, after accidentally selling her a love potion.

A/N: I was so excited to do secret Santa and write this!! Thank you so much to Writ for helping me come with ideas and for beta-ing this, I seriously couldn't have done it without you. Puppy, I really hope you enjoy this, and have a great holiday!

(Title from Potion by Dua Lipa)

Inventory is never a fun day for Bosco over at Jinkx’s shop, and they have to do it twice a week. The bulk of what they sell is potions, which Jinkx brews themself, and which have a tendency to go haywire after more than a few days—hence the constant inventory of new ones. Jinkx had a never-ending supply of stories about things that had gone wrong, including a flying cat. So Bosco always makes sure to be careful when they lay out the new vials: ten love potions and ten sleep potions on the counter by the register, since they’re the most popular. Then they arrange the other products in rows of five on each shelf, containing potions, creams, and powders for healing minor illnesses, centering visions for psychics, and temporarily changing appearances, along with 20 others. The rest of the shop sells supplies and cauldrons and other usual witch supplies.

Bosco lines up the love and sleep potions, then whirls around when the bell rings, and in walks the one person who always makes the day better.

“Morning, Camden!” Bosco smiles cheerfully.

“Morning,” Camden returns, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. There are gray half-moons under her blue eyes, but they still light up with her smile. She’s been a constant fixture at the shop, mostly for sleeping potions so she could get some actual rest amid the flurry of ballet performances, or cream for all the aches and pains after.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Do you have any sleep potions?”

Bosco nods. “Shouldn’t you be able to sleep after all that dancing you do?”

“You would think.” Camden sighs. “Lately I think I’m thinking too much. About…stuff. Stuff I probably shouldn’t think about.” She quickly looks away from them, fiddling with the sleeve of her jacket.

“You said ‘think’ way too much,” Bosco says. “Thinking sucks. That’s why I try not to.”

“I think that might be pretty obvious sometimes,” Camden teases, and Bosco grins.

“I’m gonna sue you for slandering my good name. That’s right, slander. That’s a word only us true intellectuals know.” They pat their chest proudly.

Bosco isn’t sure either of them fully knows what slander means, but people always say it on TV in situations just like this. And besides, it makes Camden laugh, her nose wrinkling up, and Bosco takes it as a win. They’re so distracted by the effects of their victory, in fact, that they grab a vial without really looking at it.

“About three sips of this should be good for the night,” Bosco says, ringing up the sale and sliding Camden the bottle.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. If that doesn’t work, you could always count horses,” Bosco suggests.

Camden blinks. “It’s sheep.”

“Horses are cooler. Fight me.”

Camden laughs again. “I’ll take your word for it.” And then she’s gone, her red hair waving behind her.

Bosco sighs and sags against the counter, their elbow knocking over the row of love potions. They pick them back up, heart skipping a beat when there’s only nine, instead of ten, like there should be.

Bosco forces in a breath. Maybe they’re just miscounting, or mixing things up. After all, the dark blue of the sleep potion is close to the purple love potion. Maybe too close, Bosco thinks, as a quick scan doesn’t help sort the potions out. Bosco tears a hand through their hair, then knocks the vials over again in the rush to count them properly. Ten sleep potions, just like they had marked down this morning. But only nine love potions.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Swearing this early is never a good sign.” Bosco looks up to see Jinkx in the doorway, bagel in hand.

“You do it every morning.”

“Exactly. So what’s the issue?”

“Camden took a love potion.”

“Did she drink it?” Jinkx asks around a mouthful of bagel, “Because it would make my life much easier if she did.” With all the feelings they didn’t want to admit, Bosco often spilled them all to Jinkx for hours at a time, then tried to deny they even felt that way for Camden at all. They’ve never convinced either of them.

“Well, shit, it’d be easier for me too if she drank it!” Bosco splutters. “But it was an accident. I wouldn’t give her one on purpose.”

Bosco would be lying if they said they hadn’t thought about it, just for a few seconds before shaking the temptation off. It would be easy, more than easy, to slip a few drops of a love potion into one of Camden’s sleep potions. Then she would fall in love with Bosco, and they wouldn’t have to make the first move, risk ruining their kind-of friendship. Wouldn’t have to admit they like Camden that much, in that way. But Bosco would never do that. They could never manipulate Camden like that, force her into loving them.

Jinkx nods to themself.

“Plus it’s really strong. Like, follow the person you love across the country and die for them like this is Romeo and Juliet strong. It could make her do something…bad.” Bosco doesn’t even want to think about Camden under the control of something that powerful. “Do you have, like, customer records or something? So I can call her?”

“I sell potions for a living, you tell me,” Jinkx says dryly.

Bosco groans. “How am I gonna stop her from taking it?”

“I guess you have to find her,” Jinkx says.

Bosco sighs and runs out the door. Camden usually goes to the Black Tea Shop in town after she visits, and that’s where they head.

Joe’s tea shop is normally a place Bosco loves, with black-and-white striped walls and spooky decor year-round, plus a piano wedged into the corner. But they tear inside, the door slamming into the wall, and look around breathlessly, giving a quick wave to Pythia – a regular customer at Jinkx's – before turning to Joe.

“Is Camden here?” they demand. Every part of their body is on alert; sweat trickles down their neck, heart racing from the run and from the worry.

“Sorry, love, she left a few minutes ago. Said she wanted her tea to-go today, so she could go home and take a nap.”

It robs Bosco of even more air. Not only is Camden already on her way home, but she’s clearly intending to take that potion when she gets there.

“Everything all right?” Joe’s tattooed, ring-covered hand settles over theirs, and Bosco’s face burns from the comfort.

“Do you know where she lives? It’s really important.”

Joe looks at them deeply, like he’s sizing them up, trying to decide if they’re worthy of the information. “You need to help her, don’t you?”

“How did you—”

“I just know sometimes,” he says firmly, and Bosco remembers that Jinkx has mentioned brewing potions or having séances with Joe before. “Her apartment isn’t far. I’ll write the information down for you.”

Paper in hand, Bosco shoots out several thank yous and runs off again. Camden’s apartment is nearby, which is good, because Bosco is not in shape or good at running. Why on Earth should anyone run unless they need to? Though running practice would have been helpful for this mess. Bosco just listens to their shoes pound over the sidewalk, hoping it isn’t too late to help Camden.

Camden’s confused, but she buzzes them into the apartment, and Bosco skips the elevator and sprints up three flights of stairs, because they’re already soaked in sweat and gasping for air.

Bosco knocks on the door, then bends over and sucks in air until Camden opens the door. She looks ready for bed, in sweatpants and a soft pink sweatshirt. The bags under her eyes look more pronounced, and it makes Bosco’s pounding heart ache. She has to look up to meet Bosco’s eyes, and they try not to think of how she’s just the perfect height for a forehead kiss.

“Bosco? What are you doing—”

“Don’t drink the potion I gave you!”

“Why? Are you trying to poison me?”

“No, it was an accident, but if you drink it, something really bad might happen. Please, you can’t drink it.”

Camden’s face shifts. “You’re serious,” she says, a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows, and Bosco realizes that they’ve never been this serious with her; usually it’s a lot of joking and small talk. They’ve never even shown this much emotion around her. They try not to, afraid that any hint of deep emotion would reveal their true feelings to her. Feelings that are rising to the surface like lava preparing to erupt from a volcano.

Bosco nods, trying to collect their words. “I made a mistake and gave you the wrong one. It’s a love potion. A really strong one. It’ll make you fall madly and obsessively in love with the first person you see.”

It’s quiet, the confession just hanging in the air. Camden finally looks up at them, biting her lip. “If it weren’t for the obsession part, that might not be so bad.”

Bosco’s brain lags as they try to process it. “What do you…“ Camden looks at them again, more pointed. Bosco’s head spins. “You don’t…you like me?”

Camden nods, her cheeks flushed red. “I’ve liked you for a while, if I’m being honest. I’ve been wondering if I should tell, but then I kept thinking that would ruin everything.”

“Wait a minute.” Bosco thinks of the bags under Camden’s eyes, the tired set of her shoulders when she comes in the store lately, much more than normal.  “Is that why you haven’t been sleeping?”

Camden nods sheepishly.

“Camden! Why would you lose sleep over me? I’m not…I’m not worth that, I’m just…” Bosco trails off with a helpless shrug. They’ve never thought Camden saw them as anything other than the funny person she traded banter with at the magic shop. Surely Bosco, with their purposely-messy hair and dark jokes, wouldn’t be someone Camden, with all her perfection and grace, would crush on.

But Camden takes their hand, and shakes her head firmly. “You are worth that, Bosco. Do you not know how amazing you are? You make me laugh every day, and you’re so beautiful, and smart, and you’re so kind to everyone. You’re not ‘just’ anything.”

Camden squeezes their hand as she talks, and it’s the only sign to Bosco that they’re really still here, because Camden’s words are running through their mind too fast. Camden really saw them in that way. Camden really liked them in that way. The feelings finally erupt, and Bosco floods with warmth, wondering why they denied telling Camden for so long.

“I, uh…”

“I’m sorry,” Camden says quickly. “I shouldn’t have told you all that, you probably don’t feel the same—”

“I do!” Bosco grips Camden’s hand, taking in her wide eyes. “I do like you that way. I just didn’t want to tell you. Didn’t want to actually admit my feelings and let them out and get hurt.” It seems so ridiculous now, but Bosco’s had unrequited crushes before, and the memory of that constant heartache never really goes away.

“I understand.”

“But, um, would you ever want to go on a date? We could get dinner or something.” Bosco’s hesitation flies away, because it’s okay. Camden likes her back.

“I would love that! Can we do it later though?” Camden asks hesitantly. “I really do need a nap.”

“Hey, I’m the one who ran a damn marathon to get here!”

“I live barely ten minutes from the shop,” Camden says, unimpressed.

“Ten minutes that I fully sprinted, thank you.” Bosco makes a show of grabbing their shirt collar and showing Camden the sweat there. “You’re lucky I didn’t pass out in the hall. I’m sure your landlord would love that.”

Camden grins. “Come in. We can take a nap together.”

Bosco squeezes her hand and follows her inside.