#and if i get rid of it it’s suddenly ‘concerning’ and ‘unhealthy’ like pick a lane

[mamaspidershit]

kinda fucked i cannot have the Little Treat without the Acne. who decided we should be built like this

[s-4pphics]

soul ties. part I (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: a product of brokenness. WORD COUNT: 13.4K WARNINGS: ellie’s a painter/art dealer, heavy angst[oc is suicidal and has dissociative episodes + abusive parents/SEXUAL ABUSE(nothing explicitly written but aluded to) + patriarchy/men being predatory/traditionalist households + mentions of cheating + alcoholism + disordered eating/self-harm(cuticle picking) + thoughts of murder + mommy issues/daddy issues + parental grief + homophobia + more patriarchy but with dykes + unhealthy relationships with sex(coping) + brief mention of masturbation + sexual tension + making out + fondling + slapping + DUBCON + just matching freaks to avoid trauma], miscommunication, just 2 socially inept crash outs lol  A/N: hellloo lol. fixed plot bc im venting… s been a very rough few months. i was convinced i lost my very acute skill so uhhh consider this a test. uhh what else… idk when i’ll be back bc im now a piano player #NEWFOUNDESCAPISM LOL.  suggestion: this technically could b read alone but if u care ab context read this first. then this. that is all LOL byeee :p hi taggies we back: @dyk3ang3l @acidblum @mellifluousgirll @elliesatchel @callmewhenyoukan @natgf123 @elliesstella @spaceforescape @floridaopal @lonelyfooryouonly @ellies-converse @amiorca @darkerstarsstuff

fuck the bitch that made this game.  dont buy his shit.

aid links from my inbox: one, two, three, four

What to do, what to do�� 

Ellie is a wreck. An agitated, craving, mess. 

What to do… Love your wife, fuck the daylights out of your wife, kill your wife before she kills you… What to do… 

It can’t be that hard to hide a body. Is it still murder if it’s self-defense? Ellie’s sure the next bath you run for her will either be filled with bleach or result in her being forced underwater until she’s lifeless. There are lots of people willing to get their hands dirty for her if that’s the case. Not a trace of you or her would be left and she’d finally be able to escape with only the clothes on her back. The weightlessness in her pockets wouldn’t move her in any way. Nothing compares to freedom. What a suffocating life she lives. 

The guest room mattress becomes less and less plush every time she lays in it. The sheets are itchier and cold and she’s stuck pondering with each swirl of the ceiling fan, wet hair wrapped in a bath towel; restless, fidgety, and honey-like ache in the pit of her stomach, mind warped with lecherous thoughts of her wife that she despises but not as much, her supposed life partner and fuck, how did you two get here…

Stuck with a tension so thick it permeates your home; if you’d even call it that. You’re both successfully trapped between your own walls; Elegant windows take the place of rusted, metal bars that confine you from the life you both dreamed of before all this; one soft and doting and colorful, one where your light isn’t dulled. 

Why does she feel so guilty, suddenly? You’re not lovers, and neither in love, so why does her chest ache with every glance she steals when you’re unassuming? The pain that’s always etched on your face, and if not, in your eyes — fills her with regret. She would abandon you for days — weeks at a time, not at all concerned about what you might be experiencing to rid herself of shame. And to think that you were merely a younger version of your mother; villainous and cruel and greedy when… when you’ve barely spoken. She finds herself, unfortunately, reminiscing on how bushy-tailed you were after marriage. So eager to please and prick her mind and annoyingly mechanical. You cooked at the same time everyday. Cleaned, did both your laundry, sunbathed, swam in your pool. She hated how rehearsed your lifestyle was; it reminds her of the worst parts of her childhood. When her mother was alive. So, Ellie chose to step out on you the second you took her last name; ravaged other women, released her anger and desires on strangers when she should’ve had you beneath, above, on your knees for her. Where has that craving to harm you gone? For months, she’s ached for your suffering to mirror hers, but now… What’s happening to her? What’s happened to you? 

Ellie believes you’ve lost it, and somehow she’s found herself chasing that unforeseen part of you; unfiltered and angry and wild. This manufactured doll your mother molded you into is shattering at the core and Ellie craves to see more of you. Guilty. As hurt as you were, that night was the most alive she’s seen you be. You shouted and cried and tore at the seams, desperate for someone to hear you, and Ellie did. Loud and clear. She saw you for what you are. Mangled from the inside out, entirely hopeless. Just like she is. An unspeakable link that binds the two of you.

Soul ties. 

She shook and pleaded for you to enter the bathroom and see her battered against the shower wall with a hand between her legs and your name dripping from her lips, but the knob never twisted. Her orgasms were unsatisfactory, and she accepted with irritation that it was because you weren’t there. She ignored the throbbing between her legs and vacated the bathroom. Ellie, with legs that trembled, found you wrapped in satin and snoring. They sounded like whistles. 

She stood for a while, just watching you twitch and wiggle in your rest, eyes glazing to the space beside you that could easily fit another body. The sheets are already warm from where you lay. The two of you have never slept in the same room, let alone bed. 

Her feet carried her out. Silently left the room with an unfamiliar ache in her chest. 

Her mind made an enemy out of you because that’s what you are. When she thought her life couldn’t get any worse, you appeared and destroyed everything in her path. Left her world in ruins. Disrupted her pattern. You’re an enemy and deserve to hurt. 

Aren’t you? Don’t you? 

Everything is unclear. Ellie hasn’t been this conflicted since she was 15. She wishes she could sleep forever so she wouldn’t be forced to think. 

If she had any sense left, she would paint her agony away. In the past, her mind would shut down with every splash of color on a canvas to compensate for the darkness that conjured in her mind. She refrains from that now, though. She’s horny; scared she’ll start imagining what your pussy looks like and sketch it all over the bedroom walls. That’d be too much; a boundary that will remain untouched.

But her brain knows she’s not a good person; she can’t help but imagine how gorgeous your pussy is because you are and she’s known that since the beginning, the second she saw you drenched in white. Drenched in sorrow. 

She clutches your wedding band in her palm. 

What to do… what to do… 

Birds are artists. 

They never fail to sing every morning; sonnets aimed to awaken life as sun rays spill from behind mountains. You've always appreciated their tunes whenever you were pulled from a hollow rest, no longer surrounded by darkness. 

Maybe it was the routine your mother set for you from young. You were 9 when she first coddled your drowsiness as she shook you awake at five in the morning; the early bird catches the worm, a saying you naively assumed as preparation for the day, for your homeschooling. An energy booster, possibly. Motivation. Something to get you through. 

How stupid could a child be? 

You were 12 when your cycle started. You were 12 when you realized that your mother never envisioned actual birds and worms like you had. Your mother has games she plays and she cheats. She’s had you on a leash for the past decade; the scars around your neck are forever a reminder of the hell you’ve endured under her hand. It took no effort on her part to be uncaring of your suffering, and somehow that aches more than anything else. 

Even more than the existence of him. A demon walking.

Animals aren’t like your family. Birds aren’t. The minute specks of sunlight begin, their job starts, and they complete it happily without compensation or praise or the slightest acknowledgment. Everyone wakes, and they fly to anywhere to wake the next. 

But wealth is dirty. Wealth makes people dirty. They swindler and lie and experience life with a vacancy that’ll never be filled with anything but greed. Your mother trained you for years to accept whatever was given as long as you were taken care of. Play your part, she’d say. It took you years to learn her strategy — and unlearn yourself — but you’re here. Married. Successful by association. Rich. Unhappy. Unloved. 

Birds guided you. They never shy from their duty, and you hadn’t either… 

But you’re human. You crack and cry and scream and you hate. You despise so strongly that you lash out and everything in your path becomes victimized. Sometimes it gets to a point where you crave blood. You want to drown in it, drink it until you’re sick. Your soul is dead. Everyones’ should die with yours. 

You don’t know who should go first. Your mother, your stepfather, or your wife. 

You want to swallow Ellie whole—

“Good morning.” 

You’ve never seen Ellie not dolled up. She clearly just awakened with her wrinkled MILFS ONLY shirt and sporadic hair. Timidity doesn’t suit Ellie. You're so used to seeing her exasperated. Her weary eyes don’t meet yours. You should tell her your plans to adopt a hummingbird. Or maybe you shouldn’t. She might laugh at you.

“Hello.” 

“… Hi.” She seems like she wants to say something. You sip your coffee. 

“My dad called.” 

You hum around the rim of your mug. “Woke you up?” 

She merely shrugs. “I uh… did anyone tell you about tomorrow?” 

“Of course not.” 

You don’t expect Ellie to flinch at your tone. You weren’t that sharp, were you?

You might’ve been because she slows her speech. Like she’s approaching a wounded animal, “Dad’s hosting a dinner. Corporate bullshit but we have to go.” 

“Why.” 

She squints at you. “Why what.” 

“Why do we have to go.” Your mug lands on the table harder than expected. 

“To make mommy and daddy look good.” She sneers while approaching her seat, “Did you forget?” 

“I just thought they wouldn’t want two dykes contaminating their spaces anymore.” 

Ellie snorts. “They don’t. Companies do. Gets their cocks hard. Two gay daughters, how progressive!” She mocks and plops on the chair directly across from you, wiping at her eyes. Your throat dries when you notice her wedding band. She hardly ever wears it. You don’t know where you left yours. Since when does she care to wear it? “They’ll do anything they can to get on their good side. They’re… merging organizations or whatever the fuck he said.” 

She swallows. Shrugs uncaringly, “We going?” Her eyes watch your hands squeeze your mug. 

“Are we.” 

She regards your cup with caution. Does she think you’ll throw it? The thought nearly makes you laugh. 

“Yes.” She answers. 

“Okay.” 

Your wife finally looks up and stands, nose upturned, “Okay? That’s all you got?” 

“Yes. Okay.” You sip silently. Your foot taps on hardwood. 

“Excited to see your family? You like ‘em now?” 

Excited is laughable. 

“No, I don’t.” 

The sudden calamity from your wife confuses you. She tugs at the strands that flop on her head in agitation. They look soft as they bounce with her pacing. You’ll never feel them. Or you might later. Who knows with her. Who knows with you. 

Ellie’s still talking. Her arms flail like she’s annoyed by you. You’re not sure why. You’re following. You’re allowing her to guide. To control. That’s the entire point of this. That’s why you’re going to dinner with her. She told you to go and that’s it. 

Play your part play your part play yo—

You don’t remember much of anything; the past, the present, but you recall what Ellie sounds like when she’s angry, whether it’s at you, her father, the woman her father is fucking or married to or whatever. If you’d listen, you’ll discover what ticked her off, but your ears ring too loud. Much louder than her screaming. 

You sip your coffee silently. Ellie leaves you at the dining table with a slam of a door. 

You think it’s the first floor’s guest room. 

The sun sets. Ellie can’t remember the last time she’s been home this long. 

She hates the weekends. The gallery is never open and she can’t drown herself in deals. She hates being home when you are. Why the fuck are you always here? You don’t have friends, a job, a life outside of this goddamn house? There’s a sinking in her stomach at the thought of your isolation, but she ignores it. Tries to ignore it.

… Can’t really ignore it. How pestering. You’re a pest. 

She knows nothing about you, only bits of your past expressed through photographs at your mother’s or outbursts in your bedroom. Your stepfather is fucking creepy and your mother’s glare is killer, but that’s about it. Still, she doesn’t think she can hate your parents more than you. 

You’re so fucking weird. Just like them. Unforgiving and unchaste one day then apathetic the next. How the fuck can one communicate with a person like that? 

That feeling in her chest again. Sharp and annoying. Try try try, it says. Begs from her. 

Try and do what? Do fucking what—

It took Ellie 3 seconds to unlock the guest room door and fly down the stairs when a crash rings from the first floor. Glass clatters and you sound in pain and oh fuck did someone break in

There’s red all over the kitchen floor but it’s not blood it’s red wine. Red wine red wine it’s not blood— 

You’re on the kitchen floor surrounded by green shards and dressed so pretty. Hair coiled and free and your face is done up and you’re wearing flowers. There’s flowers all over and your skin shines and why do you have heels on like a play doll?

Ellie palms at the scattered racing of her heart. Everything’s fine, her brain blares, She tripped, that’s it. Clears her throat. Rustles her hair to appear normal. 

She’s not dead. 

“… You good?” 

An unsteady hand rises to throw her a thumbs up. Your body wobbles when you attempt to stand. Ellie ushers to the counter to slide on her slippers, tells you to stop when your palm nearly plants on a shard. 

“Move back before you hurt yourself.” Ellie takes a quick lap around the kitchen for the broom and dustpan. Finds you just as quickly so you don’t accidentally slice an artery. 

Your lashes flutter and her heart follows suit, taking in the mess. “I think I fucked up.” You croak.

Hearing you curse is always odd. She huffs, “It’s fine. Can you stand?” 

Your head shakes and your bottom lip juts. “My… my shoes…”

You slowly plop onto your bottom and rest your back against the dishwasher. You struggle to grip your buckles to pull and slide the strap and Ellie remembers why she hates heels. She sweeps the glass away from you and realizes she should’ve mopped first because the bristles are soaked and streaking the clean parts of the crystal porcelain. When was the last time she cleaned? The maids always do. Sometimes you help. 

You look stunned when Ellie moves to squat in front of you. Jumps back when she adjusts your ankle. 

Her palms hang in surrender, “I’m gonna help you. Relax. Do your knees hurt?” 

You landed right on them. They should. You don’t disarm, eyes guarded and body locked tight, but you shrug. It’s good enough for Ellie. 

She unravels the buckles around both your ankles and tosses them next to you and you just watch. Ellie’s glances are quick and flitting, but she follows the traces of her hands; the sharp inhales whenever her fingers brush against the skin of your leg. You’re not as close as you were last night but she can smell you. Her chest is throbbing. You look like you’re about to cry but you’re drunk. It’s meaningless. Drunk people cry. 

Try try try try 

“Can you stand now?” She croaks. 

It takes a second for you to register her inquiry, but you shrug, and she sighs. When Ellie stands, both her hands extend out to you, but you don’t accept them; She gets jittery under your scrutinizing gaze after nearly a minute passes. Her throat dries and her face burns when you brush her hands away; standing on your own is an unstable journey, but you do, back against the counter to stabilize yourself. You look ill. Your brain must be jumbled. 

“Can you get upstairs on your own?” 

“You talk a fucking lot. Shut up.”  

The corner of Ellie’s mouth rises, but she says nothing. Gives you space to move. 

You take one step, then two more, then your eyes shut and your throat jumps. Uh oh.

“Oh shit, come—“

Ellie guides you to the garbage can near the front of the counter, away from the glass, and you dry heave. Liquid splatters inside the can and Ellie hates this so fucking much. The sounds are enough to make her own stomach lurch. It’s been a while since she’s been around someone this drunk. 

But she holds your waist so you don’t faceplant into your own vomit. 

“Get it out,” She hums with a grimace, “You’re fine.” An I gotcha almost rolls off her tongue but she catches it. She glides a comforting hand over your curved spine because you’re drunk and you won’t remember such gestures in the morning. She prefers it that way. 

You’re not gagging anymore so Ellie removes herself from you. Until she hears a whimper. And a sob so quiet she assumes you’re trying to mask it. Drunk people cry; she’s seen it countless times. Why does that seering feeling spark in her chest for what felt like the billionth time today? Fucking try, for fucks sake! 

“Let’s… let’s get you—“

“I wish I was dead.” 

Your prayer is hollow. Not even sad despite your tears. So, so empty. Ellie’s seen this before, experienced that nothingness countless times, but despite it all, she never learned how to console. Hell, she barely knows how to self-soothe without falling victim to her dark temptations. Even her paint brushes can’t eliminate the constant ache she feels. She just watches the tremble of your shoulders from behind. 

“I really don’t wanna go tomorrow.” You whisper. 

Ellie sighs. There’s no other choice. You know the stakes; follow your families’ commands or lose everything at the drop of a hat. They’ll leave you both on the streets to rot with no remorse if they please, replace the two of you with two normal children. Het children that won’t deviate. You’re both on thin ice as it is. Mainly because of Ellie. She can’t seem to keep herself out of trouble.

“I…” 

I’ll be with you the entire time. I don’t like being around those cunts either. 

“It’ll go by quickly.” She settles. 

“I hate when p-people look at me.” 

“Me too.” 

“I wish my family loved me.” 

Ellie’s softer now. Only slightly. 

“Yeah…” 

A tug in her ribcage. Try. Please, try. 

“Me too.” 

The pounding beneath your skull wakes you quicker than the birds. You shove your face in the pillow you rest on. 

The devil tells you to check the time so you do. The bedside clock says noon, meaning a new day, meaning it’s Saturday meaning you’ll die. Maybe not physically but mentally. You’re so drained and you’ve barely opened your eyes; the idea of leaving bed alone is enough to exhaust you. Your wrists and legs ache like fucking hell on top of that. 

You make fists with both hands. Repeatedly clench and unclench. The weight is different on your wedding finger. Heavier. You haven’t seen your ring since yesterday… or a few days ago — you’re not really sure. You must’ve found it in your drunken stupor. Just when you hoped to never see it again. 

The universe will always remind you who you are. 

If you stand you’ll vomit but your phone is ringing from the drawer you stuck it in weeks ago. How is it not dead? You know your mom’s calling. You hate that she is… 

The ringing stops and you thank the heavens. 

You curse them when it starts up again. 

The drawer slides open with reluctance. The ringing sounds 20 times louder. You retrieve your device blindly and your throat snaps shut when you speak. 

“You rang.” 

“Did your… partner tell you about tonight.” 

Hard and distant. That’s how she speaks to you. Your heart cracks. 

Your mom already knows Ellie did. She loves to bother you with nonsense. You don’t think she’s ever called Ellie your wife. 

“Yes.” 

“You’re attending.” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

“Is that all.” 

“Your gown was delivered here. Come by well before 8 to get ready.” 

And she hangs up. Just like that. Always. She’s never told you to have a nice day, or to rest well, or that she loves you, at the minimum. And if she had, you don’t remember any of it. There’s a lot you force yourself to forget. 

The selfish part of you disregards the burning of your eyes to stare at your phone — low battery and… no messages. No texts, no phone calls from anyone except your mother, no likes on Instagram because your mom scared you into not making one when you were a teenager. No one cares about you. People care about your wife, though. Maybe because she’s talented; she’s certainly not nice. 

Your darkest memories are always the most prominent. 

Your phone drops to the floor and you don’t reach for it. You just pray to sleep again. 

Tonight will be interesting. 

The ride to your mother’s is silent. 

At least she chauffeured the two of you. Ellie can be scary when she drives. You’ve never been in a car with her, but she did ram into a lamppost on the sidewalk a few nights after your wedding. 

Your wife is already dressed despite the party being hours away. She sits right next to you in all black; in a trenchie and turtleneck and slacks and loafers with fur and gold jewelry. When she descended the staircase, you gawked when she wasn’t looking. So simple, but she had your heart fluttering when she’d asked, ready? You’re still in your sleep shorts, teeth unbrushed and starving. When was the last time you ate? 

What an embarrassment — you’re an embarrassment, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. If only newly wed you could see herself now. 

You swallow a lump when you feel eyes on the side of your face, but yours remain glued out the window. The closer you get to your mom’s, the faster your mind starts to shut down. Everything passes you by in a blur. 

By the time the gates with your father’s initials come into view, your thoughts go silent, only filled with the calming images of nature and the song of birds. Your only escapism. 

The only way you’ll make it out of here in one piece. 

Ellie! Darling! We’ve missed you! Give us a smile! 

Ellie! Ellie, look this way! 

Ellie, where’s your wife? 

She wishes she knew. You’d barely made it into your mother’s home before getting swept down the hall by 4 other people who poked at your appearance. Ellie didn’t even get to give your mom the passive, spine-chilling hi, mom like old times before another SUV came to whisk her away from that hell hole. Her dad always knows somehow. 

She hates being at your mom’s; it’s stifling and quiet and the aura is dark. Like mother, like house or whatever the fuck. 

She scowls when the bombarding questions redirect to you. Some concerning, some sarcastic, some raunchy — those get under her skin in particular — and she can’t stop fiddling with her ring. Her chest tugs tugs tugs. 

Trouble in paradise? 

You were caught leaving the bar with another woman on your arm a few weeks ago! How’d your wife react to that? 

She doesn’t know. She’s never home to see you break. 

Guilt ate at her when the door of your mother’s mansion shut behind her, but she disregards it now. You shouldn’t be forced to listen to their guised jabs; You get enough of that from everyone in your life. She hopes you’ll go through the back entrance when you arrive. 

When will you get here? 

Ellie’s never made an event appearance without you. You’d pose and fidget and display awkward affection so that they’d buy your love a little bit, then enter the gathering as two separate hearts, riddled and torn, never to cross paths until the bustle is over and it’s time to go home. 

Finally, security moves and barricades her until she gets past the 20 foot gate and treads the steps. The flashing cameras are still blinding from behind. 

The tended garden is the first thing she notices. Wide and green. The daisy and rose bushes are no longer tangled with weeds and surrounded by dead grass and gnats. How could Joelene not see that and be vengeful? Ellie and her dad may not be close anymore, but she knows him; maybe even more than he knows himself. He still misses her mom after everything, and chooses to express it through her favorite hiding spot. Keeps the flowers that bloom and trims the ones that don’t so she lives through them. Ellie hardly remembers a time when her mother wasn’t covered in dirty overalls and sunburnt. 

She manages to hold it together when the large double doors open. The violins suddenly sound like nails on wood. 

Voices fade into nothing. People are outside your car. Light hurts so terribly. 

One second you’re here, the next you’re not. Your mom and her husband sit across with twined arms and the lace from your dress is itchy and you wanna disappear. When you blink, you’re gone. You only exist on this plain if your eyes are open. 

Something hard and leather brushes against your ankle, scratches against your stockings, slow and snake-like. You know what it is, who it is, and you freeze, eyes locked onto your mother. No matter your hopelessness, there’s still a young girl in you that wishes your mother would defend, act on anger, be disgusted at minimum. At least when his crimes are done in secret you can’t blame her for not knowing. 

But you’re here and she’s here and he’s here. A shared secret between the three of you. 

His shoe doesn’t halt on your leg. Your mother never looks at you. 

Birds and songs and sonnets. You’re a bird and you can fly against the strongest winds. Music is your guide and you follow the clouds. 

Your fingers twist together in your lap and the black interior of the car glows red. If only… he’s not the only one with sick intentions. If only. 

You’re flying you’re flying you can fly and there’s someone who’ll love you gently. They��re out there somewhere and you’ll find them and they’ll find you like every trial was worth it. 

Patience. That’s all you need. Just be patient. 

The rest of the car ride is unbeknownst to you. Next thing you know, your door is being opened and two men await your entry at the glass door. 

Champagne is good. Tequila is better. The two mixed is hell. 

Ellie’s throat burns and her mind swirls but she plays it off well enough. Mingles with pensive, old bastards while their daughters’ gawk at her with bright-eyed curiosity and you haven’t arrived yet. 

She lost her dad somewhere in the night. He greeted her briefly upon her arrival, pointed out the important men of the night, called your mother a selfish bitch, then walked off with his mistress by his side. Ellie’s eyes keep meeting the back door from the living room. 

Where are you? 

“Ellie!”

She downs the rest of her chute and guards her agitation with a grin. Shakes the hand of… 

What the fuck was this dude’s name? 

“It’s an honor! Your art is incredible! I’ve truly—“

—Fucking Ronald? Reginald? … Ronald might be it—

“—Your father, ya know, he’s an interesting man, incredibly smart! I’ve never—“

Her dad gave her a run-down of the … merging or whatever the fuck but what the fuck did he say and holy shit, is she sweating? The man’s handshake threw her off, frankly; almost snapped her wrist in two. Fucking old piece of shit. More business jargon that she pretends to understand and care so much about because it’s a show after all. All cheers and stiff laughter. 

“And your wife! By God, what a looker!”

Her jaw clenches. Where are you where are you where are you

“What we’d give, I mean, c’mon!” Men that pass laugh with him and it’s taking everything in Ellie not to smash this glass over his head. One quick swing and it’s over. For him and her. How promising.

“Where is she anyway? You two didn’t come together?” 

“She um, she’s with her parents right now. They’ll be here.” She jerks her chin toward the entrance. 

“How lucky are you. Treat her like the star she is!” It looks like the shithead’s leaving, but not before taunting, “Holler when she arrives, will ya?” 

And just like that, he leaves Ellie to simmer. Three deep breaths. A man in a suit and tray filled with champagne waltzes passed her and she snags two glasses. Downs the first in one thick swallow before another clinks with hers. 

Why does everyone keep fucking with her? 

“Cheers.” 

Ellie doesn’t need to look to know who it is. She scoffs. “Sounds like you’re having fun.” 

Jolene stands next to her, shoulders slouched and dress glowing under the chandelier. She arches a dark brow, “Who wouldn’t? Men are the most entertaining when they’re on ego trips.” 

“Same goes for my dad?” She snips, and Jolene shocks her with a smile. 

“Meh.” 

“Why are you here.” 

“I just told you—“

“No, where are you here.” Ellie gestures between them, “Why’re you talking to me right now?” 

Jolene downs her drink and shrugs, “My attempts at bonding. On a scale of 1 to 10, how shit were they?” 

“900. Leave me the fuck alone.” Before Ellie can run, a hand clamps down on her wrist. 

“I know—“ The woman rushes, “I know we don’t have the best relationship, but I’m not—“

Ellie almost corrects her out of pettiness; They don’t have a relationship, period. There’s no best or worst. But her sudden desperation halts her. 

“—the enemy. There’s not a lot for us in these spaces. I just wanted to try and establish something. Anything. Between us. It can be so lonely without a real support system.”

Ellie hates the direction her heart turns her mind. Suddenly you’re there and you’re crying and clawing at your chest and Ellie just watches like she did that night. So powerless. So empty. 

But Jolene isn’t you. She chooses to be selfish. Yours comes from self preservation and nothing else. 

Ellie snatches her hand back and throws her the deadliest stare. “You don’t know shit about being lonely. You’re the one who gave up everything you had to fuck my dad when my mom wasn’t looking. How much did you care about her loneliness then? Hm?” 

The timing was perfect, really. 15 year old Ellie watched her parents get into one of their most abhorrent arguments; her dad leaves first, then her mom, then only one of them returns, and it was not her mother. Imagine her shock when a news reporter confirmed that her mother’s body had been thrown in a garbage bag and left in a dumpster to rot. It only took two weeks to mourn before he was marrying another woman. 

Nobody cared that her mother had been shot or stabbed or gutted. She was just a woman married to a successor who raised a deviant child. 

Ellie forces herself to not point fingers, though. Anyone could’ve killed her, she always reminds herself; to keep her from going fucking crazy. But timing… 

How telling is time. 

Jolene’s eyes widen and her grip weakens. Ellie takes that as an escape before she has a breakdown in front of the caviar platter. 

She barely takes a step before she collides with a body. 

Funny. 

She bumped right into a star that shines a royal blue. The woman of the hour, for sure. In her mind, at least.

“Sorry.” You whisper.

“You’re fine. All me.” Ellie says lowly as she takes you in, and you do the same to her. Shy, but yearnful glances. Glossed lips tightly sealed and brows tense. Your dress shimmers and holds you snug and she feels guilty for staring at your curvature. She’s suddenly hyper aware of the vultures that disguise themselves as men and she has an instinct to hide you. And your ring is on. The thumping in her chest picks up. Only slightly. 

“It’s great to see you again.” Jolene says shakily from beside Ellie and she almost loses it before a grating voice interrupts. 

“You, as well. And your husband is…?” 

Your mother. And her lap dog wagging his tail beside her. What a bitch. Both of them. 

Your stepdad says something and you inhale sharply and no one notices but Ellie. She studies you carefully. You look like a frightened cat with a frilled tail as he speaks. Claws out, not because you’re ferocious, but so, so scared. She glances at your stepdad; greasy smile while he ogles at Jolene; what a nasty son of a bitch. 

Ellie whispers to you, “Is everything o—“

“Joel! Man of the hour! How are—“

“Where’s the bathroom again?” You whisper back. 

Ellie takes your hand in hers and flees while the family’s distracted, leading you down a hallway that’s way too long with lights too bright. 

She gestures towards the door. “It’s… This is it. One of ‘em at least.” 

“… Thank—“

“What’s the matt—“ 

“I’m fine.” 

“You look like you’ve seen a fucking ghost. Did that piece of shit say something to you?” Ellie glances to make sure no listeners are hiding in the shadows. 

The widest smile grows on your face as you laugh, hearty and loud with your head thrown back. Ellie stares in confusion. 

“Oh, Ellie! You’re so silly,” She jumps when your hands hold her cheeks. You’re fucking freezing and they tremble. Your eyes are a dark void. 

You lean in closer, lips right against her mouth and they part slightly on instinct. She’s concerned and should ask more questions, but your skin is so soft. Are you gonna kiss her, she wonders? You haven’t kissed since your wedding; your breath hits her mouth and her tongue swipes her lips. Her eyes flutter shut and she aches to touch you—

“Save a seat for me, love? Please?” 

It happens so fast; the frost of you is gone and the bathroom door slams shut while an elderly woman fondly whispers, “young love,” as she walks by. Ellie only nods with a rigid curl of her lips, throat cinched too tightly to swallow. 

You puzzle her. She’s tempted to wait for you, to ensure you make it back safely without bombardment, but then 

“Ellie! Why didn’t you call me! Your wife made it safely, I see!” 

A hand claps on her shoulder while men laugh from the side, boisterous and predatory and so wide their fangs show. Ellie’s sick and a war rages within her. 

“Your father sent me to find you! It’s time to eat!” 

She sends them a weak smile. She rushes away from the door and they follow close behind. 

Anything to lure them away from you. 

Attendees have dwindled, only Ellie and her family and you and yours and some CEOs that are really getting on her fucking nerves. But you’ve eaten, thank God. She can breathe a little. 

Only a bit, though. You’re putting on a fucking show and it’s scaring her; Even her dad seems impressed. Charmed by you. Clinking glasses and telling jokes and smiling. Did your mom hold you at gunpoint before you got here? How much did you drink? Not much from what she’s seen. 

That one fucker from earlier — Raymon or Robert or whatever the fuck — keeps leaning over the table whenever you do. Peeping at your chest, probably. She wishes these steak knives were sharper. 

“So! Our young couple,” says Old Bitch with a Combover and wiggly brows, “When are we getting those heirs?” 

You cough uncomfortably and Ellie squirms in her seat. Your mother scoffs, “Two women can’t have children—“

Said Old Bitch shrugs, “Well, not biologically—“

“My point exactl—“

Ellie’s father cuts in with a tense grin, “When they get to that point, we’ll discuss their options. There’s… many nowadays, evidently.” 

Neither you or Ellie interrupt, but she notices you’ve moved closer to her. Inched your seat a bit. You squeeze your hands so hard in your lap she’s scared they’ll shatter where they lay. You’re not smiling anymore. 

Her dad and your mom are subtle with their blows at one another; snarky with brutal stares, unremarkable to strangers, but you and Ellie know. When dinner ends, you’ll both be caught in their crossfire. 

“There’s no shame in me wanting my grandchildren to be by blood. I shouldn’t have to go shopping for an heir.” Your mother hisses. 

“Sh—“ Joel huffs with disgust, “Shopping for an heir? That’s what you think adoption entails?” 

“Does it not?” Your mother’s tone rises. 

Reggie, Rory, or Russell interjects with a dismissive wave, “C’mon, you too! No need to argue. I’m sure girls like them will be fine with obtaining children! It might be more… complicated, I will say!” 

“May I be excused?” You croak, and Ellie straightens. 

“Why? So you can wallow about dying childless?” 

The table silences. No laughter, no wittiness. Completely still. That wasn’t from your mother. Ellie doesn’t remember the last time she’s heard your stepdad speak so clearly. Her blood thrashes beneath her skin so harshly that her tongue unties. There’s a darkness in her that whispers, “grab that steak knife”. Brutalize him. Just for a second. Do it for you. 

Do it for her. 

“Go fuck yourself.” She spits. 

Your neck almost cracks with the speed you turn to her, eyes wide as the moon. Her father condemns, “Watch your mouth, Ellie.” 

“Or what, you old fuck?” 

Her heart rattles noisily in her chest; her hands shake where they rest on her lap, her cells trembling with the instinct to harm. The gaze of her father is distant and filled with inadequacy for his only line. Nothing unbeknownst to her, but there's a flash of something so deep, so forbidden for them, but she sees it every time they hold contact. Beneath all the loathing and lesions left to drain, there’s longing. An inkling of gratitude that she knows he’ll suppress until he’s buried underground. He’ll never look the same to her, and she imagines the same for him. Too many bridges burned. 

“How’d I do?” Ellie rasps to him, “Hm? The night went how you hoped?” 

Look at what you’ve done, she hopes her eyes say. Tears welt against her will. When was the last time she cried in front of him? She hadn’t even given him that honor at her mother’s funeral years ago. 

Ellie’s stiff stature nearly cracks at the light brush atop her knee. A wind catches in her throat when a pinky turns into three fingers, then five, then a palm that squeezes comfortingly, desperately. Maybe partly to keep her glued to this chair. She gulps the dryness down and a flame lights in the pit of her stomach. 

Her glance to you is brief, barely out of the corner of her eye, but you’re watching her. Intensely, and it scorches her cheeks, all the way down to her neck. Scared cat. Scared cat. Shrilled and cold and frightened to hell and she despises it. 

What changed? She’ll always wonder. That look hardly shook her a week ago and now it makes her teeth ache. 

Suddenly, it’s too warm here. 

“Get up,” Ellie rushes you. Grabs your arm and yanks you from your seat, “Not dealing with this fuckin’ bullshit tonight. We’re leaving.” 

There’s suddenly shouting from all directions of the dinner table with each step Ellie takes for you, but you never drop her hand. She clenches it tighter when you finally reach the back door. 

The door slams shut on the wreckage behind you. 

Consider plan MERGE a bust. 

Ellie’s a thief. You think. Maybe. 

Is it stealing if the car belongs to a family member? Where she snagged the keys from? You don’t remember. One second you’re at dinner, then watching the city pass you by the next. It’s silent in here. 

“Stop.” 

You slam back into your body. Still in the car. You wish you were asleep. 

“Huh?” 

Her eyes watch the road, but a hand rests on both of yours to pry them apart. 

“Stop. I hate that sound.” 

“… Wha—“

“You’re gonna rip your skin off if you don’t stop.” 

… Oh. Yeah. Bloody cuticles. It was all accidental, you swear. 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Her eyes shut briefly and she sighs, sounding so worn. Exhaustion is her white flag. “Just stop.” 

“Alright.” 

“Thanks.” 

It’s quiet again. The red from the stop light reflects in the car and you’re instantly reminded of your stepfather. 

“Ellie.” 

“Hm.” 

“We should get a bird.” 

“… And do what with it.” 

You shrug, “Pet it. Feed it, too.” Sing with it, you wanted to add. Ellie would’ve probably laughed at you. 

She snickers dryly, “That’s usually what you do with a pet.” 

“I never had one.” 

The light turns green and the car revs. Your wife hums, “I had a fish once or twice.” 

“Lucky.” 

A small — very, very minuscule grin quirks Ellie’s lips and your heart hollers. For joy? In warning? 

“Not really. They kept dying so I gave up.” She snickers to herself, and you can’t help but stare. She starts talking then. Eyes gone, tension gone. She’s suddenly relaxed. 

“My mom… she, uh… loved water. Was always in it or… watching it on TV or something. She always bought fish from fucking… PetCo—“

“PetCo?” You laugh, then Ellie does. 

“Right? She’d take me and be like, “get one”. And I went home with a new fish every time.” 

“I thought you only went once or twice?” 

“… Times 100,” She giggles, “My mom lived there. She would always talk to the cats through the glass.” 

You don’t hesitate, “I wanna go.” 

“To PetCo?” 

“Yeah.” Why not? 

Everything is almost over. So, why not? 

“… K.” 

“So we’ll go?” 

“Mhm.” 

And the conversation ends. The car is silent. Suddenly tense again when you ask, 

“Do you think we’re cut off?” 

Ellie’s jaw clenches and the car is suddenly tense. Back to square one. “Possibly. Tonight was a shit show. It went by fast, at least.” 

“What’s gonna happen to me?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m…”

Alone. You’re fucking alone and know nothing about life outside of what was built around you. Without it, you’ll spiral and fail and face a dreadful reality. No more rose colored glasses even if they’re browned and wilted as is. You’ll be eaten alive by the creatures in the night without a protective border. 

But the curse will end. You won’t inherit or be forced to lie or play a game that ends in fire. Decades of legacy down the drain just like that, and by your own hand. It fascinates you, that power. A force you’ve been withheld from. 

“I don’t know.”

“Still thinking about divorce?” A void in Ellie’s tone. 

“I don’t know.” 

“They’ll never allow it, you know that, right?” 

“What if I just leave?” 

“And do what?” Her voice raises. 

“Who knows. Who cares.” 

“Please,” Ellie exasperates, “Your mom will get fucking SWAT to bring you back.” 

“What good will a corpse do for her?” 

You’ll be dead but you’ll have a bird. A colorful one. That’ll be your legacy. That’s all you need, really. Ellie doesn’t say anything. Neither do you. 

More buildings flash by and suddenly you’re home. Parked in the garage with Ellie beside you, gazing off into opaque walls. You wonder what she’s thinking. If she sees everything in black and white like you do. Maybe she’s the opposite, vision bright and full of suppressed color. She is a painter after all. 

“What’re your plans?” Ellie suddenly whispers. 

“For?” 

“Life. The future. Anything,” She pries and digs for something, “There has to be something that interests you! That gets you excited! There’s so much shit to do.” 

You shrug. Not much. Not anything. 

“I used to be excited for my wedding,” You mumble, “Like… as a kid. White dress and flowers and everyone’s just excited to be there. For love, and whatever, you know? That’s how it was in movies, at least.” It’s embarrassing to admit, but it’s off your chest. The unhealthy romanticization of the happiest day of your life ended up being just another day to honor the greed of your families. Everyone was so lifeless when they watched you and Ellie kiss. It hadn’t even lasted 3 seconds before she shoved the band on your finger with teary cheeks. Such beautiful scenery was wasted on misery. 

You look over and Ellie’s eyes are roaring, palms squeezing together in her lap while her wedding ring twists around her finger. You watch it cycle. 

“Now I…” You chuckle sadly, “I just want a bird, to be honest.” 

With your heels and purse in hand, the car door opens and you exit, forcing yourself not to peek through the windshield at Ellie again. 

The second floor, your bedroom, your bathroom, are all quiet. Did Ellie not follow you inside? For a while, you envision what it would be like if you weren’t married. If you weren’t born as you, would your world be this still? 

It haunts you in the shower. Wolffish eyes and dry hands grasping at your shoulders and waist but everything’s quiet. 

You wash your face, brush your teeth, wrap your hair alone. You wonder if anyone is actually in the house. Was Ellie a figment of your imagination? Is this one of the nights that proves she doesn’t exist and that your brain is your greatest enemy? You shove your face into the mattress before your thoughts venture. Silence rocks you to sleep, but not forgetting the taunting desire to know 

Is death this quiet? 

Your mom’s calling. 

Vibrations rattle in your bedside dresser. The sun isn’t up yet. The birds are still resting. She never calls this early… or late. Something bad must’ve happened. It takes 17 seconds for your drawer to stop shaking before it starts again. 

You can’t move to answer, though. Your body isn’t yours at the moment. Your soul will reclaim its shell soon enough. Or maybe it won’t. 

Your drawer shakes shakes shakes. Your heartbeat eventually matches the pace of its vibrations. You think it’s been 20 minutes. Maybe longer. When will the birds wake? 

Finally, the calls stop. Your eyes shut again. Instantly taken by darkness. 

You never wear normal clothes. 

Ellie’s only ever seen you in thousand dollar dresses and high heel shoes that scrape your achilles and cloth that squeezes you so tight she thinks she might explode by just looking at you. No matter how fucking good you look in them. 

So what the fuck is that? Moreso, why does she like it so much? Her cheeks are on fucking fire and her heart is trying to flee its enclosing. 

You have a t-shirt on. A simple, non-Gucci white tee that says LAS VEGAS and black shorts and a scarf on your head and socks with squirrels on them. Is this the fucking matrix? 

You never wake up this late, either. It’s 20 till 10. 

“Did my mom call you at all?” 

No… no she didn’t… Why can’t Ellie speak? She’s sitting there gaping like a fish and taking guilty glances at your nipples through your shirt. She shakes her head. You nod yours. 

“I uh…” She mumbles with a cotton mouth when you step into the kitchen, “I made coffee.” 

“I smelled it.” You serve yourself at the counter. 2 Splenda packs, no cream.

“Did your mom call you?” 

“Yes.” 

“What’d she say?” 

“I didn’t answer.” 

… Interesting. Odd. Her calls are never missed by you. 

“I hope it’s something bad.” 

Ellie swallows her sip thickly. “… Damn. Why?” 

“She deserves it.” You say calmly while stirring. “He does, too.” 

“Your dad?” 

“My stepfather,” You hiss and slam your mug on the table. Ellie flinches, “Yes.” 

Her palms raise in surrender, “Sorry.” 

“Where do you go at night?” The chair across from her scrapes on hardwood when you sit. 

Nowhere, recently. Ellie shrugs as nonchalantly as she can, “Anywhere. Wherever I want.” 

“Take me next time.” 

She pauses her sip to ogle. “Hm?” 

“Take me. I wanna see what’s fun for you.” 

Ellie huffs a shocked laugh, “No, you don’t.” 

You squint, “Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking to see.” 

“It’s not your scene, dude, trust m—“

She jolts where she sits when a hand — your hand, soft and agile and cold, slams down on the table, rattling both your mugs and the vase that holds dead flowers, nearly shattering the glass with an accusatory finger. 

“You dunno know shit about me! I’m fucking going whether you like it or not! Whether she likes it or not, and if I have to do it myself, I fucking will, you fucking psychotic fucking bitch!” 

You rise and stomp to where she sits with a pounding heart and a lecherous swirl in her gut. You look about ready to slice her open with a blunt butter knife. 

“You treat me like fucking trash just like everyone else,” You whisper venomously, and Ellie shakes, “The least you could do is listen for once. Scared to take me to the place you cheat on me at? Don’t want me to see it? That’d be too real, huh?” 

Ellie exhales a shaky breath of your name, but your nails, cut and manicured to perfection, sink into her cheeks so tightly that she winces and blushes and her tummy twists with heat. You don’t flinch when her fingers delicately entangle around your wrist; doesn’t want you to think she’s holding you there even though she is. 

“You’re gonna show me a good time tonight. If it’s as fun as you say, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?” 

Her eyes must read yes, yes, it’s not a problem; Your grin is wild like a hyena; pretty lips swelled around pretty teeth and you always smell good. Caramelized sugar and nectar.  

“Who knows,” You purr and Ellie feels goosebumps forming, “Maybe I can meet one of your little friends.” 

She chokes around a gasp before her lips curl into a conniving grin, cheeks plush around your fingers, “Aren’t you a little hussy.” 

“Fuck you.” You shove her so hard her back collides with the seat but her eyes glow pink. She watches you leave the kitchen and stomp up the steps with a burning chest until a door slams from upstairs. She releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding, wracked and desperate. 

-

-

-

Ellie will never admit — or maybe she will, but she purposefully uses your shared bathroom to catch glimpses at you. She always expects to find you out cold and wrapped in warm blankets, chest fluttering with each twitch of your socked feet that peek from below the blankets. 

What she doesn’t expect to see, though, is your phone shattered to pieces and left to drown in the clogged sink. Right next to a weighted rubber mallet; Where’d you find that? All your pent up emotions were taken out on your device… and the counter, apparently. The marble is chipped. 

She can only laugh in astonishment. Amazement. Fear when she realizes… 

Your mom.

Did you ever answer the phone?

Another day you’ve slept away. Either you were dreaming or someone was holding you suffocatingly tight; you enjoyed it, strangely. The sun is completely gone and there’s rustling and music echoing from the bathroom. Ellie’s in there. 

All the blood rushes to your head with how quickly you sit up, but your feet carry you past your closets until the light from the room sizzles your vision. 

Your wife stands by the mirror, drying her hair with a towel with a cigarette between her fingers. The guitar synths coming from her phone are grinding in your ears. 

Is she really keeping her promise? 

Did she promise to take you? You don’t remember. 

“Hi.” Her eyes meet yours in the mirror and your spine twitches. You say nothing, so she chuffs with a teasing lift of her lips, “Chickenin’ out?”

“No.” 

“K.” 

“What do I wear?” 

She shrugs, “Whatever you want to.” She speaks around smoke and her timbre’s dry. 

“What are you wearing?” 

“Whatever I want to.” 

She must sense your skepticism because she’s suddenly reassuring, voice crackly, “You’re not under any expectations tonight. You wanted me to show you what I do for fun, and I’m gonna. You just have to do your part and enjoy it.” 

Your nails dig into your thighs while you watch her. She has her ring on and her body wash coats the room in cinnamon. With a pounding heart, your hands slowly drag up your sides, fingers dragging at the hem of your shirt. She’s not looking. 

Enjoy it…

“Did you eat today?” 

“No.” 

She gives you a look. Stern. What is she mad about? Your tummy flutters, “There’s leftovers downstairs, you can have ‘em,” She shakes her wet hair and puts on her glasses, checks her watch, checks her phone, hits her cigarette. “We’re kinda behind so you should get read—“

Enjoy it. 

Her eyes meet where your shirt drops to the floor, breasts on display while your hands inch up your legs to drag your shorts down, all while you watch her. And she watches you. It’s overwhelming, your wife as an audience while you undress. But she told you to enjoy it. Enjoy the night. Enjoy the stares. Enjoy the attention. Enjoy her, for once. It all seeps into your pores. You step out of your bottoms and peel your socks off. 

Ellie drinks you in slowly. Says nothing. Simply takes her time memorizing every line, curve, dip, scar of you. You like how ravenous she looks. The sin in her pupils only darkens when your thumbs hook in your underwear to shed them. They dangle from your index finger when you walk; You smile when her throat jumps. 

She watches your filled hand travel to her pant pocket to shove the flimsy cloth in. The muscles in her back twitch when your finger traces her spine. Ellie’s pretty, littered in cute, red and brown spots. 

“I’m gonna shower.” Your lips brush her ear, and goosebumps rise all over her arms. Her eyes flutter in a pleasant blink, nodding in understanding. 

Your wife takes her lighter and reignites your favorite candle while your water warms. How sweet of her to set the mood for you. 

Ellie finishes her cigarette while you lather, watching her through the fogged glass of the shower walls, massaging soapy hands into your breasts and your legs and everywhere. She lights another at some point, bent over the counter while she smokes, ogling you through the mirror shamelessly. You smile when it settles in your chest.

You’re gonna fuck your wife tonight. 

What a fucking oddball you are. It’s cute. A little sexy, too. Only a little, she swears. 

… Fuck. 

She waits for you on the bed, dressed and jewelried, fiddling with her watch out of nerves because what the fuck are you playing at? Whiplash; that’s what she’s had all fucking day because of you. She works in the morning, for fucks sake. 

Still…

Does she deserve this sudden… What the fuck even is this? Certainly not affection; you nearly strangled her at the dining table. Attention, possibly? Seduction? She’s wired to hell, she wants you so bad. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

She could act on her attraction, sure. She’s positive you’d allow her to take whatever she wanted because that’s what you’re trained to do; to satisfy your partner — husband, she imagines your mother grating — in any way he desires. But Ellie’s not a man, and she doesn’t want that. She needs you to love it, to crave it as much as she does. To take from her like she dreams of taking from you. Ellie needs you to batter her, and if you’d like, she’ll do the same to you. 

If only you’d give her something tangible. Teasing isn’t enough. She’s desperate to get a grasp on your headspace; she wishes she could prick and prod at your brain for a second. What an experience that would be. 

You enter the bedroom like a ghost; hair still wet and coily, dressed in all black like she is, only decorated with gloss and earrings. No heels either. Just very shimmery looking flip-flops. Ellie bites down a smile. 

“Where are we going?” 

She shrugs at your inquiry, “Somewhere really, really loud.” 

“Will people find us?” Paps, you mean. Ellie denies. 

“Not where I’m taking you.” 

“Must be secretive.” 

She tuts, “Not… well, maybe. It’s fun though. I think you’ll like it.” 

“Okay.” 

Ellie stands with her wallet and keys and kiddingly offers you an arm to hold onto. “M’lady.”

But you don’t accept it; back turned, halfway out of the room towards the stairs.

Pleasant. She doesn’t mean to smile. 

She makes sure to grab the to-go box from earlier before locking the front door behind her. 

It is very loud here. And hot. And raunchy. 

… You like that. Your mom would have a heart attack if she were to ever walk in here. 

The trip to this whatever, wherever place was pretty far. You counted every second of the nearly hour ride, mainly because Ellie’s jittery knee made you nervous. It’s smaller than you assumed, but not quaint. Not at all. There's a ruckus from the entrance to the back exit, people your age and older, screaming and shouting words that you don’t know while people pound on drums and shred on guitar. They sweat through their clothes while their makeup streaks down their faces as they make love to microphone stands. 

… Better than tea time, you suppose. How exhilarating. Your heart’s pounding like crazy.

Not much can be said between you and Ellie. You can’t hear over the bass and rumbles from the floor but she holds your hand and small purse. Guides you to a small section in the back with a bar. She hands the tender her card and… that’s it. Four clear, questionably large shots are poured and slid to her like nothing. You want all of them. 

Ellie seems so at home as she guides you, already a burning shot down, into the crowd. You’re shoved instantly by party goers, but she catches you, holds you strongly. You look at her, puzzled with shock, but she uncaringly lifts her shoulders, downs a shot, and starts thrashing. 

Your jaw slacks and lights beam and flicker at a rapid pace but you’re smiling. Your wife meshes with the scene so nicely. You wanna be like that. So you follow. You drink and jump and flail and scream your head off. 

You and your wife are synched for once. Terrible dancers. No rhythm whatsoever. Who cares who cares who cares.

You wish your mom was here to see you like this. You hope your mom’s dead so she never has to see you like this. A thought so dark shouldn’t bring you this much joy. You laugh and holler at the imagery. Blood all over the marble. Blood all over the doors of your childhood home. Blood blood blood everywhere because they deserve it. Look at what they’ve done to you. Sick evil people.

You wanna kill your stepfather. This music makes you wanna kill your stepfather. It’s gorey in itself, almost. Abborherent verbiage. You think Ellie wants to kill your stepfather, too. You should ask her later. Maybe when you're both sober. Maybe you should make your mom watch you skin him alive. Him dying would damage her more than you ever could. 

When your eyes open, Ellie’s gawking at you, seemingly surprised. Impressed? She holds your cheeks to get your attention, gesturing, asking if you want another drink. You nod and shout in her face and she laughs. Ellie holds you by the waist and guides you to the bar. The bartender must like Ellie. You leave with a full bottle this time. 

You and Ellie pass it between yourselves, the night becoming more and more broken. Touchy. Feely. Ellie rubs all over you while you pour liquor into her mouth. A bit dribbles down the sides but she doesn’t care. You don’t either. So you lick the drops from her neck like a cat with milk. Ellie stops and you stop and everything stops. It’s just the two of you, suddenly; all other patrons evaporate to nothingness. Her eyes are blown and heavy as she searches your face, and they halt their wandering at your lips. She’s thinking about it; You want her to see how bad you crave it. Even if it’s just for a second. She smiles, pleased. You shudder. 

But she doesn’t do it. She spins you so your back is against her chest, lips at your neck while she pushes her hips into your ass. She’s messy, drenching your already sweaty neck in spit. Her nails dig into the fabric of your dress, guiding your hips, swaying you on her. You follow. You follow so blindly because you like her hands on you a little too much. You drink and drink and drink. Everything feels light. Good. 

You think Ellie’s speaking to you. Or singing words in your ear. Or maybe she isn't speaking at all. You’re not sure, but your face is burning hot. She tongues at your ear and you make a noise that you can’t hear but hope she can. You need this. 

Her hands are suddenly slow where they crawl up your sides until they rest on your breasts. Your empty hand lands on one of hers to squeeze so that she can squeeze you. You feel her smiling on your skin when your jaw slacks. 

Your head turns to chase her mouth, but she does you one better. Whisks you once more so your chests smash together. She snatches the bottle from your hand, takes one last swig before passing it to eager, drunk hands that wave from behind. You gasp when her thumb catches your bottom lip, pulls it down to get your mouth open enough for her to dribble liquor into. You moan loud enough for Ellie to hear over those booming drums, swallowing down everything she gives, nails sank into her waist while her hips push into yours. When you swallow the last drops, she kisses you. Messy and hot, tongue and teeth; it gets your heart singing. Her pink muscle swirls inside of your mouth and your arms wrap around her neck, yanking her into you so no space is left. Her hands are everywhere; tangled in your hair, grabbing at your hips, your ass, your thighs. Everywhere everywhere everywhere like she can’t get enough of you. You’re overwhelmed and high out of your mind but you follow her guide. Anywhere she wants you, you are. 

Maybe you’re just as bad as she is. After everything she’s done, you should hate her. You think you do. You hate her for leaving you. You hate her for embarrassing you. Abandonment. Her only gift to you. Maybe that’s why you kiss her with such conviction. 

Her touch is passionate; strong but not forceful. She breathes you in like a rarity, something she treasures, all while she licks and tugs at you like a slut. There’s a pulse deep within you when her lips enclose around your tongue to suck it. Your thighs squeeze and she grins madly, giving you one last innocent peck before she grabs your hand to spin you. You laugh and twirl with her. 

You understand why people fall in love so fast. You hate that you’re one of them. 

Or are you simply as delusional as they come? 

You’re even more enthralling when free of restraint. 

Ellie’s drunk and sweaty and exhausted but she uses every last bit of strength to stare at you. She sits at the bar as the crowd dwindles, artist after artist, established or aspiring, all go on to perform, and you haven’t taken a break once. You simply twirl and spin and mouth incorrect lyrics with the widest smile on your face, all while Ellie brings you her drinks to finish. 

You’ve been here for hours it seems, but Ellie can’t drive. But the night is young. You certainly don’t look ready to go home. 

What more can she show you?

“Thank you all for comin’ out! Tonight was a dream—“

You’re a dream, Her chest screams. You you you you fuck—

You clap like the happiest seal on the planet before spinning around to face Ellie. It happens in flashes: you come closer and closer until you’re in front of her, warm hands on her cheeks, ears tingling when you whisper, 

“I didn’t get to meet your sluts.” 

You sound upset about it. Ellie stumbles about how they didn’t come, how they’re not here. How she doesn’t wanna see them right now and she means it all, but you don’t believe her, and her chest hurts. Guilty guilty guilty. 

“Get up.” You step away and Ellie pains to pull you back, savor the night a second longer. But she signs the receipt before following you towards the exit. The cold air feels so good. She needs water now. 

She gives you a little yank when you start wandering the opposing direction, “Come… come here. This way.” 

You grin and slur, “Where to?” 

Ellie’s brows wiggle playfully, “Gas station. You hungry?”

“…Yes.”

Ellie extends her hand for you to hold, and surprisingly, you accept. Her heart jolts to life. 

The walk is quiet. Your eyes are glued to the sky, wide and innocent; the large moon entrances you, surrounded by glittery stars. You both wobble down the sidewalk, trying to avoid bumping into pedestrians and other drunkards. She thought the rowdiness of nightlife would frighten you, but you seem drawn to the chaos.  

Soon enough, you’re both surrounded by aisles filled with chips and sodas and a fuck ton of candy. Ellie cringes at the fond stares she gives you holding 4 packs of watermelon sour patches. You’re cute as hell right now. Have you never been to a convenience store? What the fuck. 

“El! El, what the fuck! Where ya been!” 

Her sluggish brain is trying — really trying to figure out who the hell just left the staff room and is walking towards the two of you. It’s someone that knows her name or whatever shortened version they’ve created and the closer this person gets the more you shield yourself behind her fuck fuck fuck

Arms latch around her neck in a strong hug. Muscular, nice voice, smells like cherries. 

Abigail Anderson. Shoulda known. Great. 

“Jesus fuck, you smell like my dad’s liquor cabinet! We fucking missed you! We haven’t seen you in…” 

When Abby pulls back, her eyes immediately find you. Ellie steals a glance; eyes wide, soft with curiosity. They darken slightly when they lock onto Abby’s shoulders, all the way down to her arms and Ellie… why the fuck does that annoy her? 

“Who’s that,” Abby whispers suggestively and Ellie sighs. Scratches at her eye in irritation. 

“I’m her wife.” You say causally, and it shocks both of them. Abby moreso. Did Ellie never tell her? She’s sure she did. Everyone knows she’s married… right?

“Wh— wife?” Her eyes shift onto Ellie, “Bitch, you got married? What the fuc— when—“

“3 months ago.” You answer.

“Fucking — holy shit. Congrats? Uhh… sorry! Nice to meet you! You’re gorgeous, by the way,” She stutters to shake your hand, but you accept it, “I’m Abby!” 

“Hi.” You smile in delight and your shoulders relax. Abby smiles just as gently and Ellie thinks it’s time to go because you’re both getting on her nerves. 

“Alright, well, we're gonna pay, so… yeah. I’ll text you tomorrow or something. We’re tired.” 

“Mhmm,” Abby hums cockily, eyes glued to the mess Ellie made of your neck, “Looks like y’all had a great time.” 

“We did,” She confirms with pointed eyes, “See ya.” 

“Byeee.” Abby sing-songs with a chuckle before Ellie leads you towards the service counter to dump your snacks. Ellie gives the cashier a familiar nod. 

“Is she who you fuck?” 

Ellie chokes on her water and the cashier gawks at you from behind their reading glasses. You couldn’t have been any fucking louder in that moment, what the fuck.

“What—“

“Do you fuck Abby? I hope not in that bathroom,” You clumsily point to the gender neutral sign near the entrance. “I heard they’re filthy—“

Ellie whispers even though there’s no point, “Dude, are you fucking crazy—“

“… It's just a question—“

“Have a nice night.” 

The cashier rigidly hands Ellie the stuffed baggie and receipt. She snatches them before snatching you to leave. She drops your hand the second briskness surrounds you, “The fuck was that about?” Her chips are calling her. She needs a stress reliever. 

“What—“

She squeezes the bag and the pop rings like a gunshot, “Why the fuck are you asking if I fucked Abby? What the fuck—“

“She’s hot and you kinda are… to a certain degree, I guess. I just assumed.” 

Ellie’s appalled, but doesn’t have the energy to look offended. “Stop assuming, it’s… that’s fucking weird—“

You simply shove tiny watermelon slices in your mouth and steal her water to chug it. She watches you impatiently before you hand the crumpled, half-empty plastic back to her. She downs the rest and discards it some-fucking-where. 

Her thoughts are clouded. Did she fuck Abby? Are you forreal—

“I don’t care, you know.”

“About what?” 

You shrug, “If you fuck her.” 

“Please be quiet.”

“Okay.” 

You both do for a while, dead grass and Dorritos crunching around you. 

Until Ellie speaks again. 

“You’re quiet.” 

“Mhm.”

“Sleepy?”

“Nmhm.” 

Wide awake, actually. The world passes you by with each step the two of you take, swirling with bright lights and laughter. You follow Ellie closely, handfuls of candy shoved in your mouth while she munches on her chips. You never had those orange triangles before. Neither of you are in a rush to make it back to the car. Can Ellie drive in this state?

“Do you, uh, like places like that? Concerts?” 

“Yes.” You break out in a grin. 

“What else do you like?” 

“I dunno. I haven’t… experienced much.” You shrug, accidentally brushing against your wife’s shoulder. Electricity sparks near the end of your spine where a steadying hand rests. “Your friend… does she go with you? To concerts?” 

“Who?”

“Aaabby.” You tease, mocking the blonde girl from earlier, and Ellie’s expressions flattens. She's unsure why. 

“Oh, uh… yeah,” Her chip bag is suddenly very interesting. “Sometimes. I met her at one a few years back after a showcase I hosted.” 

“I like her.” She’s nice and smells nicer. You regret not shaking her seemingly strong hand a few seconds longer. Strong all over, actually. 

“… Uh huh.” 

Your brow arches at that, “Does that bother you?” 

“Why the fuck would it bother me? You can like whoever.”  

“Exactly how you like whoever, huh?” You sneer lazily, and Ellie goes stoic. And just like that, the conversation dies once more. You’re glad for it; selfishly, you’d rather refrain from telling your wife about how attractive you found her friend. She’s left you guessing under too many circumstances. Consider this a sliver of revenge. 

You both make it back to the parking lot in silence, minus Ellie’s agitated crunching. You lean against the passenger door while you watch her dig around for the keys. 

“Where to?” 

“It's almost 4 in the morning.” She hisses. 

“So?” You came home later than that for weeks. You wanna say it. You should say it. Grind your thumb deeper into that open wound, but you save it. Another day, maybe. Maybe not. 

“So we’re going home. I’m tired.” 

“Well, I’m not.” 

“Okay? Whatever, I’ll drop you off somewhere.” 

“You wouldn’t leave your poor, defenseless wife unattended, would you?” You whisper slowly, and Ellie tenses when you plant a soft hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge you, just stares through the window behind you. You scoff and drop it by your side. Cross your arms stubbornly. 

“You’re mad because I like Abby.”

“There’s nothing for you to like! You just met her.” Her voice raises, and annoyance flares in you. 

“Exactly! I just met her, and I like her! The fuck did you think I was gonna do? Flash her right in front of the gummy worms?” 

“I don’t know! Fucking maybe!”

“So you can fuck other people but I can’t?” 

Ellie’s very close to you suddenly. Your heart jumps, “Oh, now you wanna fuck Abby? She’s the first person you’ve interacted with besides me since we got fucking married!” 

“SO?” You holler. 

“SO YOU’RE NOT FUCKING MY FRIEND! ARE YOU INSANE!” Speckles of spit land on your face and it sizzles into your pores. You might be. You fucking are. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Ellie’s forcing herself into your space, so why do you fight? Why are you hungry? 

Your palms crash into her chest and she nearly loses her balance, “I DON’T NEED PERMISSION FROM YOU! WE’LL FINALLY BE EVEN, YOU FUCKING WHORE!” 

“Yeah? Think Imma fucking whore?” Her grin is sinister, and excitement coils in your belly. Gets your fingers twitching from how hard they’re clenched. 

“Maybe I do.” Vehemence scathed your tongue. 

“You know what I think?” 

“I don’t care—“

“I think you do.” She mumbles against your cheek, “I think you’re jealous.” 

You still. Ellie’s eyes pierce through yours, burning and hot, nostrils flared: she looks like she could snap you in half. Your spine tingles with delirium. 

“You’re mad because I get to be. I can exist and fuck and party and come and go as I please and you hate it. You wish you could do what I do.” She stares like you killed her mother yourself. Strangled her with your bare hands. “I don’t have mommy and daddy breathing down my neck every 2 seconds. You want that so bad it makes you sick.” 

“So why stay?” 

It shocks her. You don’t waver; passive as usual. 

“You’re free and can do whatever you want, right? Why are you here? Go and be that. Be whoever you wanna be because you can.”

Everything will be over soon. Might as well. Ellie simply glares through you. 

Curiosity is your worst enemy. Might as well ask. 

“Why’d you defend me at dinner?” 

What does she know what does she know what does she know what

She rubs her eyes stubbornly, “Oh my fucking god, who gives a fuck!” 

“Me! I give a fuck! Why’d you do it! Why! You’ve never done it before!” 

She knows she knows she knows she knows she knows she knows

“BECAUSE FUCK HIM! FUCK EVERYBODY THAT DID THIS TO US! FUCK YOU, TOO!” 

You might cry, you might not. You’re unsure of everything and you’re angry and hurting. Ellie’s a reflection of you, and vise-versa. You hate her hate her hate her. 

Hatred. It might be the reason why kissing her feels so good. Because it shouldn’t be happening. Ellie shouldn’t have you trapped between her and her car, grinding so harshly into you that your spine bends. You shouldn’t tug at her hair to expose her neck to lick and suck and bite her neck red while she curses in your ear. 

This is the distraction you’ve been desperately searching for. To think you’d find it in your wife after all this time. 

“I’d be a whore for you,” She shamelessly seers against your throat, hands wandering to unbutton her own pants, “You know that, right?” 

… That’s cute. Makes you blush. 

“Yeah?” Her laugh is thick like syrup, “Gets you hot? Knowing how easily I’d give it up for you?” 

That sideways grin makes you tick. Your hand closes tight around her throat and she nearly bloodies her bottom lip with her fangs. Your wife looks pathetic; thumbs hooked into her pants, so ready to drop them for you in the middle of the parking lot. People are wandering about; she’s willing to fuck in front of them? 

How pretty would she look trying to be quiet for you? Nervous eyes searching for privacy, praying no one walks by and sees her on the edge with your hand down her underwear. Hopefully no one recognizes her, pulls out their phone, records the two of you. Blasts you both on social media while Ellie moans in your mouth. What would people think? Your families? How ashamed would they be? Their two girls making a mess of themselves in public. 

The thought makes you smile. Scares you. Makes you choke her harder. Her pained whine vibrates in your palm. 

“Get the fuck in the car.” 

The windows fog with the heat of your bodies; her body trapped beneath yours in the back seat that’s roomier than you anticipated. She rolls your hips on top of her, desperate and eager to rip your fucking clothes off and feel you for real. Your dress rests around your hips, your panties on display and she wishes she could see them. She only has her hands for reference, tracing over each thin seam littered with lace and patterns she tries to memorize. Your tongue belongs in her mouth. You feel so fucking good; you’re not close enough. She needs you closer. 

Her mouth chases yours when you finally separate, only connected by a thin string of saliva, but a stern hand collides with her chest to keep her flat. Her hands tickle your waist. Rests your dress even higher until she can see your belly button. 

“Wanna know a secret?” You whisper down at her, and she smirks. 

“I know you’re a virgin, baby.” She whispers giddily, and your teeth grit. A flame coils in your chest. You ignore her.

“You could’ve had me after our wedding, you know? With my face buried in the pillows and my ass in your face. I would’ve let you do whatever you wanted that night.” 

Your sudden vulgarity stuns her silent. Your wife looks like she’s imagining it; lip bruised from both your and her teeth, mind racing with filth of you in every position she can think of. She wouldn’t have been able to separate from you if that was the case. It’s one of the reasons she kept her distance; those pretty brown eyes rolled back would’ve put her underground. She’d never tell you that. 

“But no,” You say like it aches, “You wanted to go and bend over all those girls that follow you around like fucking dogs. You wanted a bitch, not a wife. Right or wrong?” 

She can barely breathe and your hand pressing on her chest isn’t helping; reduces her to sharp gasps that make her lightheaded. The more ragged they become, the harder you press. Your brow arches when she innocently bares her teeth. 

Her palms squeeze at your ass, “I thought about you the entire time—“

Your hand cracks and her head flies to the side. Right on her left cheek is the already reddening imprint of your hand. The crackles in your palm are numbed by the alcohol and your core burns at the shock on her face. She gawks off to the side, that meddling smile dropped completely, chest ragged with her breaths. 

“Ellie, put your hands down.” You spit, and they drop from you completely, palms flat on the seat beneath her. 

“You had every chance to do right by me and you wasted every single one.” You sound like you’re about to cry; Ellie’s too scared to look at you. Not the good scared that she’s felt around you this entire time, but a hollow scared. The one that freezes you. Her fight or flight is triggered. 

“I think you owe me an apology.” You whisper against her burning face before you kiss it gently. A pained groan escapes her, and you laugh. Loud, in her face. Even louder when she tries to grind her hips up into you. 

“Take us home, wife.” 

[animeyanderelover]

Hey!! Can i request a yandere ruki reaction to his s/o who has large number of stalkers as she is very pretty.

It's been a hot minute since I've written something for Ruki.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, stalking, manipulation, gaslighting, paranoia, threatening, isolation, abduction, death

Pretty s/o who has a large number of stalkers

📘​He tries to desperately hold onto his self-control yet there is no denial that Ruki reacts in a paranoid way. It's not a secret that he has trust issues since his mother left his father and himself for another man so having his s/o surrounded by so many admirers triggers him. He's partly aware that he's being irrational here since so many stalkers are anything but flattering yet he fears you might end up falling in love with one of them or simply enjoy the attention. He'd never admit it that easily though and you might end up being on the receiving side of his negative emotions. He struggles to express his issues, especially since he doesn't want to show weakness in front of a human.

📘​On the other hand he's just as paranoid because he fears those stalkers might do something to you, the fact that they already follow you so persistently is concerning enough. So Ruki reacts also protective, frightened for your safety. Whenever he catches one of them following you, they are instantly exposed by him, he might even go a bit violent and ends up pushing them away, stronger than intended. It's not like he cares much as he stares them down with a cold but infuriated gaze, probably ends up murmuring some sinister threats in their ears and a sadistic part of him relishes in the fear that crosses their faces.

📘​He'll gladly ignore the fact that he becomes a hypocrite by stalking you himself because he sees himself over those lifestocks. There is a difference in his mind since he intends to protect you instead of being a plain creep and he is sure to get rid of any stalker he ends up finding. He's not one who would want to get too messy but there is a immense struggle because of those stalkers. His patience is extremely thin at one point and the more paranoid he grows, the more he tends to interefere and do something quickly. Usually he likes to play mind games a bit with his victims yet at one point he can't even bother with that anymore and goes straight for the kill.

📘​Asks his brothers if they can keep an eye out for you and protect you from the creeps too and they tag along with Ruki's wishes since they see the strain this situation has on his psyche. He's visibly more tense and dedicates hours of his day into planning how to get rid of all the stalkers. Ruki might even make a list with all the stalkers he has identified by now in order to force them to stay away from you and the ones he has yet to find which makes him uneasy.

📘​Stalking quickly isn't enough anymore for the half-vampire as he wants to be even closer in order to ensure both, that you won't end up falling in love with someone and to protect you better. So he gathers all of his courage and charm and approaches you one day. Even if you are skittish around him, his stalking wasn't only to keep the trash away and he's willing to explore your possible uneasiness regarding your stalkers. You suddenly bump into him often and he coaxes you slyly into idly chatting with him, picking out topics you are passionate about to engage you. Ruki always finds an excuse to walk longer with you, insists on accompanying you home to ease your fear a bit and through him you eventually get to know his brothers. They always seem to be around when Ruki isn't.

📘​Wants you to rely on him and trust him and there is no shame from his side to exploid your own fear and insecurity and to create a feeling of safety when you're with him. Whilst normally charming and cool, his paranoia cracks through from time to time. Days where you receive multiple phone calls and messages and have to answer all of them or otherwise he'll interrogate you later on suspiciously what you were doing. Him acting possessive when you two are in public to show the stalkers that you're his clearly. Moments where he'll blame you the moment he sees you talking to someone since they might be a stalker. If they are indeed a stalker he instantly wants to know the relationship you have with the person, might end up spitting out some rude words to you out of spite.

📘​Ruki isolates you a bit and ends up taking a lot of your time which is naturally spend with him. He advices you to better stay away from anyone since you have a ton of stalkers, a couple of them which he has already exposed. There are multiple times he tries to convince you to stay in the mansion together with his brothers since your stalkers might know where you live. At one point you get the impression that he tries to control your life a bit too much and whenever you don't do as he says, he's pissed and calls you ungrateful for the help he provides you with.

📘​It isn't a question of if he's going to kidnap you, it all boils down to the question when he's going to do it. Even if he takes care of all nasty stalkers, manipulates you into relying on him and following each and every one of his advices, even if you end up gaining feelings for him, it's not enough to soothe his irrational anxiety. Even if Ruki wants to trust you, he just can't seem to pull through with it and it frustrates him. He doesn't want her to leave him and at this rate he has deluded himself into believing that at least you'll be free from stalkers. Kidnapping can go two ways with him. It's either a rather abrupt one fueled by paranoia from something he witnessed or one where he planned ahead. Knocking you quickly out or drugging you would be a method in this case but you'll end up in either case shackled in his room.

📘​You're too pretty for all those nuisances so he'll just keep you for himself now. There is this undertone of arrogance since he still views you, a human, under him. You should be thankful that he has taken you in, that he cares for you and not only for your looks and that he cooks for you. If you're scared and stop trusting him because of his actions, Ruki deals patiently with it all. Nothing seems to disturb him as much as you potentially leaving him or loving someone else, you'll only get strict warnings and mild punishment. Suffers permanent damage from all the stalkers, afraid that they might find a way to this place even if they would be promptly dealt with. Sometimes he just stays in front of a window and gazes outside, searching for someone that isn't even there.

📘Tries to hold onto principles of not forcing anything on you unless for a punishment or when he has a short maniac phase.​ Keeping you inside the house is for now enough, mostly. If his s/o continues to have feelings for him and loves him, he grows much more possessive and rough with his affection. Litters your skin with bite marks and hickies for anyone to see that you're taken by him, even if his brothers are the only ones who really get to see it. Compliments you on your exceptional beauty, even for a mere human as yourself. That beauty is the exact reason he has to keep his s/o isolated inside his home though.

[sparks-joy-imagines]

Hi! Could I request some hcs or a one shot (whichever you prefer!) where Gojo finds out reader has never orgasmed with a partner before because her previous partners were kind of asses. Thank you either way! Have a lovely day! :)

hello love~ I figured I might as well turn this into a one shot because there had been just so~ many ideas floating around my head for this (including a few Japan traumata lol) - I hope you're ready to buckle up cause this one comes in at 5k appr. enjoy -mesu. PS: A very special thanks to niob for beta-ing this monster and talking me through it!!!❤

Gojō Satoru x f!reader warnings: vaginal penetration, oral sex (receiving), Gojō being a smug arse

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.

The first time you had met Gojo it had been your first year teaching at Kyoto jujutsu high and your first impression had been that no single living being could withstand his gaze of scrutiny. Given, as the wielder of both infinity and the six eyes there wasn’t anyone on his level to begin with, but did he really have to be an arse about it? Who even hired him as a teacher – a person supposed to be of pedagogic value – in the first place?

Luckily, you didn’t have to see him all that often, usually just whenever the time of year came around for the good-will event with the sister school in Tokyo but he had picked up an unhealthy interest in your person and relentlessly teased you for whatever you did and didn’t do alike.

Utahime had once suggested that it was Gojo’s twisted way of flirting with you and you couldn’t help but scoff and reply that you had seen Gojo flirting. And it was nothing alike how he was acting towards you. Afterwards, Utahime had taken pity on you and acted as an intermittence between you and Gojo so he wouldn’t get under your skin anymore, albeit he mostly ended up getting under hers instead.

At least, that was until tonight. With the students being sound asleep in bed, everyone involved in the event unanimously had decided to head for a drink at a fancy bar in Ginza to celebrate the event ending more or less successfully despite the unforeseen interference of some higher ranked curses and you ended up sitting sandwiched between Utahime and Shoko who both had insisted on a girl’s table away from curious colleagues and ears, while the other staff were seated at a slightly larger table just out of earshot.

The back of your head hit your nape when you downed what felt like the 7th shot of nihonshu. The alcohol prior to the shots had already infiltrated your system, leaving your senses foggy and your tongue loose. You weren’t about to spill your secrets just yet, but it was definitely getting harder to suppress the glances you’d love to gift Gojo who seemed entirely unfazed by any of the liquor he had consumed this evening.

That prick has to use his innate techniques to cope with the alcohol!

You narrowed your eyes, glaring at the tall man across the table who hadn’t even bothered to take his blindfold off while sporting a vaguely amused if aloof expression while the headmaster of Kyoto high and Tokyo high appeared to be in a heated discussion. Speaking of rude.

Lost in your thought of how much you longed to wipe that smirk off of Gojo’s face, you didn’t follow the topic of conversation of your friends at the table who definitely had one nihonshu too many.

“I’m telling you, anatomically speaking, it’s just unfair. It’s so much easier for men to achieve an orgasm, alright? It’s as if nature was against us women,” Shoko sighed dramatically, taking the nihonshu bottle to refill the shot glasses only to find it empty. Another, this time desperate, sigh followed.

“What’s even worse is that men usually don’t care about their partner's pleasure at allll,” Utahime responded with a distinct lull in her voice while she was already close to resting her cheek on the table. She’s definitely had enough but that didn’t stop her from going on, “Ever since I started dating, there’s been what? Maybe two decent enough guys that actually cared if I came too or not.”

“Sounds about right,” Shoko agreed, apparently trying to find some universal truth in the emptiness of the bottle she was still holding onto.

You shot a glance to the two unhappy women at your side, deciding that it was time to share your two cents of truth under your breath, “At least you’ve had partners before who took care of your needs, too. I for once have only been with arseholes who could care less if I came or not. And so I never did… so…consider yourselves lucky? I guess.”

As expected, your volume made it impossible for them to catch what you were revealing and Utahime unbeknownst interrupted the aftermath to your soft confession by suddenly straightening her posture in a surge of drunken energy, grabbing one of your and Shoko’s hands respectively to declare something about not letting this circumstance prevent anyone from having a great night.

You could’ve sworn the corner of Gojo’s mouth perked up the second you shot him another glance…

A few drinks, a second bar, and a couple hours later.

Your head was spinning slightly and you leaned your back against the wall of the establishment you’d just stepped out of. Damn your senpai for making you drink. You soaked in the wet, clean night air which could only be achieved during the rainy season in Tokyo.

The moment you pressed your eyes shut you could hear Utahime demanding to move onto a karaoke bar and continue this until morning. Of fucking course, you thought to yourself and opened your eyes, desperate for any excuse to skip what was about to come.

Among general consensus with a few nods and exclamations here and there, you slowly noticed how Gojo was watching you intently. By now he had actually gotten rid of his blindfold and was sporting his dark shades, his soft hair was framing his angular face, slightly damp by the drizzle and you would have gladly punched him for the way the street lights and shop signs reflected in his hair.

Still, right now you had other things to worry about and so you took a deep breath and spoke up, “Thanks for this evening but I’ll have to take my leave now. It’s already late and I don’t think my voice can handle singing right now.” An obvious lie as your voice was just fine, but it’d do the trick of getting you out of corporate pressure.

And that’s exactly what happened. Your excuse was accepted at face value and you were wished a good night’s rest. Umbrellas were opened and the group made of two faculties strolled towards the closet illuminated Karaoke sign.

You waited until everyone was on the move, so you could gather yourself in your time without any scrutinising eyes on you.

“Leaving an intoxicated damsel to her own devices? How could I be the strongest without taking care of her? Allow me to lead you home, (Y/N)~”

Just when you thought you had lived through the worst, Gojo’s voice piped up right next to your ear. You hadn’t seen him stay behind and now he was close, dangerously so, and he didn’t even care to hide the glee in his voice.

You managed to turn your head in his direction and gift him – what was in your imagination – a nasty stare. For Gojo, it rather seemed like you were trying your best to fixate your dizzy gaze on him.

He sighed and for once dropped his excruciating façade, speaking in a normal tone, “Seriously tough, (Y/N), I’d rather lead you home. Tokyo’s far from being safe at night.”

Seeing and actually hearing Gojo apparently genuinely concerned made you weigh your chances enough that you finally sighed in defeat, “Fine. But only up to the doorstep.”

Gojo blinked at you repeatedly, appearing almost insulted that you dared to think him a man who would take advantage of women like that – truth being that he was more insulted that you thought that he was actually in need of such tricks – and made an off-hand remark of how he could never.

You waved your hand dismissively and slowly tried to straighten your posture, “You’re here by car, right? That’s why you used your innate technique to not get drunk. Wish I could’ve done the same, wouldn’t be dying of spinning world syndrome right now.”

That stopped Gojo’s rant about his hurt pride. A sheepish smirk appeared on his lips and he stated flatly, “You noticed.”

You nodded, which turned out to have been a terrible idea. Nausea overcame you and you tried to curl into a ball, but Gojo was next to you in a second, smoothly wrapping his long arm around your waist while his free hand reached for your hand, easily securing your stance like that.

“Let’s get you home, shall we?”

You nodded and simply concentrated on not getting sick while he led you towards the parking lot where his car was parked. He left you shortly to pay for the ticket and you leaned against one of the nearby vending machines, concentrating on your breathing.

A few moments later the relatively quiet night was disturbed by the low roar of what turned out to be a pricey sports car. It didn’t take long for Gojo to stop said car right in front of you. Ever the gentleman he stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door to the passenger’s side for you, offering his hand to you for assistance. The entire picture which enfolded in front of you seemed to be taken out of a romance.

Only when you wobbled over to the car and felt the infinity between your hand and Gojo’s you snapped back to reality, pursing your lips as you stated, “You never let anyone actually touch you, do you?”

“If someone’s worth my while, sure I do,” Gojo replied with a sly smile, but something in his eyes appeared resigned, almost lost. But maybe that was just your imagination? Almost promising.

You didn’t even have time to follow-up on his statement as he simply shut the door in your face, cutting any further discussion short. Soon, Gojo settled in the driver’s seat and drove off towards your hotel. You didn’t even question how he knew where he needed to go.

Silence fell upon you and you simply turned your gaze to the flashing street lights, allowing you to marvel at Tokyo’s nocturnal atmosphere for a while. This was so much better than making your way through the confusing public transport in time for the last train. You shot Gojo another gaze and were surprised to find him diligently keeping his eyes on the road.

At once you wondered if you unwittingly had been keeping him from joining the others at karaoke. Singing one’s soul out and getting undressed in the process seemed right up Gojo’s alley.

“…Thank you for taking me back to the hotel. I appreciate it. You… didn’t really have to do this though, I’m sure you wanted to attend karaoke with the others,” you started off your half-apology.

A soft yet deep chuckle escaped Gojo’s throat.

“Oh sure I did, hun. There’s been something on my mind concerning you which is just soooo much more fun than karaoke could ever be after all,” Gojo casually replied, eyes never straying from the road.

You frowned and cocked your head in an inquisitive manner.

“Don’t act confused now, love,” Gojo smirked as he pulled over and parked the car right next to the entrance of the hotel. He unfastened his seatbelt to turn to you completely and casually rested his elbow against his seat, “Now, why don’t you tell me about never having orgasmed with a partner before?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as Gojo watched you curiously while you didn’t believe the meaning behind what your ears had picked up on.

“I…,” you spilled quickly, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. This had to be a nightmare. How did he know of that? You never told a soul, too embarrassed by your unfortunate choice of past sexual partners, and now Gojo Satoru – out of all possible people – knew of your secret?!

The panic must have shown on your face as Gojo’s smug expression softened slightly and he leaned closer to you, only stopping when the tip of his nose almost collided with yours, “You should take more care who might be listening in when you’re talking to yourself, (Y/N).”

You nodded once and leaned back, avoiding Gojo’s touch and gaze as best you could, “T-thanks for the ride.” Even if his revelation had thrown you off entirely, you tried your best to hide it.

“My pleasure. I’ll have to insist on taking you to your room though.” Gojo’s tone was unforgiving and made it very clear that you wouldn’t get out of him walking you all the way.

You sighed deeply and submitted to your fate, sinking into your seat until he had rounded the car and opened the passenger’s door so you could accept his hand to disembark in a semi-elegant manner.

Once you had found your balance he let go of your hand, matching your pace as you walked towards your room, acting as if he hadn’t just nonchalantly invaded your privacy. You shot him several glances but Gojo acted very interested in the interior of the hotel. You didn’t buy it though. Obviously he was just relishing in the fact that he got under your skin.

So he didn’t want to push any further? Fine by you. You huffed softly and pushed the button for your floor once you boarded the lift, Gojo strolling on your heels, hands shoved into the pocket of his trousers.

You refrained from looking at anything close to Gojo’s direction, albeit you could feel his piercing gaze on you. You used the time of the short ride to get your room card out of your purse and as soon as the automatic doors opened, you darted out of the lift and unlocked the door to your room with a soft beep.

Barely having shuffled inside you got rid of your purse and turned around to thank Gojo once again, finding him right on your doorstep.

“Thanks, Gojo, I appreciate what you did tonight,” you smiled awkwardly at the close proximity and mustered the courage to look into his eyes, just to be surprised by their intensity.

“Of course,” Gojo hummed, resting his left arm on the doorframe he leaned closer, stopping right before crossing the threshold with his movements. He easily kept your eyes locked in his, making you all but forget about bringing some distance between you.

“Before I leave… y’know I could help you out with your little problem, (Y/N). If you’re up for it, that is.”

Gojo’s voice was low, eyes dark, pupils dilated with a certain hunger as they stared right into your soul.

When his words registered a soft gasp unwittingly left your lips as your eyes grew wide.

Just what was happening? Had Utahime been right all along?

The next moment Gojo was leaning down to you, making all but sure that your senses shut down to a bare minimum. Standing there frozen in place, time seemed to slow down around you as your eyes flickered from Gojo’s luscious lips to his cyan eyes and back to his lips again.

Was this really happening right now?

Your heart pounded against your chest harshly and you pressed your eyes shut to calm your nerves. That is when you felt his soft lips against the skin of your cheek, undoubtedly skin on skin. He‘d really turned his infinity off!

“As I have told you prior, I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. But as I understand it, you still have a couple hours before your bullet train back to Kyoto tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you, (Y/N). You won’t regret it. . .~”

You held your breath and nothing. When you finally opened your eyes again Gojo was gone. Simply vanished! He had done exactly what he had promised to do. Taken you home, up to your doorstep and not a millimetre further.

Did this mean that he was going to keep what he offered if you turned up at his doorstep tomorrow? Up until now Gojo had never given you any reason to doubt him. Sure, he was a prick, but he was honest about being a prick. At least that was more than could be said about any of your former affiliations.

It took a couple more moments before you managed to close the door and turn in to a sleepless night contemplating if you might as well take Gojo up on his offer.

The next day. After some empty excuses to Utahime of why you couldn’t spend the last hours in Tokyo together. In front of Gojo’s apartment.

You stared at the kanji at the apartment, contemplating if you should really proceed now. It had been a pain to get Gojo’s address, dodging several inquisitive questions of Utahime, but now that you were finally here you weren’t sure if you should be anymore.

Given Gojo had lived up to every single thing he had proclaimed so far, plus he never had given you any reason not to trust him. Still, did being here meant that you were willing to compromise your integrity for something as trivial as good sex? More so than the actual act, you were afraid of what it might mean for your future relationship with Gojo; which would be anything but professional hereafter.

Before you could spiral further into second guessing yourself, the apartment door in front of you opened smoothly, offering the view to a slightly dishevelled looking Gojo apparently just out of the shower.

The moment you locked eyes with his bare ocean orbs, a smug grin emerged on his face, “Fancy seeing you here, (Y/N). Come in.”

You mumbled a greeting and stepped into his modern apartment, quickly getting rid of your shoes and outer layers while Gojo walked further back into the flat calling out to you, “Can I offer you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Pineapple juice?~”

You rolled your eyes, very convinced that you just shouldn’t have come here. You followed Gojo’s voice into a broad living room with an open kitchen. The colours and décor were kept simple, black and white, sometimes a splash of colour in the colour of his goddamn eyes.

After having accessed the surroundings to your heart’s content you turned to Gojo, “Do you happen to have pineapple juice – notoriously known for apparently for making the taste of oral sex sweeter – at hand for your guests at all times? Or did you go shopping for me yesterday?”

A soft chuckle, “I happen to like the flavour. Plus, I am quite certain your juices aren’t in need of any enhancement.” A wink followed. What a bastard.

Ignoring the faint blush that emerged on your cheeks, you countered, “And what exactly makes you so sure about that, mh?”

Gojo shortly nibbled on his full lips as he sized you up with hungry eyes. Then, he slowly rounded the kitchen counter until he stood right in front of you. The smell of his surprisingly fruity after-shave intoxicated your senses.

“Wanna find out?”

You managed a nod and Gojo smirked wider, simply lifting you up on the counter so you were closer to eye level with him.

And then he finally let his soft luscious lips collide with yours, involving you in a breathless, inifity-less kiss while your arms wrapped around his neck on their own accord. Gojo smirked against your lips pulling you closer to himself, gladly taking the opportunity to feel up through the fabric of the blouse you were wearing for travel.

How you cursed the school’s clothing protocol at that moment!

Frowning slightly you broke the kiss, quickly trying to get rid of your blouse with your hands, but Gojo had other plans, catching your hands in his he leaned closer and purred on your lips, “Ah-ah (Y/N), there’s still plenty of time till your bullet train. No need to rush~ This is more than a mere quicky to shoot one’s load and carry on, after all. I need you to relax and enjoy the ride.”

You weren’t quite sure what did the trick. The proximity to him or his genuine tone, but you visibly relaxed and started shamelessly feeling Gojo up in return. You weren’t surprised to find defined abs when you pushed the fabric of his shirt out of the way and followed their lines for a bit before you moved on to explore his back.

“Good girl,” Gojo chuckled in your ear and let out a teasing gasp in response to your initiative before he went to nibble on your earlobe, making you cross your legs behind his hips as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Sensitive, are we?”

Gojo moved back, capturing your lips in another kiss, this time parting yours with his cheeky tongue so he could explore your mouth to his heart’s content. You happily complied and concentrated on his tongue enough that you didn’t notice how he skilfully unbuttoned your blouse.

Your legs tightened around Gojo’s hips and you moaned when you felt his growing bulge through the fabric. Gojo took this opportunity to kiss down your neck only to ravish it mercilessly while his hands had taken a liking to your boobs, kneading them through your lacey bra.

“Hah~” More and more lewd noises filled the heated air as Gojo pinched your hardened nipples just the right amount to send shivers down your spine and you were glad that you didn’t have to depend on your trembling legs anymore.

Desperate for support you scratched blindly over Gojo’s upper arms which led him to gift you a wolfish smile as he pulled back enough to strip off your blouse and a swift motion later your bra followed.

Pouting slightly you picked on his shirt, making Gojo scoff and get rid of it, too. You sighed content about the equal stages of undress and wiggled slightly on top of the counter, enjoying the friction this provided against both the fabric of your pants and Gojo’s bulge.

“You little minx,” Gojo growled lowly, suddenly pinning you down to the counter by your neck. The cold surface sent a shiver through the entirety of your body. He adjusted his grip to be more gentle, yet still determined enough to hold you in place, actively preventing you from escaping from his touch. You would welcome the sweet torture that was to follow deliberately and Gojo was very aware of that.

Soon enough Gojo began his agonisingly slow treatment of your torso, mouthing his way from your collar bones to your chest where he spent his sweet time circling each nipple with his tongue.

You didn’t know what exactly he was doing with his shameless long tongue but you had never felt your body rise to the touch on its own quite like that and it took a minute to recognise it was your own voice which echoed through the apartment so obscenely.

Desperate for more stimulation which Gojo still withheld from you, you tried to pull him closer with your crossed legs, earning a suppressed moan from him as his erect member brushed against your clothed sex. How much you would’ve given for those layers to finally be gone.

“You really haven’t been getting laid properly at all, huh.”

Completely unnerved by now you groaned and shot Gojo an acid glare, but the elite sorcerer just chuckled to himself as he straightened back up, sizing you up in the process once again. You had never seen his eyes this dark.

In a split second his hands were undoing your pants as if they had never done anything else in his life and a few moments later you were sitting on the counter completely undressed.

When you blinked away your surprise, Gojo brushed another deep kiss on your lips, humming on them, “I’d hold onto something if I were you~”

And then he dove down to your core, hands holding your hips in place well aware that you wouldn’t be able to hold still.

As soon as his lips connected to your nether folds, a lightning impulse flashed through your body and your loudest moan yet left your lips. Your head flew back by itself and you wreathed as best you could on the counter top for either more or less friction, you weren’t quite sure.

All the while Gojo relentlessly continued his pursuit of your sex, tongue swirling expertly over and around your clit, building up a certain intensity before he moved down slightly to lick and mouth at your entrance.

You desperately held onto the edge of the counter for support, spilling his name over and over again, while Gojo cheekily thrust his tongue into you for a taste before he redirected his attention to your clit again.

The coil in your core seemed to harden and become undone at the same time and another flick of Gojo’s tongue made you scream as you jerked up as you finally hit your high. Juices spilled out of your cunt and you buried your flushed face in your hands while your entire body was convulsing in ecstasy.

Gojo made sure to keep his grip on you so you wouldn’t slide down from the counter, licking his soiled lips. Once he was sure that your breathing calmed down a bit he gently stroked away a couple of stray strands of hair and smirked, “Told ya you weren’t in the need of any enhancement, babe. You’re to die for~”

Still concentrating on your oxygen intake you were feeling rather overwhelmed with everything that had played out just now. It took a bit of bargaining with yourself to search for Gojo’s gaze again, but when your eyes met you immediately noticed the mixture of hunger and smug complacency in his. He had gotten you good, but you decided you weren’t going to leave before payback.

And so you cocked your brow up and smirked, “I admit you lived up to your word, Gojo. Mind if we take round two to the bedroom?”

A grin.

“Not at all, princess,” Gojo replied and picked you up bridal style to carry you off into his chamber.

Gojo’s bedroom was dark. Both furniture and bedding were either held in a dark grey or black and the shades were lowered. When Gojo let you down on the bed you took a look around and tended your head slightly at the unexpected interior.

You were torn out of your thoughts when you heard Gojo unbuckle his belt, followed by the sound of his zipper and turned back to see him in his whole glory.

His member was definitely on the larger side, but you were happy to see it came short of what you knew would be painful to insert. It had a nice girth and was slightly tended to the right, the tip glistening with pre-cum meant for your prior endeavors. You licked your lips unconsciously, eager to feel it in you.

“Marveled at my dick enough, have we? ” Gojo smirked knowingly and reached for a condom which just happened to lie on top of his nightstand.

You nodded slightly and watched him routinely put it on, before you pulled him on top of the bed and ravished his mouth with yours. He had deserved your undivided attention after making true of his promise and you were way past the stage of having any second thoughts.

Gojo curled his lips against yours, easily positioning himself on top of you while his hands were suddenly all over your body. It seemed like he wanted to leave his touch on every inch of your being and honestly? At this very moment you didn’t mind if he did.

The energy between the two of you grew hotter by the minute and you gasped for breath when he readjusted your hips so his member was prodding against your entrance.

“Last chance, (Y/N)…hng~”

The strain in his voice did it for you and you brushed a fleeting kiss on his cheek on your way to his ear, “Take me already, Satoru!”

A deep groan reverberated in Gojo’s upper body at the mention of his first name and he penetrated you in a swift, smooth motion, making both of you moan with pleasure.

He gave you a moment before he moved, offering the opportunity to get used to his considerable size before he started moving at a cheeky pace. Something had just clicked between the two of you and you moved against him as if you had never done anything else in your life. It felt liberating. It felt right. . .

A couple many minutes and exchanges of ecstasy later.

You were laying sprawled half-way over Gojo while he lazily played with your slightly damp hair. After your last round he had suggested a shower since you technically still had a train to catch and you thought it a good idea.

If you hadn’t stopped him, you would’ve also stained his bathroom with his name. Who would’ve thought that his infinite also applied to sexual stamina? But then again, it was Gojo who you were talking about.

You weren’t quite sure how this session was going to change your relationship with Gojo in the future, but you definitely didn’t regret going through with it.

You shuffled slightly on the bed and stretched slightly, “Mh, what’s the time?”

“Hn, ten past two,” Gojo replied with a raspy, yet slightly amused voice.

Ten past two. Ten past two. The bullet train back to Kyoto you were supposed to board was leaving at half past two!

You jumped out of the bed, hurriedly reaching for your clothes.

“FUCK!”

“Any time, (Y/N)”

You shot Gojo another glare, painfully aware that he had to have known.

Gojo only gifted you a wink and grinned, “If you are going to be as nice to me as you were just now the next time we meet, I might be willing to help you out, (Y/N)~”

You cursed the day you were born. Actually, no. You cursed the day Gojo Satoru was born to torment your existence.,

[feathers-scales-and-tails]

Been seeing a lot of “backyard eggs are cruel” articles lately, so I wanted to go through a couple of the points they raise and highlight why backyard eggs aren’t inherently cruel.

1) Chicks come from factory farm hatcheries

This point is entirely dependent upon an individuals purchasing choices. The only chicks coming from factory farm hatcheries are production hybrids, so ISA Brown, HYLINE Brown, Utility Leghorn, etc. so long as you don’t purchase these hybrids, you don’t support the unethical factories.

Although private hatcheries have their own plethora of ethical issues, these places are not suppliers to factory farms. The best place to purchase your chicks or pullets from is a private breeder who has good welfare standards. Neither of these options support the factory farms, and the claim that majority of backyard hens come from these factory farm hatcheries is false. I currently can’t name a single person I know with birds from a factory farm hatchery.

2) Male chicks are killed at birth

If you are buying factory farm chicks, yes. However as I mentioned above, few backyard hens are coming from this source. Private hatcheries which sex chicks either sell cockerels cheaper, or sell them in bundle deals for meat birds. Unfortunately private hatcheries are about profit, and believe it or not they can still profit off cockerels.

Private breeders rarely ever sex chicks. It requires specialised training and cockerels are harder to sell, so most sell chicks unsexed. Breeders also want to grow out these cockerels, there needs to be a keep back for the next generation of breeding. Either way, private hatcheries and breeders where a lot of backyard hens are sourced from are not killing male chicks on a large scale.

3) Hens are unhealthy and unnatural due to genetic manipulation

First of all, domestic hens lay more eggs than their ancestors due to selective breeding, not ‘genetic modification’ or ‘genetic manipulation’. Production hybrids are certainly unhealthy, laying over 300 eggs a year causes their bodies to wear out and they’re predisposed to so many reproductive issues. They were bred with the intention of maximum production, replaced after 18 months once this production declines. They are a mess and frankly should not exist.

This is the argument point which always frustrates me the most because, you do realise there are hundreds of chicken breeds right? And just like with dogs, these breeds all have different temperaments, characteristics, and health statuses.

A well bred Wyandotte who lays 200 eggs a year rarely experiences the health issues of production hybrids. These issues are almost unheard of in Sumatra or Sebright who lay 50-100 eggs a year. There are so many heritage breeds out there bred for their longevity, living on average 7-8 years rather than the measly 2-3 of production hybrids.

Most people who keep backyard hens love these birds dearly, these are their pets. Why would someone purchase an unethical production hybrid off the factory farms knowing she will die a horrible death in 2 years, when they could instead get a heritage breed who’ll lay them eggs until she’s at least 5?

I know very few people with backyard hens who keep the production birds

4) Hens are abandoned/killed when production slows/stops

I have yet to meet a single person who has purposefully gotten rid of their hens once production slows or stops.

Production hybrids rarely stop laying unless they are actively affected by reproductive complications, these birds sadly die before they stop laying so owners are definitely not ‘abandoning’ these birds, rather they die long before their time while still pumping out those eggs. Alternatively, heritage breeds will lay for years. We’ve had a 9 year old Sussex still laying eggs. For all the backyard keepers with heritage breeds, the time to ‘replace’ hens is often very far into the future.

This isn’t even raising the point that, these hens are pets. People can eat eggs and still bond fiercely with their hens, people can eat eggs and still value the life of the hen. I don’t think many people are going to turn around and kill their friend suddenly because she stops laying as frequently. My grandfather who used to own a small scale egg farm always kept his old hens who no longer laid, he’d had them for 7 years and that’s an attachment that’s hard to break.

The idea that hens suddenly stop laying eggs one day so people replace them is quite silly, it just doesn’t happen in a backyard setting. Certainly in egg farms, but not with pet hens.

5) Laying eggs depletes nutrients. Hens need to be fed their eggs to get these back

Laying eggs definitely takes up a shocking amount of vitamins, minerals, and amino acids. A big one is calcium, the egg needs a lot to shell it, but each egg also needs enough calcium stores inside the yolk to nurture and grow a chicks skeleton. If a hen doesn’t have enough calcium, she’ll draw it from her bones to produce eggs.

But the thing is, she doesn’t need to eat her own eggs to gain this nutrition back. Chickens have been domesticated for thousands of years, and in this time we’ve perfected their diet. There are many fantastic feeds on the market tailored specifically for a laying hens needs! She should be fed a pellet or mash diet, this ensures she gets the correct amount of all the nutrients, whereas with grain she can pick and chose parts and become deficient. Furthermore, chickens aren’t stupid animals. A hen will know if she needs more calcium, and this is why it’s important to offer them oyster shell, limestone, and crushed egg shells so she can eat extra calcium at her leisure.

Sceptical of the feed, or maybe you just think she deserves those eggs back after all her hard work? Well while it’s nice to treat your hens to an egg every now and then, too many can cause many fatal health issues. If she eats every single egg she lays, AND eats a nutritional balanced diet, she’s getting way too much of those nutrients since the feed is already replacing that loss. A really big concern is that she’ll put on too much weight from all the protein in eggs, this can lead to fatty liver disease which kills many backyard hens annually. Maintaining a good weight in your flock is vital to preventing other health issues too such as egg binding and heart failure.

I love letting my hens eat raw eggs, it’s hilarious and they love it. However I actually had to stop because one of my hens Sooty got dangerously overweight and was at risk of fatty liver disease. You might think feeding hens back their own eggs is great for their health, but it should be in moderation, there is too much of a good thing. Unless you’re feeding your hen rubbish, she doesn’t need the eggs since her diet replaces those nutrients daily, and please don’t feed your hens rubbish.

6) We are using the hens. They are not ours to use as we please

I suppose this point holds up depending on your personal beliefs. I personally don’t feel pet hens are being ‘used’ at all, rather it’s a mutually beneficial relationship. We give them food, safety, and friendship, so they return that friendship and sometimes eggs.

A part of domestication is that the animal adapts to living alongside us, with chickens it just happened to be the constant access to good food and a safe nest encouraged them to lay more eggs. We can’t change that now, so we may as well use the eggs. A dog or cat domesticated for companionship will provide that, are we abusing those pets as well by taking their companionship?

Also if I’m being quite frank, no one will ever get eggs cheaper by keeping backyard chickens. Feed is expensive, coops are expensive, veterinary care is expensive. Anyone getting backyard hens will have some other motive to it rather than just “I want free eggs” because these eggs aren’t free. Most people want a pet, they don’t want to support the factory farming, or they want to feel more self sufficient, maybe all three of those reasons! People aren’t getting backyard hens with the intent of ‘using’ them for eggs, because it’s cheaper just to buy eggs.

So to sum this up, backyard eggs aren’t hurting the hens! If anything, it’s helping them! Showing support for more ethical means of egg production will put pressure on the large scale egg farms to change ways. Hopefully these unethical practices will be phased out one day, it’ll take time, but one step at a time.

Thanks for reading! Epponnee says this egg is for you, they’re tasty and she wants to share! Please take it or she will keep crowing until you do!

[sweetbunnykook]

Forget-Me-Not

Adopted!JK x Detective!Noona - Oneshot/Drabble

Warning: taboo relationship, angst (manipulation/unhealthy boundaries)

Word: 1,855

Synopsis: Jungkook prepares to surprise you during Halloween but you have other plans that fuel his insecurities.  

A/N: I combined most, if not all, of the drabble ideas you guys sent me. Thank you and I hope you enjoy this drabble that is borderline a oneshot! ♥ Everyone had such wonderful ideas I couldn’t just choose one. I also had to force myself to stop writing because it was going to turn into a chapter. 

Jungkook just wanted to spend Halloween with you in peace. That was it. Just you and him, in front of the television, wrapped under a single blanket, wearing matching clothes and drinking warm tea. He even planned to order food from your favorite fried chicken restaurant with the little money he made doing art commissions. It was supposed to be a surprise and you were supposed to be jumping with joy when you see him holding two tea mugs in his hands, wearing a pumpkin patterned pajama pants and a large plain white cotton shirt big enough for you to climb inside in its warmth.

Is it surprising that when you walked downstairs, saddle bag in hand, dressed in an outfit he’s never seen before (a dress that was certainly revealed too much of your decolletage), he would be furious?

“Where are you going, mom?”

He can feel his stomach drop when your bright eyes suddenly dimmed upon seeing the cups in his hand and his eyebrows furrowed.

“I…” You struggle to find the words, knowing that his gaze is steadily trailing up and down your body. You’ve never dressed like this for any of your previous dates and Jungkook dreaded that you were going to end up in another man’s house, in another man’s bed, and come back reeking of this bastard’s cologne.

“I have a d-date,” your meek reply comes as you walk down the last few flights of stairs and open the shoe closet, grabbing a pair of boots and a clean pair of socks, your back towards him.

“With the same guy?” Jungkook’s voice lowers and you can hear the clinking of porcelain as he sets down the mugs on the coffee table, next to the rental DVD.

You nod. “Yeah.”

When you risk a glance towards him, you regret it immediately. Jungkook’s fists are clenched at his sides, his jaw is tight, and his eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

“Kookie,” you sigh, dropping your shoes back onto the rack to stride towards his tall figure cloaked in semi-darkness. “I’ll be back soon, maybe around midnight, okay?”

“The last time you said that you didn’t even come home. I was worried sick.” Jungkook pulls away from you when you reach to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“I’m a detective,” you chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood. The pitter-patter of the rain outside isn’t helping nor is Jungkook’s anger seeping out of every pore. “You know there’s nothing to worry ab-“

“It’s easy for you to say, mom. It’s easy for you to pick up your bag and go because you never look forward to our plans like I do. You never think for a second that maybe I want to spend the night with you and not have to wait for your leftover time like…like a pet.”

Has he always felt that way? It seems almost impossible given you spent your waking hours showering him with affection.

You pressed your lips together. “I didn’t know we were going to spend time today and I always, always prioritize your needs above mine. Don’t ever say that to me. Where is this coming from? Jungkook, if you need me to-”

Whatever you said might have struck a nerve within him for he flinched backwards, shaking his head.

“Forget it,” Jungkook takes the mugs back from the coffee table and paces towards the kitchen, knowing you’re trailing behind in concern as you struggle once more to keep him calm.

He knows he’s being unfair. He knows that you may have forgotten to tell him you were going on a date today, that it was his fault for planning a surprise on a holiday when you’re free from work. You only went on your rare dates on your day offs when you didn’t need to go grocery shopping or tend to other household responsibilities. The fact that you bought a new dress tells him all he needs to know about how much you looked forward to this night, even forgiving his snide remarks about your date when you first introduced him months ago. You don’t deserve to be treated this way and it makes Jungkook’s eyes fill with tears not just from frustration but from guilt that you ended up with him, a burden. This wounded, bleeding burden of a boy who falls more and more in love with you as the years go by.

Jungkook hates your little dates where you most likely had sex before coming back to him. The idea of a man kissing your soft nipples, your full hips, the inside of your thighs – it makes him sick with wrath. Jungkook hates that you still see him as the boy you took under your wings all those years ago. Jungkook hates that you’re so comfortable walking around in a towel in front of him because you don’t see him as a man; he knows you would never be that carefree with a date. He owns a piece of you that no other man can see. But his punishment is that he’s kept in this mold of the adopted son he desperately wants to be rid of. Changing his body to become stronger, becoming independent, pretending to be mature most of the time about the idea that a stepfather can appear in his life at any time – Jungkook was sick of it. He was sick of it all.

He throws the mugs in the sink, the two porcelain clattering in cacophony as it hits the sink and cool tea swirls down the drain.

“Jungkook…” your strained, mournful voice reaches his ears and his heart breaks. He can’t breathe, he needs to get out of there, he needs to get out fast.

“Kookie, wait-” You reach for him once more but he turns back into the living room, taking the rental DVD in his hands before he takes the flyer for your favorite restaurant laying haphazardly and balls the paper in his fist.

He skips up the stairs, noticing that you didn’t follow him this time. Somehow that makes it hurt even more.

Jungkook throws the DVD and paper on his bed and opens his closet, reaching for a pair of black sweatpants and a matching hoodie. He sheds off the plain shirt and pajama pants (so much for October festivity) and quickly change into the black set, keeping an ear out for the sound of the front door closing. He grabs his cellphone, his wallet, and keys off the textbooks stacked on his desk and shoves them into his pocket. For a moment he catches his reflection from the mirror pinned to the closet door and Jungkook decides, from his teary red face, that he hates himself more than he hates your dates and your cluelessness.

He’s gotten taller, much taller, stronger, smarter, but emotionally he is still the boy you rescued all those years ago. He’s still the boy who looked up at you and called you his superhero and smiled through the bloody black and purple bruises on his face when you held him and sobbed.

Jungkook slams the door shut behind him as he walks away from the comfort of his bedroom. Stepping down the stairs, he’s surprised to see you sitting on the couch, your feet still bare and your phone clutched in your hand. Why haven’t you left?

“Kookie I’m-“ You pause. You take notice of his attire and take a deep breath. “Where are you going?”

“Out.”

“Out where?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Please don’t do this,” your voice cracks and Jungkook grinds his teeth. Yes, he hates himself more than ever. He’s self-centered, dramatic, and immature, he thinks, it’s no wonder you won’t see him as anything other than a child. Hell, being regarded as a dog would be better.  

“Just go on your date, mom. Sorry for ruining your perfect night or whatever and tell him I said hi.”

Jungkook walks past you to grab his backpack. He won’t be able to focus on schoolwork and he doesn’t have anywhere else to go except Jimin’s house yet he slumps the bag over his shoulder anyway.

“I canceled the date. I’m not going anywhere,” You grab his sleeve, halting him in his tracks before wrapping your arms around him. He’s gotten so large that your fingers barely touch when you hold him.

He’s silent for a second, harsh breaths gradually fading to soft sighs when he hears you sniffle once and lay your forehead on his back.

“…You didn’t have to do that.”

You shake your head. “I should have expected that you’d do something special.”

“It’s not your fault…” Jungkook can see the porcelain cups in the sink from where he’s standing. His cup and yours, the handles designed to fit each other like puzzle pieces. “I’m…I’m just…”

How does he admit that he’s throwing a tantrum because he wants you all to himself? How does he admit that it was unreasonable of him to expect you to read his mind? How does he admit that his heart feels like it’s about to pounce right out of his chest when you’re not near him? It was embarrassing enough for him to slip into your bed at night while you sleep, lying about his nightmares to earn the privilege of your gentle fingers brushing through his hair in your sleepy daze. He might die of shame if he admits that he’s been daydreaming about a night like this when you can be at ease and when he can pretend he’s your lover and pull you close.

Halloween has always been a tradition – not a strict tradition but a tradition nonetheless that is not disrupted by strangers. He’s way past the age of bouncing off the walls for candy and horror movies but he’d hoped that, the older he gets, this ritual of spending time with you and living out a part of his fantasies during special days won’t perish.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Jungkook murmurs at last, letting the rattle of the kitchen windows from the rain keep him grounded. “I…I didn’t mean to be like this. I wanted to surprise you and I just…I got angry and it wasn’t right. I’m sorry. Can you call him again and-?”

“No.”

Jungkook swallows. Forgiveness feels so out of reach. It feels…

“I don’t want to call him.” You continue. “I want to be here with you…if you’ll have me.”

He turns, making you tilt your head towards him to reveal your watery eyes, and wrap his arms around your shoulders, burying his face in the crook of your neck. Your perfume smells like heaven. You smell like heaven and you feel ever better pressed to him; soft against solid, molded like the puzzle piece patterned mugs in the sink.

“Do you even have to ask, mom?…I want you here with me. It’s…it’s okay, right? You won’t be mad at me?”

You peck his cheek, tucking your sorrow deep inside like the same way you’ll fold this new dress into a bag and return it to the boutique.

“I will never make you feel alone.”

[majwrites]

Chris

Chris LaSalle x platonic Reader

Spoiler Warning: major spoilers for season 6 of NCIS New Orleans

Warnings: grieving, mentions of violence, being drunk, a break up, not eating, sugar rush, nightmares, crying, reader not getting out of bed for several days

Summary: Reader doesn't know how to deal with the death of their father figure LaSalle, this is basically pure angst. Flashbacks are cursive.

"Chris, why am I in an interrogation room?", you were starting to panic. "Don't worry, (Y/N). I just want to talk and here no one is going to interrupt us". You expected a lecture on respect and behavior or something along those lines. Pride had already majorly chewed you out and you knew you shouldn't have lost your temper like this but here you were. "I promise, I'm not mad about what happened at the academy. I'm just worried about you and I don't want them to kick you out", LaSalle always knew how to approach you. He had learned from years of dealing with his brother that he shouldn't upset people in already difficult situations any further. You stayed silent. It was hard to put the things that had happened into words. "Alright, we'll try something different. Did someone at the academy treat you in an unfair way?" You nodded your head. "Did they say something rude?" Another nod. "(Y/N), you'll have to be completely honest with me now, even if it's uncomfortable. Did they physically attack you?" You looked past Chris at the wall and then the words just started spilling out of your mouth: "They beat me up every day and I tried to ignore them and look like I don't care and I thought they'd stop...and I'm just good at dodging punches so I protected my face to not get any visible bruises...but there are three of them and I'm alone and I didn't know who to talk to, and I tried to tell Pride about it but he was pissed at me because he had already gotten the complaint about my absence and it's impossible to properly talk to him when he's mad so I just hid at that gas station til you dragged me back here". You were out of breath and on the verge of completely breaking down. Lasalle grew increasingly angry at the people who did this to you. He tried to contain himself to speak to you in a softer tone: "None of this is your fault, kid. I'm taking care of this, we'll get these guys expelled and I'll make sure you can go back to the academy and finish your training". You calmed down a little bit and tried to process everything that had happened over the past few weeks. You looked at LaSalle: "Chris?" "Yeah?" "Thank you". He walked around the interrogation table and held out his hand for you: "Come on, I'll give you a ride home. You need a break". 

You hadn't left your apartment in three days, out of all members of the team you'd been the only one to take your special vacation. You didn't bother to get out of bed and you couldn't care less about the state you were in. You weren't sure if you had really processed the news yet. The days went by in a haze. 

"Hey, kid! Wait a minute!", LaSalle came running after you. You stopped in your tracks. "What is it?" "I have something for you", he was clearly holding something behind his back. "Show me", you demanded. "Close your eyes", he looked at you mischievously. "Chris, I'm not a child", but you did as you were told anyway. "Now hold out your hands for me", you did and LaSalle dropped something into your hands. "You can open your eyes now". You opened your eyes and looked at the thing: "Oh my God is this…", you couldn't even finish your sentence. "It's your very own NCIS badge. From now on you're NCIS agent (Y/N) (L/N)". You looked at the badge in your hands for a moment and then clipped it onto your belt. LaSalle looked at you like a proud father. 

You woke up in cold sweat from a dream that you couldn't quite place in the timeline yet. The moment you realised that you were indeed awake on this day in this time and he wouldn't be there at the office and he never would be anywhere again you broke down again. There were only so many tears someone could cry and you definitely weren't done crying yet so you just curled up into a ball to cry some more. 

"What is it, King?", Chris was on the phone with Pride. "It's about (Y/N), they're drunk and I need you to come here and get them home", Pride sounded concerned. "Did something happen to them?", Chris started to worry. "They won't talk to me and they were already drunk when they got here. Something is clearly wrong". "Alright, please keep an eye on them. I'm on my way", with that LaSalle hung up and started making his way to the bar. When he arrived he saw you sitting there slowly drinking a cup of water which Pride had given you earlier. LaSalle approached you: "Hey, kid. Would you like to go home?" You stared at him in confusion before nodding slowly. You stood up and held onto his sleeve for support. LaSalle lead you to his car and helped you sit down in the passenger seat. He even secured your seat belt. He had never seen you this drunk before. Chris waited a minute before he started driving: "Do you want to tell me what happened?". You said nothing for a while, then tears started welling up in your eyes: "Jo broke up with me". You sounded distressed. "Oh, (Y/N). I'm so sorry", Chris leaned over the console and pulled you into a hug. You continued talking: "They said that I'm too damaged to be in a relationship...they said I'm broken and that they're not willing to help me". You started sobbing louder this time. Chris still held you. You continued: "They said there's probably no one in this world who could ever fix me". "None of this is true", Chris tried to soothe, "You're not broken. You just went through some rough times and we're all here to help you through them". You both sat in his car like that for a while before starting to drive. 

You didn't know what to do except for keeping on to rot away in your room. The only thing that usually came to your mind in a situation like this was calling LaSalle, but in a fit of anger yesterday when it settled in that you could never call him again you had thrown your phone at the wall. It was still intact thanks to the outdoor phone case and screen protector but you were unwilling to retrieve it from the ground. You wouldn't know who to call for help anyways. 

This case was a rather difficult one but you were on the verge of solving it. All it had taken were a few sleepless nights, a few more cups of caffeinated drinks and a sugar rush. But profiling was one of your specialities and this guy had a lot to be profiled about him. You presented your profile to your team, they compared it to their evidence, they found the guy because Patton is the best at locating people and so the bad guy went to prison and all of you could finally go home and sleep. If it wouldn't be for your sugar rush. Everyone looked very tired, but you were still bouncing around the office because you somehow needed to get rid of your energy. "Don't you want to go home, (Y/N)?", it was LaSalle who was the last one about to leave. "I'd love to go home but I kind of had an unhealthy amount of fruit loops and Caf-Pow", you were still pacing around in the office. "Do you want me to walk you home? Maybe that'll get the sugar out of your system", and that's how you ended up on a 30 minute walk through New Orleans to your apartment with LaSalle who later took a taxi back home. 

"Dwayne, we can't just sit around and do nothing about this", Loretta knew she couldn't get upset with Pride now. He was suffering too, but that didn't excuse letting one of his agents down like this. "What do you want me to do? They've taken personal days off. I tried calling them and they didn't answer so they're probably not willing to talk", he really didn't deal with the situation that well. "Maybe it's for the better if you keep everything in order here. I will go to their apartment and check up on them", and Loretta went on her way. 

You were hiding under your blanket feeling mostly numb now when suddenly there was a knock on your door. You couldn't find your will to get up, so you waited. The person would eventually go away and figure that you weren't home. To your surprise that didn't happen. Someone started unlocking your door which further confused you because only one person had a spare key to your apartment. And his death was the very reason you ended up like this. 

"(Y/N), are you here? It's Loretta!", she looked around your living room to see that everything was a big mess. You didn't find your will to answer. "I'm coming inside now, I'll find you if you're somewhere in here!", Loretta knew better than to startle you. When she reached your bedroom she saw you on your bed and came closer. "Hey, how are you holding up", she knew that you were barely holding up at all but she needed to get you to talk. "I don't know", you stared blankly at her. At least you were answering. "Do you want me to let in some fresh air? It smells like your window hasn't been opened for days". You nodded. Loretta opened a window. Then she sat down next to you on your bed. "We've been worried about you. Don't you want to get out of bed and take a shower? I'll try and find something to eat for you", Loretta knew exactly what to do in situations like this, she had been working with a bunch of very stubborn and very sad people for a long time now. "I don't want to shower", you answered flatly. "That's okay, would you like to change into other clothes?", Loretta had noticed that you haven't even done that after coming back home days ago, and besides that she had also smelled it. You nodded. You got up and leaned against your wall. Loretta started picking out a fresh set of clothes, a washcloth and a towel from your wardrobe. Maybe that would get you to at least wash your face. She placed everything on the shelf in your bathroom and made her way to the kitchen. 

A few minutes later you walked into the kitchen in fresh, comfortable clothes and a bit cleaner than before. You sat down at the table and Loretta handed over a cup of tea. You took a sip. You didn't know what to say. You looked down at the table. "You need to talk about this, (Y/N). The situation is difficult for all of us, but we can help each other with getting through it", Loretta didn't want to pressure you to talk, but she had to get at least some information in order to help you. You sat in silence for a longer while. You suddenly started talking: "I just don't know what to do without him, nothing makes sense anymore". Once again tears started flowing and by now you didn't care anymore. Loretta was out of good advice so she gently pulled you into a hug. You kept rambling on: "He was the one getting me off the street and the one who got me into the academy and inspired me to join NCIS. Chris helped me through all the trouble I got myself into. Loretta, I've got no one else. There used to be no one until Chris appeared and no it's going to be just like that again...and it's all just so unfair, he didn't deserve all the pain and he must've been so scared and now he's dead and there's nothing we could've done to prevent it". Loretta didn't know what to say so she just held you closer. You tried to calm down. 

It hadn't sunken in yet that from now on you' d have a purpose and a goal. Chris had managed to get you a place at the Police Academy by adding a reference to your application. You'd try your best to make LaSalle proud and become a good cop. If someone would've told you a few months ago that you were going to get a higher education or a stable job offer you would've probably laughed, but here you were now with an actual future ahead of you. LaSalle reentered the kitchen with two cups of orange juice and handed one of them to you. You looked at him for a second before saying: "Don't worry Chris, I'll try my best to make you proud". He just smiled and said: "I know you will, kid". 

About an hour, two cups of tea and a bowl of dry fruit loops later you were in a state of mind that Loretta felt it would be safe to leave you alone in. You had decided to sit this case out and you'd come back once you felt capable of doing so. Loretta stayed a while longer before she had to leave and she promised you to call later. When she made her way out of your door she looked back at you: "Christopher is proud of you, (Y/N). And I know you will continue making him proud in the future". 

And she was right, you had a bright future ahead of you and you'd do anything to make it a future that Chris LaSalle would be happy about. 

[skylarmoon71]

Donatello x Reader- Fanfiction Oneshot. (TMNT 2014-2016)

"Guys look what I invented!" Raph sighed when he saw you walking on the ceiling with your newest invention.

"She's at it again." he spoke, drawing in the attention of his other brothers. Donatello's eyes widened in amazement. "No way, you made gravity defying boots. "

You grinned from your upside down position, showing him a thumbs up. The beeping on your shoes made your smile drop. "Uh oh." the light changed from blue to red and you were now falling head first. 

"AHHHH!!!" 

Donatello rushed over, doing a flip and catching you mid air. His feet landed on the ground with a harsh thud, and you released a breath, holding unto him. "A-Are you alright!" he was surveying your body. All in all you seemed fine. You stared at him, admiring the beauty of his green eyes.

"I-I'm okay." your reply was said a bit shakily. Whether from the fall, or your slowly increasing heart beat, you couldn't tell. Donatello placed you on your feet, and Leonardo walked over, already preparing a speech. You knew that look on his face, he was about to scold you for your recklessness.

"(Y/N), you need to be careful. You could have gotten really hurt. What if we hadn't come in." You knew he was just concerned. Your head lowered. "I'm sorry Leo, I'll be careful next time." He raised his hand, patting you on the head softly. "It is pretty cool though." you looked up with a wide smile, fist pumping. Michelangelo was at your side in seconds, ready with an onslaught of questions. One of which probably included if he could borrow your boots.

Meeting the turtles was the best thing that happened to you. It was a real eye opener, that was for sure. You were an inventor at heart, testing out one of your creations. At the time you were just studying constellations and solar patterns. One night your panels picked up something strange. Whatever it was had a major energy source because it shorted your computer, as well as Donatello's equipment.

They'd been out on patrol while you were on the roof. And just ended up running into you. If your stuff hadn't overloaded Donnie's, they probably wouldn't have stopped to investigate. That was the first time you'd ever seen something so incredible. Of course when you saw them you fainted, from what you heard April had a similar reaction. But after that, when you came to, your curiosity got the better of you.

The fact that four huge mutant turtles were standing right in front of you seemed like the last thing you cared about. You just started asking questions. Like a scientist, you were inquisitive by nature. It wasn't long after that, you became quick friends with the turtles.

You and Donatello were especially close. He was just like you, always building and altering gear and technology, utilizing it to its maximum capacity. You were always helping him upgrade his inventions, and he'd give you ideas to create others to help the turtles protect the city. 

Being able to explore your interest with someone who loved technology just as much as you did was all you could really ask for. So whenever you weren't working, you were down in the lair, testing out your machinery. Your boots were something you'd been working on for weeks. Unfortunately it still needed a bit of tweaking, because the battery didn't retain as much power as you hoped.

"As soon as I get it up to speed I'll lend it to you Mikey." That was all he needed to hear.

"Boyah!! I got first dibs guys!" he was already running off cheering. You pulled the boots off, studying it. "I may have to alter the size as well."

"So how was patrol?" You asked surveying your equipment.

"Nothing we couldn't handle." Raph said boastful, biting down on the toothpick at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm sure. Well while you guys were gone I ordered pizza." That was all you needed to say because pretty soon they were all headed to the other room to devour their favorite food. You laughed at how quickly the room cleared. Splinter walked out, his tail swishing slowly behind him.

"(Y/N), it's always nice to have you with us. However I'd advised against indulging my sons in that unhealthy food." He probably regretted ever introducing them to it, because it seemed like that was all they ever ate.

"Even if I didn't you know they'll still get their hands on some." he sighed.

"I suppose you're right." He looked at you like there was something else he needed to say.

"Is there something wrong?" He shook his head, a smile gracing his lips.

"I'm just very grateful for you." the statement caught you by surprise.

"T-Thank you Master Splinter." It really did mean a lot to you that he thought so.

"I should be the one thanking you. Not many people are willing to accept my sons. They are extraordinary, but society has a very focused view on what is right and wrong. This world could use more people like you and Ms. O' Neil." you could understand where he was coming from.

"I know what you mean. Growing up I dealt with my fair share of ridicule. I guess to the other kids I was always just weird. " At a young age you'd seen things different. While kids were playing on slides and swings, you were solving mind puzzles and complex math sums. Technology was easier for you to figure out that people.

You glanced at the turtles eating happily from the other room talking among themselves. Your gaze lingered on the purple clad one maybe a little longer than necessary. When you realized you turned back to Splinter, who was wearing a suspicious smile.

"I'll leave you to it then." and with that he was walking away, hands behind his back.

"Hmmm?" 

Sometimes you wished you could read his mind.

"Hey (Y/N), come and get a slice before they devour all." Donatello's words made you run over.

"Save some for me!" You spent a while wrestling to get a slice. Dropping down next to Donatello. her persisted to tell you some of the upgrades he was thinking of making in the lair. His computer set up was pretty impressive already, but just because something worked didn't mean it couldn't be further modified. Donnie was always thinking ahead.

"Just imagine if we made four of those boots of yours!" he sounded excited, letting out a laugh and a cute little snort. You paused for a second, and he pushed up his glasses, a little embarrassed at the sound that left him. You watched him with glowing red cheeks.

"OH MY GOODNESS WHY IS HE SO CUTE!!!"

If you hadn't already swallowed your pizza you would have probably choked on it.  Who knew the nerdy little turtle would have such an effect on you.

~~~~

Mikey was patting his stomach, clearly content. You smiled, gathering the empty boxes of pizza to carry to the trash. Donatello caught you struggling with about seven boxes, still trying to stack more. "Let me help you." you nodded, and he took a couple from your hand, following you out the room. You walked with him, a comfortable silence gathering.

"What were you and Sensei talking about earlier, it looked pretty serious." His question caused you to slow down a little.

"Umm, not much. He was just saying he's glad I'm around. He also said I should stop buying so much pizza for you guys." you gestured to the boxes in your hand, causing a shy smile to rise on Donnie's face.

Upon reaching the trash area, you dumped the boxes in the bin. Donnie did the same.

"Well I am glad you're here." you looked over at Donnie, who suddenly seemed a bit flustered. 

"I-I mean we're all glad you're here." he corrected, fidgeting. You watched him fiddle, your heart giving a slow flutter. Donnie really was the cutest. Maybe it was the glasses, but every time he looked at you, your chest would constrict in the most pleasant way. Hearing him say he enjoyed having you around was another plus. It did give you slight hope. Maybe he reciprocated your feelings. "I'm glad too." you replied, skipping back to the lair. Donnie's eyes followed as you moved through the sewer, a content feeling settling in his chest.

~~~

"Hey Raph, Leo." you waved at both brothers entering. Raph looked up from tying the bandages around his hand, greeting you. "Hey what's up."

"Not much, I just needed to borrow some material for a something I'm thinking about. Where is Donnie?" At the mention of his name, Raph moved closer, dropping a hand on your shoulder as he leaned in. "You know, you always run to Donnie's room whenever you get here. I'm starting to wonder if ya have a little thing for him." you sputtered, backpedaling.

"W-What No! That's No!" you shouted. Your yells earned a look from Leo, who was now very curious.

"If you're looking for Donnie he's in the training room with Mikey." Leo said almost on instinct. Did he know as well that you always gravitated to Donnie. How could you be so obvious? And here you thought you were covering your little crush well. You frowned at the smug look Raph sent you, putting his toothpick back in his mouth as you basically sprinted out the room, cheeks quickly turning red.

"Stupid Raph."

If he figured it out, maybe Donnie did too. What if he knew the entire time and just didn't say anything. 

"That's crazy, stop it stupid brain!" you tried to rid the thoughts. You did like Donnie, but if he found out and things got awkward, you wouldn't be able to deal with that.

When you got to the training room, you froze at the door, just staring. Mikey and Donnie were sparring. You stood watching every move, flip, punch that Donnie delivered. Sometimes you forgot that he wasn't just smart, but also a very skilled fighter. The way he attacked so efficiently, carefully calculating every hit, retaliating with his bo staff. Your heart was definitely pounding now.

"He's incredible."

You weren't sure how long they had been going at it, but after a few more minutes they stopped. Donnie had successfully knocked Mikey off his feet. "I win." Donnie said with a cute little grin.

He held out his hand, and Mikey took it, standing to his feet. They high fived and that's when their focus was drawn to you.

"(Y/N)?" Donnie called in question. You were still standing there gawking. You blinked a couple times, then cleared your throat.

"N-Nice moves." you commended. Mikey puffed out his chest. "Well you know, what can I say, gotta impress the ladies. " At this point he was flexing every muscle on his body, yet all you could see was the thin layer of sweat Donnie was wiping off his forehead. The action made his biceps bulge. A short breath left you. You licked your lips, enjoying the sight of his very muscular body. You swallowed, hoping you weren't being too obvious. Because right now you couldn't help it. Someone so adorably hot shouldn't be allowed to live on the planet.

"This should be a crime."

Somehow Donnie had moved without you realizing, because he was directly in front of you, adjusting his glasses to check your vitals. "(Y/N) do you have a fever!" He sounded worried.

"Your heart rate is elevated as well as your temperature. Not to mention how red your cheeks are. You need to lie down. " he didn't give you a chance to argue, picking you up and carrying you to his room.

When he stepped in he laid you on the bed gently, before turning and searching around his room for medicine. He picked up a packet of tablets, as well as a bottle of water, dropping it on the desk, moving back to get a piece of cloth. When he got back to you he was unscrewing the cork of the bottle to wet the cloth. 

"Just lay down and I'll-" because he'd been bouncing around so quickly you weren't able to stop him. Now that he was sitting right next to you, you took his hand, halting his actions.

"Donnie, I'm fine. I don't have a fever." His head tilted to the side. He pulled back down the goggles to scan you again. When he raised it, he looked confused. "I-It's back to normal. But you were just really warm. How did it go down so quickly. " he put down the bottle, still sitting on the ground before you. He reached over, placing his hand to your neck. He really was a sweetheart.

"The reason I was so warm wasn't because I have a fever."

"Then why?" he asked.

"It's..because of you Donnie.." you breathed.

"Because of me?" As smart as he was, he probably wouldn't figure out what you were trying to say. Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed. With you sitting upright, and Donnie on the floor, you were right about his height from your position. 

Throwing caution to the wind, you leaned forward, hands smoothening over his shoulders. Donnie just sat there, clearly alarmed at how close you were getting. You closed the space between you, eyes shut tightly as you pressed your lips to his. You didn't stay connected long. After a few seconds you pulled back to gauge his reaction. Truth is you weren't sure what type of reaction he would have, but you were tired of hiding how you felt.

"I love you Donatello."

"I said it!"

Donnie was still silent, you sort of expected as much. He just stared at you. When he finally did speak, it came out hesitantly. "Y-You...love me..?" you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I do." you confessed. He was quiet again, and you wished you could read what his eyes were telling you, because it was lost on you. 

Despite that, you reached up slowly, taking off his glasses so you could get a better look at his gorgeous eyes. You placed them on the bed next to you, moving over to sit right between his legs. Now that you had a clearer view of Donnie's eyes, you noticed that they were dilated. That fact just made your heart pick up. You leaned in again, wrapping your hand around his shoulders this time as you kissed him.

This kiss was slower, passionate. You were conveying everything he made you feel since you'd met him. Every time he made your heart beat spike, pulse quicken, breath hitch.

All your emotions combined in one, just for him. When his muscled arms moved around your body, you swooned. You could tell he was cautious, because with his strength he could easily hurt you. Donnie held you softly, earning an appreciative sound from your throat. He finally started to respond, eyes closing, pulling you as close as you could get. Pretty soon you were gripping at his body, kisses hot and heavy.

All your pent up energy was coming out. You were shocked you were able to go so long without oxygen. The way you were kissing him made him lightheaded. It was if he were the air you needed to breathe. Your tongue darted out, hands moving to the back of his head to keep him right where you wanted him. 

You were moaning softly, brows furrowing as you tasted him. So sweet, just like his adorable personality. Your hands ventured over his plastron, and this time Donnie moaned. The sound caused your stomach to coil in anticipation. When you finally pulled away, you were gasping in mouthfuls of air. Donnie did the same, chest heaving in equal pace to yours. As you tried to catch your breath, your eyes stayed trained on his soft lips. Partially wet with saliva from your most recent session.

"I...had no idea that you.." his sentence was incomplete, due to his panting, but you could put the words together. He obviously wasn't aware of your feelings. This entire time he'd been pining after you, and you'd felt the same way. Donnie scolded himself for not saying something earlier. All along he could have been kissing your deliciously plump lips.

"I'm sorry it took so long." you spoke. Now that your breathing returned to normal. You could think a bit clearer. He shook his head.

"It's okay.I-I just thought that because I'm a mutant and you're..you're.." he didn't finish the sentence, eyes moving to the floor.

"I never saw the need to try.." he lamented. His broken tone really made you want to cry. Of course he was insecure. He was a mutant turtle. You guessed he just expected everyone to judge him for what he was. You reached over, lifting his eyes to you.

"I don't care what you are Donnie. In my eyes, you're just.." you paused, looking for the right words. There were way too many to describe him. So you just settled for the first ones to pop into your head.

"Incredibly hot." you whispered. He gulped, obviously noticing the growing need in your eyes. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Intelligent." you pressed another kiss, this time a bit lower. 

"Caring," a kiss to his neck. "Sexy." you were trailing kisses down his neck, and Donnie was having a very difficult time keeping his heart rate under control. Your head lifted, and this time you kissed him firmly on the lips. "Mine." you thought.

You stayed there, safe in his arms, exchanging long overdue kisses. People in this society would probably never accept what he was, but you'd love him, no matter what. And at the moment, that's all he could really care about.

[jenanigans1207]

Flowers for Margerie [1] |Ineffable Husbands|

Okay I’m gonna experiment with tumblr to see how it does with posting chapters of fics. It used to be great but then it stopped being great and so I disappeared from here for awhile. So let’s see how this does, shall we? The first three chapters of this fic are already up on Ao3, but I’ll be posting the other two shortly, too. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: “What have you got there?” She asked as the doors slid shut behind her, stepping up to inspect the plant. “My, what a lovely thing. Where are you taking it?”

“I’m, er, getting rid of it, actually.” Crowley answers, caught off guard by the way Margerie is looking at the plant. “Leaf spots.” He offers as a weak explanation, shifting it so she could better see the offending spot.

“Oh, that’s hardly any reason to get rid of it!” Margerie replies at once. “When something is a little damaged like that, you don’t throw it away, you take care of it. A little love and dedication and it’ll be healed right up.”

--

When Crowley tries to figure out what to do with the plants that disobey him, he doesn't expect to suddenly befriend the woman who lives in the flat below him. But he does.

The first time one of Crowley’s plants betrays him, he doesn’t know what to do.

He must make an example of it, of course, that part isn’t in question. There will be no disobedience in his flat and he’s determined to drive that point home. But he’s not sure how to do it. He grabs the plant by its pot, stalking out of the room with it, only pausing to send a menacing glare back at the plants who are watching their friend be taken away. They make it to the kitchen and Crowley sets the pot down on the counter, inspecting the plant inside of it, the offending leaf spot a dark focal point on its otherwise luscious leaves.

“How could you have done this?” He murmurs to the plant, turning it around. His tone is softer than he means it to be, sad more than disappointed, so he keeps his voice low so the other plants don’t get any ideas. “Was there something I didn’t give you? More I could have done?”

The plant trembles before him, its leaves shaking unceremoniously as Crowley spins the pot around, inspecting it from different angles, feeling the soil for dampness. He’d given it enough water, it had sunlight, he’d even gotten special potting soil that was supposed to help starter plants like this one. He had done his research on how to prevent things like leaf spots and made sure the plants had all the appropriate nutrition they needed. By all accounts, there was no reason for this plant to be betraying him so.

“Well,” He says, this time sounding as disappointed as he actually feels. Whether he’s disappointed in the plant or in himself is a moot point that he refuses to think about as he fixes his eyes back on the offending spot. “S’nothing to be done but to make a point, I s’pose.”

The plant triples its efforts of trembling and Crowley thinks it would be healing its leaf spot right here and now if it could. With a drawn out sigh, Crowley reaches over to flip on the garbage disposal, the sound loud and grating against his ears. He knows it fills the entire flat and can practically feel the fear of the other plants radiating from the other room. It seems barbaric, but he doesn’t exactly have an arsenal of plant destroying machines about his flat and he can’t think of any better way to handle the situation. The plant betrayed the only order it had been given, it needed to be taken care of. Such was the order of life.

He picks up the plant from his counter, grabbing it by the stems and yanking it out of the pot with little care or concern. The plant seems to vibrate under his fingers as he brings it over towards the garbage disposal, lowering it into the sink, further down, down, down. It’s just a hairsbreadth away from being in the garbage disposal when Crowley stops with a sudden jolt, his other hand bracing against the counter and his head sagging low.

“What am I doing?” He hisses, frustrated. He doesn’t make an attempt to move the plant away, but he doesn’t lower it any further, either. The sound continues in earnest and he just stands there, heaving breaths that his body doesn’t technically need. “Playing God?”

Crowley can feel it in the pit of his stomach— the despair at what he’s trying to do. He doesn’t want to demolish his plant, doesn’t want to punish it for something that very well may not have been its fault. And that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Punishing the plant for a small error that it hadn’t even meant. Surely if the plant had any control over it, it wouldn’t have gotten a leaf spot. Crowley had made it clear to every plant in his flat that leaf spots were unacceptable in no uncertain terms. Surely this plant deserved a second chance, deserved to learn from its mistakes and to try again. Where was the fairness in punishment without any warnings first?

He sees it for what it is, and he hates it. It tastes bitter in the back of his throat, makes his stomach flip. 

He hadn’t intended for his gardening habit to turn into what it had turned into. He’d picked a few plants up after he was no longer Warlock’s nanny as something to do to pass the time. With the end of the world looming and damn near six-thousand years under his belt on Earth, Crowley would’ve thought that he’d be able to have a few indoor plants without it turning into— into whatever the fuck it had turned into. He had, apparently, been wrong.

“I am, aren’t I?” He murmurs to the plant again, lifting it away from the garbage disposal finally. “I’m playing God.”

And he knows that he is. He doesn’t need the plant to give him any indication. He’s playing God with house plants, punishing them for disappointing him the way God had punished him for asking questions. He’s forcing them to live in fear, to think about everything they do and he’s casting them out if they so much as even wilt in a little heat. He has set clear, borderline unreasonable expectations for them and then given them no chance to adjust. He’s created his own Garden of Eden— beautiful, luscious and completely unfair in every aspect. 

He’s punishing bloody house plants because still, thousands of years later, he’s nursing the deep scars on his heart from his Fall.

The pain from his banishment from Heaven has never fully subsided, but Crowley has buried it in his heart under layers of mischief and lies, a carefully crafted facade of disinterest. It’s taken thousands of years of practice to come off so easily unbothered by things and Crowley realizes with startling clarity in this moment that these plants have become his Achilles heel— his method for coping with the tragedies of his past. They’re the one weak spot he has, the one spot that would bring him down if it were ever brought up. What he’s doing is so plainly obvious if he just looks and he realizes suddenly that he’s lucky that nobody else has ever had the chance to look. He’s fairly certain this is unhealthy at best and completely mental at worst, but he’s not sure where to go from here.

He can’t very well take the plant back. That would be letting the others know that leaf spots were accepted, which they absolutely weren’t. Even in the face of this realization, he wasn’t about to lower his strict standards or let his plants start getting… ideas. There was clearly something there to unpack and Crowley could deal with that on his own, but his plants needn’t know a thing about it. If he were crafting his own personal Eden, that was his business. But nobody said that he had to model his punishments after God just because he modeled his garden after Her. He could have his Eden and deal with the disappointments in a way that was less traumatizing for all involved. 

“Stay here.” He hisses to the plant, shutting off the garbage disposal and setting it down safely inside the sink. The plant sits obediently in the sink, its leaves perfectly straight, reaching for the ceiling, an attempt at picture-perfect. 

He casts one last glowering look at it before snagging its empty pot off the counter and sauntering back into the other room to show the others that it had been disposed of. It hadn’t, but Crowley made a big show of the empty pot with plenty of glares to keep his plants in line for the next few years, at least. And then, satisfied that he’d reestablished order, he headed back to the kitchen, empty pot still in hand. The plant trembled as he approached, trying to shrink away from him as best as it possibly could. It didn’t deter Crowley, who scooped it back up and dropped it back in the pot like it had never left, gathering it up and heading for the front door, careful to take the long way so the plants in the other room wouldn’t get a glimpse of their distinctly undestroyed friend.

Crowley didn’t even bother with shoes as he padded out of his flat, heading for the elevator. He was simply going to drop this plant off outside, leave it for someone to take. It seemed fairer to give it a second chance— one he had never gotten— and it would keep the other plants from having any idea. A part of him still tasted a bitterness in the back of his throat at the thought that he’d never know what would come of the plant. What good was a second chance, really, if he never got to see how the plant used it? But he would not have the status quo disrupted so he’d resigned himself to using his imagination and allowing the rest of the questions to just fade away. He was leaning against the back of the elevator, pot clutched to his chest when there was a ding and the doors slid open to reveal a woman Crowley recognized as his downstairs neighbor.

She was friendly enough, had introduced herself to Crowley when she’d first moved in and said hi to him every time she saw him in passing. Crowley made a point to be cordial back— manners were important, even for demons— but never got particularly close to her. There wasn’t much point in getting close to humans as it was, and that was especially true with older humans like her— they had even less time left.

“Mr. Crowley!” She greeted as she stepped into the elevator, beaming up at him with a smile that could rival Aziraphale’s. “Good morning!”

“ ‘ello, Margerie.” Crowley greeted with as much warmth as he was capable of. It wasn’t much to speak of, especially given his state of inner turmoil, but Margerie’s smile somehow grew even wider.

“What have you got there?” She asked as the doors slid shut behind her, stepping up to inspect the plant. “My, what a lovely thing. Where are you taking it?”

“I’m, er, getting rid of it, actually.” Crowley answers, caught off guard by the way Margerie is looking at the plant. “Leaf spots.” He offers as a weak explanation, shifting it so she could better see the offending spot.

“Oh, that’s hardly any reason to get rid of it!” Margerie replies at once. “When something is a little damaged like that, you don’t throw it away, you take care of it. A little love and dedication and it’ll be healed right up.”

Crowley tries very, very hard not to relate what she’s saying to his previous revelation about his plants representing him. He fails, but at least he doesn’t say anything about it out loud. That’s a crisis he’ll save for later when he’s alone in his flat, pacing restlessly and trying to figure out when the hell this had all come to mean so very much to him.

“Would you like it, then?” Crowley asks uncomfortably because he needs to be out of this situation as fast as possible. “I’ve got— got my hands full with a bunch of others. Just too much for me but you— you’re welcome to it if you have the— ah the time, and love? did you say? to give to it. S’not really my thing.”

“Oh!” Margerie lights up at the suggestion, looking up at Crowley through his sunglasses and he’s suddenly thankful to have them on because he thinks he might be blinded otherwise. Humans aren’t supposed to be this bright, he thinks dimly as she reaches out to touch another of the leaves. The only other person he’s seen shine like this is Aziraphale and he’s a bloody angel so he has an excuse. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah, please.” Crowley holds the plant out for Margerie, leaning down just the tiniest bit to hiss to the plant, “You be good for her.”

Margerie takes the offered plant graciously, holding it gently against her chest like it’s something precious she’s been given— something she will cherish. Crowley feels a weird twisting in his stomach and doesn’t know what to make of it. “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.” She says almost breathlessly. “I will take great care of it! And you’ll see, in no time that spot will be gone! You’ll have to come by for tea and see for yourself.”

“Er.” Crowley says because— was he just invited for tea? That doesn’t happen very often. “Right, yeah, sounds lovely. You just let me know when it’s all healed up and I’ll pop on by.”

Mercifully the elevator stops on the bottom floor finally and the doors slide open, revealing a series of people waiting in the lobby to head up to their flats. Crowley shuffles out with Margerie because somehow it feels rude not to, even though he can’t possibly explain why. Margerie moves easily, but slower than Crowley and he waits for her off to the side.

“Well,” She says once she reaches him. “Thank you for this gift, Mr. Crowley. It’s really rather lovely.”

“Do you need me to—” He gestures vaguely at the plant and then towards the elevator again because it’s suddenly just dawned on him that she’s leaving and he’s now stuck her with plant to carry around as she goes.

Somehow she understands his haphazard signaling and smiles at him again. “No, that’s quite alright. I’m headed to the store and it’s lovely weather, I can leave it in my car while I shop.”

“Right.” Crowley says. And then he feels like he should say more. “Thanks for, well, taking it off my hands, then.”

Margerie smiles at him as she heads slowly towards the door. “I’ll see you for that cup of tea soon!”

And then, all at once, she’s out the door, plant in tow, and Crowley wanders his way back up to his flat with no idea what had actually just happened.

 —

 In truth, Crowley completely forgets about Margerie, the plant he gave away and the promise he made.

Well, that’s a bit too callous. He doesn’t forget about Margerie— he sees her most days sitting on the bench outside their complex and gives her a polite greeting as he gets into his Bentley and screeches away. Somehow she never mentions the reckless way he drives and he thinks, fleetingly, he should have her meet Aziraphale so she can teach him her ways.

He does forget about the plant, though. And certainly about the promise. He hadn’t even meant to make a promise and he’d never had much intent on keeping it— demon, all that. It was the only reason he could admit that guilt free. But suddenly, a few weeks later, there was a knock on his door and it was different from the way Aziraphale knocked in the few times he’d ever come over to Crowley’s flat for something. Surprised— and certainly on guard— Crowley approached the door and swung it open.

Margerie stood on the other side, beaming her brilliant smile up at him. “Oh, wonderful, you’re home!”

“I am.” Crowley replies, and then he feels ridiculous and redundant.

Margerie presses on like his answer was the only acceptable answer, like he hadn’t just damn near made a fool of himself. “Are you busy this evening?”

And, as it so happened, he wasn’t. Tomorrow he would be busy, heading to the theater to catch a new play with Aziraphale. But today— today he had nothing on his plate. “No.” He replied and then hastily added on to make it sound less curt. “I haven’t got any plans today.”

If possible— and Crowley wouldn’t have said that it was possible if he hadn’t watched it happen— Margerie’s smile grew even brighter. “Well then, how about that tea? Your plant is doing lovely and I’d really like you to see it.”

The promise he’d made comes back to him all at once and Crowley pauses, staring down at Margerie who is quite a bit shorter than him, he’s just now realizing. Being a demon, it would be perfectly fine for him to rebuff her offer, to make up some excuse, to blow it off completely. In fact, it’d nearly be expected of him. But being a decent person— not that he was, he certainly wasn’t— forbid him from doing that. Or maybe it was the way her smile reminded him of Aziraphale’s and the fact that he’d never said no to Aziraphale in nearly six-thousand years.

Or, no, not that. Because he refuses to think like that.

The silence is stretching on and the edges of Margerie’s smile are starting to fall. It’s nearly imperceptible but Crowley feels it like a punch straight to his heart and he knows he can’t let it happen. “That’d be splendid.”

“Wonderful!” She replies and her smile is back in full force. “I’ll just need a bit of time to get the tea and biscuits ready. Why don’t you come down in, say, about an hour? Does that work?”

It does work, and Crowley tells her as much, going so far as to wave awkwardly at her as she heads back towards the elevator. She pauses before stepping in, shooting an encouraging smile at him over her shoulder and then she’s gone and the doors are closing and Crowley is left to wonder what the hell he’s gotten himself into. 

In theory, it can’t be too bad getting to know her, right? If Hell asked— not that Hell ever bothered to check in on him, but if they did— he could just spin some lie about how he was trying to corrupt her. He has to get to know someone before he can successfully corrupt them, after all. And being older with hair that was more grey than not— Crowley thinks it was probably brown when she was younger, there’s still some streaks of it hidden in there— she was closer to being assigned to one side. Plus, if things went according to Plan— as much as Crowley was going to do everything in his power to ensure that it didn’t— everyone would be assigned a side and just over a year when the Earth as he knew it, well, ended. It was for Hell, he told himself firmly as he switched into an outfit that seemed more fitting for tea.

Not that anything he owned was particularly fitting for tea.

He didn’t even like tea, that was Aziraphale’s thing. Crowley preferred coffee, dark, bitter and with a biting aftertaste. He preferred it strong and scalding hot. Tea was too— too bland, too boring, to mild for his tastes.

And yet an hour later he found himself in clothes that were slightly less form fitting, standing outside Margerie’s door, hand poised to knock and a bouquet of flowers that he had miracled at the last moment in his other hand.

Margerie opened up almost immediately, gasping at the flowers as Crowley extended them to her and placing a warm hand on his forearm earnestly as she thanked him for his generosity. She stepped aside to invite him in and Crowley diligently took his shoes off just inside the door like a good guest before being led further back into her flat.

It was exactly how he had pictured her flat would be— homey and outdated in a way that was more charming than anything else. Not for the first time, he thought that Aziraphale and her would get along excellently. They could probably even trade decorating tips since they both seemed to stuck a few eras in the past. There was nothing sleek about the inside of her flat and Crowley thinks he was only able to navigate the mismatched furniture and uneven rugs with such ease because of his centuries of practice moving expertly around precarious stacks of books.

“Nice place.” Crowley knows enough about manners to know that small talk is essential. He’s not particularly good at it, though, given that he spends the majority of the time with another supernatural entity and they skip small talk completely in favor of philosophical discussions and stories from throughout history. 

“Oh, it’s not much.” Margerie says with a fond smile. “But it’s home.” She leads Crowley through one final doorway and he finds himself in a small kitchen. Technically, it’s the same as his— all flats in this complex are exactly the same— but the way she has decorated it makes it look like something else entirely. “Please have a seat while I get these gorgeous flowers some water.”

Crowley obliges, sliding into a chair at the table in the center of the kitchen. He glances around as she moves across the kitchen to grab a vase. His kitchen has a few essentials— very, very few considering nothing material is really essential to a demon— and a few pieces of furniture just for the sake of appearances. Margerie’s kitchen has drawings taped to the fridge, pictures on the wall, mail scattered on the counter. Her kitchen looks lived in with a few crumbs underneath the pantry door and a dirty mug sitting in the sink. It looks human and Crowley finds it frightfully calming— and maybe even a little endearing.

Margerie makes a sound and Crowley snaps his eyes back to her at once, seeing her struggle with one hand braced on the couter and the other stretching as high above her head as possible as she reaches for a vase on a shelf far taller than she is. In an instant, Crowley is up and out of his seat, leaning over Margerie to grab the vase down for her, hardly a stretch at all for his lanky limbs.

“Oh, you’re such a kind one, aren’t you?” Margerie says gratefully as she takes the offered vase from his hands and shuts the cupboards.

Crowley stiffens next to her, opening his mouth before promptly snapping it shut. He is not and has never been nice, or kind, or any other word even slightly resembling those, but that’s not a speech he can give to Margerie. He can’t explain to her that he’s actually a demon and he keeps his plants locked up in his flat as some sort of twisted God complex and futile attempt to right the wrongs of his past. He can’t tell her that he spends his days creating low grade evil and chaos, only occasionally broken up by a blessing when he needed to step in for Aziraphale.

Luckily, Margerie doesn’t seem to notice his pointed silence as she fills the vase with water and then reaches into one of the kitchen drawers for a pair of scissors to cut new ends on the flower stems. They won’t need it— Crowley had well and thoroughly threatened them into behaving, too, but it’s another item on the growing list of things he can’t explain to her so he just resumes sitting at the table and looking idly around in a desperate attempt for some way to make this less awkward.

“Do you see it?” Margerie asks after a moment. Crowley makes some sort of questioning noise that couldn’t quite be considered a word but it gets a smile out of Margerie just the same and she gestures to the plant sitting in the middle of the table. “Your plant.”

“This?” Crowley says, reaching forward to pull the plant closer. It’s in a different, bigger pot than it had been when he’d given it to her and the leaves were exceptionally green. Crowley spun it around, inspecting it, noticing the way the leaves seemed to tremble the tiniest bit as he inspected them. Sure enough, there was the tiniest hint of the leaf spot that had caused Crowley to cast it out, nearly gone now. “It looks completely different.”

She smiles at him from across the kitchen and it’s completely different, somehow, than the smiles he’s seen from her already. This one is smaller, more intimate but just as warm. It makes Crowley feel like squirming out from under the weight of it. “Like I said, it just needed a bit of love. You’d be amazed how much love can change something— or someone.”

“Yeah, well,” Crowley feels like he’s losing his mind suddenly. He’s not used to this sort of kindness, he’s not meant to be receiving it. He’s a demon and demons are unforgivable and utterly tasteless, they weren’t the kind of person that someone wanted to spend a casual afternoon tea with. But Margerie continues to shoot him encouraging smiles and seems entirely comfortable with his presence in her kitchen, long legs poking out from under the table at an awkward angle. “I might know a thing or two about that.”

And what the fuck did he think he was doing? 

He wasn’t honestly sure if he was talking about his feelings for Aziraphale or the love that God had ripped away from him but bother were delicate subjects that he had vowed a long, long time ago to never address. He had locked them away and promised himself he would never put words to them ever. And yet.

Crowley tried desperately to write it off as a side-effect of the existential crisis he had worked himself into with the plants but it didn’t stick as well as he’d have liked it to.

Crowley was about a half a second away from verbally backpedaling, making some series of noises that would no doubt display his discomfort when Margerie just smiled at him again and came to join him at the table with the vase of flowers she’d finished arranging. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not—” Crowley swallows, completely baffled at the entirety of this encounter. “Not really. It’s— complicated.”

“Well,” Margerie says kindly and Crowley recognizes that tone. It’s the one Aziraphale uses when he’s purposefully ignoring something for Crowley’s sake, pretending he didn’t see or hear something he knows Crowley wouldn’t want him to know about, locking it away to never bring it up again. “That’s alright, then. We can talk about other things.”

The tea kettle whistles on the stove and Margerie turned around to grab it. She clicked off the stove and settled two cups onto the table in front of their respective seats. She moved a plate of biscuits onto the table, too, before returning with the kettle and pouring hot water into both of the glasses, tea bags already inside.

Crowley still didn’t care for tea, but he found himself suddenly glad for a way to occupy his hands and for something to sip at if he ever needed to avoid her questions. But he never did need to, as it turned out. She deftly avoided any conversation topic that seemed to make him even the tiniest bit uncomfortable, poking around at the shallow stuff like what he did for work— at which Crowley had given a broadly vague I work with people— and how he liked to spend his free time.

Somewhere along the way, though he was loath to admit it and surprised to see it, he melted into the easy conversation. He listened to stories from her childhood, tales of her children’s accomplishments. He laughed as she regaled him with particularly embarrassing stories and smiled fondly when her eyes would drift far away as the memories overtook her. In turn, he told her about Aziraphale— not in the way that she had asked earlier, but just about his presence in Crowley’s life. He told her about their plans for the play tomorrow which had led them off on a discussion about their favorite plays and Crowley was thrilled to find that Margerie preferred the funny ones, too.

“The sad ones— it’s just, why go to the theater to be sad?” Crowley is saying, a biscuit in his hand as he gestures wildly. He figures it would be rude not to eat it and he has human appearances that he must keep up. “I can do that alone in my own flat, y’know? Don’t need Shakespeare or— or some other bloke to make me sad. Plenty capable of that on my own.”

A hand suddenly appears over his on the table and Crowley swallows the bite of biscuit he’d finally taken, startled at the stern look in Margerie’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be sad.” She says kindly, maybe a little sad herself. “You have nothing to be sad about, you’re such a wonderful young man.”

“You just don’t know me that well yet.” Crowley mumbles in response, wondering how they’ d gone from laughing about the theater to this. But, it wouldn’t be the first time he mucked something up. He supposes it’s fine, he’s a demon, the conversation probably should have ended this way anyways.

And then Margerie surprises him, her grip tightening over his hand. “Nonsense.” She says at once. “I know you plenty well to know you have a good heart in you, Mr. Crowley. For starters, you gave me a lovely plant and the you brought me beautiful flowers. And you’re spending your afternoon keeping an old woman like me company. That right there is enough. But just in case you’re not convinced—” She makes a pointed look at his expression and Crowley tries to school it back into something neutral, but he’s not certain it works. “I’ve also seen you picking up the litter outside the complex, and holding the door open for the mother with her stroller down in 3B.” Crowley moves to protest— how has she managed to catch all of the undemonic things he’s done?— but Margerie won’t hear it. “You are a very kind person, Mr. Crowley. And I don’t know who made you feel like you need to hide that, but it can be our little secret if you wish.”

Crowley feels a distinctive emotion threatening to close up his throat and he can’t swallow around it as well as he needs to. He takes a deep breath, his hands flat against the top of the table. He knows he should deny it but there’s something so open and honest in the way Margerie is looking at him, something that feels like a safe-haven.

“Crowley.” He finally manages to choke out. “Everyone just calls me Crowley. Er, well— my friends do.”

He really only has one friend to speak of but it’s not untrue. Regardless, it gets the point across and Margerie is once again smiling that brilliant smile at him from across the table, her thumb tracing patterns across the back of his hand.

“Our little secret then, Crowley?” She asks again, her voice a soft whisper, a promise of privacy, a solemn oath to not repeat anything she’s heard from him, seen him do.

It only takes a moment of hesitation before Crowley offers her a weak smile. “Our little secret.”

—

Much to Crowley’s surprise— and certainly to his disdain— it doesn’t actually take that long for another plant to betray him.

He spares a moment wondering if they know what happened to the previous plant and are looking for a way out, but then discards it as a ridiculous notion. Plants can feel fear, that much is evident every time he walks into the room, but they’re certainly not forming complex theories about their owner. So, Crowley drags that plant out of the room, too, turning on the garbage disposal as he enters the kitchen. This time he has enough thought to throw something down there— some bit of wood he miracled up— just so it sounds more realistic. Maybe the plants had realized that nothing had gone down there last time. He won’t make that mistake again.

Once he’s certain he’s got the full attention of the house, he stalks back in with a replica of the pot the plan was still residing in, stalking around and staring down each plant individually, holding the pot in front of each of them one-by-one so they had no choice but to see. He hissed out a few pointed threats and then left, heading back to take this plant down to Margerie, too.

Crowley isn’t sure why he thinks that’s an okay thing to do. Just because Margerie had taken one of his plants didn’t mean she wanted to acquire her own forest inside her flat. Still, there was something about her— something that Crowley couldn’t put his finger on, no matter how much he thought on it— that made him certain that she would gladly take it.

In the end, he was right. 

She opened the door to her flat and immediately broke into one of her beaming smiles as she saw Crowley standing there with another plant in his hands. This one had flower buds that hadn’t yet bloomed. They would be beautiful, though, Crowley had made sure of that.

“Crowley!” She says, and she steps aside immediately, ushering him in. “What a lovely surprise. I was just baking, I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t need to stay—” Crowley starts to protest immediately feeling like he’s inconvenienced her.

“Nonsense!” She waves a hand and gestures for him to follow her into the kitchen. “I’d love some company while I bake.”

Crowley kicks off his shoes obediently, wondering how he’s now gotten himself into this situation twice. He pads quietly down the hallway after her, carrying the plant along with him the entire time and feeling distinctly foolish. They enter the kitchen and sure enough there are ingredients scattered all over and Crowley gets a waft of warm earthiness.

“I had another plant—” He pauses, certain that saying the plant had betrayed him was not a normal thing to do. “It’s ah, got the spots. And, y’know, not my thing, all that.”

“Is that why you’re carrying that lovely thing?” Margerie asks, pausing at the sink and looking over at him.

“Yeah.” Crowley says, feeling kind of small for some reason. “Was wondering if you wanted it? Or wanted to— to heal it or whatever it was.”

Margerie pauses for a moment, appraising Crowley with her eyes. Crowley tries not to squirm underneath her gaze. He’s certain that she can’t see the truth of who he is— not with his sunglasses on— but he feels like she’s not looking for that sort of information. He feels, more than anything, like she’s trying to read what’s written in the shadows of his heart.

“I would love it, Crowley, thank you.” Margerie says after a moment, and she steps forward to accept it from him. “I will gladly take any plants you choose to get rid of but there is one condition.”

“What’s that?” Crowley asks as he hands the plant over, suddenly feeling unmoored without the weight of it in his hands to anchor him down. 

“You have to come see them.” She says with a small smile. “You’re giving them a second chance by giving them to me, so make sure to come back and see how they do.”

Crowley startles, amazing at how accurately she had pinned what he was doing. He wonders if he’d really been that obvious, but then he tamps that worry down because it will just lead to him wondering what else he’s that obvious about and that’s a Pandora’s Box that he doesn’t want to open— now or ever.

“Right.” Crowley says after a moment’s pause. “Seems fair enough.”

There was a moment where they just looked at each other and then Margerie gestured for him to sit. Crowley did, though he wasn’t sure why because he didn’t really have a reason for sticking around now that he’d handed the plant off. Still, he took the same seat as he had last time and watched as Margerie set the plant down on a counter off to the side and then headed to fill the tea kettle with water. Crowley went to protest but thought better of it because he knew Margerie wouldn’t hear it, so instead he slumped back and waited patiently.

It only took a moment for her to get the kettle on and then she moved back to the counter where she appeared to be making a dough of some kind. “So,” she began and Crowley didn’t like the tone of her voice. It meant she was going to pry, to ask questions, to search for information that he either didn’t have or couldn’t give. He braced himself. “Did somebody break your heart?”

“Well, I— what?” Crowley shoots up in his chair, his spine the straightest it’s probably ever been as he stares at her incredulously across the kitchen. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting her to ask but that was certainly nowhere even near the list of potential questions. 

“I’m sorry,” She says gently, like he might break. “It’s none of my business and I shouldn’t ask but…” She pauses for a moment as if she’s giving Crowley the chance to back out of the conversation. He wants to, but he also wants to know how she had jumped to that conclusion from a simple plant. “It’s just— the way you look at the plant, like it’s hurt you with these spots. I just— I see that sadness in you that you mentioned last time. Call it mother’s intuition, I guess.” She glances over at him as she kneads the dough, her smile small but still genuine, maybe even a little sad itself. “You don’t have to answer me, I just want you to know that I’ll gladly listen if it’ll help.”

Crowley feels like the air has been knocked right out of his lungs and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to make of that. Fleetingly he realizes that so far he has spent every encounter with her completely caught off guard and uncertain of what to expect. That’s probably a bad sign, he reasons, but he finds her so comforting and he really believes that she won’t repeat anything he says. There’s something about her— maybe it’s her energy, the way it radiates pure good and unconditional love. It damn near feels like standing next to Aziraphale.

“Does that work?” He asks quietly, looking down at his hands on the table before him. “Talking about it?”

“I think so.” Crowley isn’t looking up at her but he can hear her working and he appreciates her attempts at making this such a casual thing for him, her attempts to not put any pressure on him. “If you keep everything locked up inside, it’ll drag you down. Best to share the burden with someone else.”

“And you want to bear my burdens?” Crowley tries for teasing but it sounds more incredulous than anything else. If the world weren’t set to be ending in the next year, Crowley wouldn’t believe that this was happening. But everything had been unbelievable in the last ten or so years and humans never failed to surprise him.

Margerie responds in kind, her tone actually succeeding at hitting teasing. She pauses what she’s doing to come and pour him a cup of tea before retreating back towards the stove. “We’re sharing plants already, why not?”

It startles a laugh out of Crowley and he settles a bit more comfortably into the chair again. “Are you going to share your burdens with me?”

“Do you want me to?” Margerie asks, clearly caught off guard by the question.

Good, Crowley thinks, they can be on the same weird, unexpected page. “ S’only fair, wouldn’t you say?”

“You drive a hard bargain.” She pauses her kneading to look over at him and there’s a crinkle to her eyes. Crowley meets her gaze and thinks that her eyes look like melted gold from across the room and he thinks that’s fitting, somehow. Like her eyes are reflecting the kindness within. “Well, alright then. You have a deal. Now tell me about this heartbreak.”

Crowley knows he can’t tell her about Heaven— not in such clear terms, anyways. And he shouldn’t tell her about Aziraphale since that was— that was a mess of his own making. And yet he found that he did want to talk about both of them.

And so, he did.

He told her that he had been loved by someone, once, and then they had turned on him and kicked him out, even if he’d never really grasped what he’d done wrong. He tells her about his plants and how he’s realized that they are a reflection of this— he even mentions how impressed he is that she figured it out after only two plants.

“Took me damn near thirty before I pieced it together.” He says with a laugh that’s not entirely mirthless. It’s more self-deprecating than anything and Margerie hears it, shooting him a look.

“Is this the love you said you’re familiar with last time?” She presses after a moment.

“You’re ruthless, d’you know that?” Crowley laughs again and this time it’s more genuine. “Can’t let a man catch a break, can you?”

“I meant it when I said you don’t have to answer,” Margerie looks at least a little contrite as she slides her most recent creation into the oven, pulling out what Crowley has since identified to be brownies. 

The entire flat smells amazing which is impressive considering that Crowley doesn’t ever feel particularly drawn to food. Margerie waits for him to say something as she does some sort of intricate dance in front of the oven, swapping pans and shuffling stuff around. Crowley watches idly for a few moments as she eventually sorts it all out and shuts the oven door with her foot, reaching over to set a new timer.

“That one might be a bit heavy for today.” He answers finally.

“Oh, my dear.” She says, turning to look at him and Crowley feels his heartstrings plucked at the endearment. Partially just for the sake that she’s using an endearment on him and partially because there’s only one other person in all of history who has called him my dear. 

How Margerie continues to hit so close to home, Crowley isn’t sure. He lifts his glass up and drains it, despite the fact that it’s nearly cold at this point. He hadn’t touched it at all but felt it would be rude to leave it full.

“I should probably go.” Crowley says, shoving his lanky legs underneath him and pressing up from his spot by the table. “Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome. You can’t be sick of me before I even begin checking in on these plants.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting sick of you anytime soon, Crowley.” Margerie says with such un bridled warmth that Crowley thinks for a moment that he’s standing in Hell— brimstone, flame, all that. There is a reason humans believe Hell to be eternal burning after all. “But please do hold on for just one moment, I’d like to send some of these brownies home with you.”

“You don’t—” Margerie stops his protest with a single look. He sighs and props a hip against the table. “Alright, fine. I’m not much for chocolate but I have a— friend who is. He will love these.”

“Well,” Margerie says as she finishes slicing the warm brownies and settles them on some tinfoil. “Please be sure to tell me what your friend thinks. And I do hope you’ll try at least one of them. For me.”

Crowley accepts the parcel of brownies as it’s offered to him. “He’ll love them.” Crowley says with absolute certainty and a weird warmth closing his throat. “And I’m sure I will, too.”

 —

 Crowley’s late.

Well, as late as he can be for something like this. He and Aziraphale don’t have strict reservations anywhere, so it’s not like he’s at risk of actually ruining their plans, but he knows Aziraphale is waiting outside the complex for him. He’d spent too long trying to pick what to wear which, incidentally, was stupid considering all of his outfits looked nearly the same.

“Sorry,” he calls as he rushes through the front door to find Aziraphale standing there with his hands folded behind his back, looking entirely at ease. “Got, er, caught up.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble.” Aziraphale says with that easy smile of his, turning to watch as Crowley approaches.

Crowley tries his best to look calm, to keep his pace slow and unhurried. He’s not certain it works but Aziraphale at least has the decency to not point it out if his frantic energy is palpable. He reaches Aziraphale’s side in a few quick strides. “So, given any thought to where you’d like to go?”

“Yes, actually.” Aziraphale says with that beaming smile that makes Crowley thankful for his sunglasses. “There’s a new Thai place just up the road. It’s close by and lovely weather so I thought we might walk there.”

“Sure, whatever you want, angel.” Crowley agrees automatically, happy to go anywhere as long as it has Aziraphale there. “Lead the way.”

They take off down the sidewalk together but only make it a few steps before a car door is thrown open in front of them, halting their progress. A few choice words pop to the tip of Crowley’s tongue but they die the moment Margerie steps out of the car, her eyes landing on them.

“Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry!” She says hurriedly, shutting the door and leaning against it so that they can pass by if they want. “I didn’t mean to be in your way.”

“S’no problem.” Crowley says, resolutely not looking at Aziraphale. “We’re in no rush.”

Crowley can’t be rude or curt to Margerie, he just can’t. Not after how kind and welcoming she has been to him, not after she’s heard some of his secrets and kept them locked away— just between the two of them. He knows his kindness will fuel Aziraphale, will give him material to tease Crowley with for the rest of time— no matter how long that ends up being— but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Margerie doesn’t deserve his attitude and Aziraphale will always find something to tease Crowley about. If not this, surely it’ll be something else.

“Oh,” She perks up and smiles at him, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, did your friend enjoy those brownies?”

“You can ask him yourself.” Crowley says, gesturing towards Aziraphale. He gets the distinctive feeling that his face is red but he doesn’t waste time thinking about why. 

“You made those brownies?” Aziraphale jumps fluidly into the conversation like he knows Margerie already. “Oh, my dear, how do you do it? Was there a hint of— was it cinnamon I tasted?”

“It was!” Margerie perks up immediately, stepping away from her car to properly engage them in conversation. “I’m impressed you could taste it, it was only a teaspoon in the whole batch.”

“It was delectable,” Aziraphale says, reaching forward to grab her hands earnestly. “It was just a little hint left on my palate. Oh, I daresay they hardly even lasted an evening. The most delicious brownies I’ve ever tasted!”

“Oh, you’re just being kind.” Margerie is the one to turn distinctly pink this time and Crowley just watches it happen, feeling how surreal this moment is.

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale emphasizes. “I would not say such a thing lightly! You must give me your recipe, I’d love to make them!”

“Do you bake?” Margerie asks and she seems to catch Aziraphale by surprise.

He looks puzzled for a moment, like he’s not sure why he asked for a recipe that he can’t use and it makes Crowley feel at least a little better. There’s something about Margerie, he decides, that draws this happiness out of people. Maybe she’s a supernatural entity herself. (Crowley knows it’s not true, he’d be able to feel it, but she certainly seems to have some sort of superpower.)

“Well, no, actually.” Aziraphale admits after a moment, looking properly sheepish. “But perhaps I shall learn for this! Your brownies are worth the effort.”

“Perhaps Crowley could bake them for you?” Margerie suggests instead.

The world seems to screech to a halt.

Crowley knows that she doesn’t mean anything by it. There’s no way that she’s figured out that Aziraphale is the one he’s been desperately avoiding talking about. But then again— maybe she has? She’d called it mother’s intuition before and she had a strange habit for hitting the nail right on the head. Crowley looks at her desperately, but she’s simply smiling warmly at him, guilt-free. She doesn’t know what she’s implied and Crowley isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not, even though it seems like it should be obvious.

“Oh, dear me.” Aziraphale laughs, recovering from the shock of the moment far faster than Crowley. “I’m afraid he’s an even worse baker than I am. I daresay I wouldn’t survive those brownies.”

“See if I ever try to make anything for you again, angel.” Crowley grumbles, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Is he?” Margerie leans closer to Aziraphale. Or perhaps she draws him closer to her by their still connected hands, Crowley isn’t sure. All he knows is that suddenly Aziraphale and Margerie are leaning towards each other, close enough for Margerie to whisper conspiratorially, “At least he’s attractive, though, right?”

“That’s it!” Crowley cries, huffing past both of them and their stupid combined hands and their mocking grins. “I’m going to the Thai place. Angel, you’re welcome to join me if you wish. Otherwise, I hope you both have lovely nights.”

“Bit touchy, that one.” Margerie says fondly behind him.

Aziraphale laughs before calling after him. “Crowley, dear boy, the restaurant isn’t that way.”

Crowley makes a frustrated noise and spins on his heel, not sure when he’d gotten turned around. He supposes it was sometime around when Margerie had come to join their circle. It doesn’t matter. He stalks past them, going what is, apparently, the proper direction. 

As he passes, he hears Aziraphale’s, “It was so lovely to meet you.” 

“And you, dear.” Margerie replies before calling after Crowley’s retreating back. “Have a good evening, Crowley! I’ll see you for tea soon here!”

Crowley makes some sort of noise that’s both disgruntled and confirming their plans and continues storming off, leaving Aziraphale to catch up to him, laughing the whole way.

 —

Crowley’s in the back of the elevator, clutching a plant to his chest when Margerie finds him. It’s distinctly reminiscent of the first time they’d really talked and she smiles at him as she steps into the elevator, her eyes falling to the plant in his hands.

“Another one for us to share?” She asks with a pointed look.

“Actually,” Crowley says and he’s not sure why the words try to stick in his throat. “Not this time.”

“Not yet.” Margerie corrects fondly. “It’s only a matter of time before it makes its way to me.”

“First of all,” Crowley replies affronted, “I am perfectly capable of raising plants properly and I don’t appreciate that implication.” Margerie laughs and it’s airy and light. “And second of all, it’s not for me either. So no, you can keep your mitts off of it.”

The elevator lurches as it comes to a stop at the bottom floor, the doors sliding open. Crowley steps forward and places a hand over one of the doors to hold it open while Margerie moves into the lobby. He’d known her for a few months at this point and he didn’t like the fact that he could already see her slowing down.

“Who is it for, then?” She asks with feigned innocence.

“You’re a vulture.” Crowley remarks dryly. “It’s for Aziraphale. My— the friend you met. With the brownies.”

“Oh, is that his name? Aziraphale.” Margerie says it like she’s tasting the sweetness of it. Crowley knows the sensation of it well, his mouth forms the name with ease and a certain amount of forbidden fondness. “That’s fitting for him. He seemed rather charming.”

“He—” Crowley garbles up a few more words before sighing. “Yeah, he is.”

“First brownies and now a plant.” Margerie points out in a way that lacks any and all subtlety.

“Don’t.” Crowley warns with a pointed look. She shrugs her shoulders innocently. “He’s— he’s about as rubbish at raising plants as he is at baking. But he owns a bookshop, see, and is always talking about how it needs something living to brighten the place up. So I— this one doesn’t require a lot of tending to. Just some water occasionally.”

He expects her to make some other comment about how this all appears, but she takes pity on him instead. “What if he forgets to water it?”

Well, she tries to pity him, but the answer he has to give to that still drives her point home anyways. “Well, I’m, er— I’m at his shop frequently enough that I can water it and it should stay alive.”

He sees the knowing look in her eyes, but she doesn’t say anything other than, “I’m sure he’ll enjoy it greatly. That’s a lovely gift.”

“Yeah.” Crowley said helplessly because he knows what it looks like and if Margerie thinks it, what is Aziraphale going to think? He’s probably being a fool, making some unwanted gesture that’s going to tip the scale too far.

“Well, better hurry along, then.” Margerie says with a kind smile and a tilt of her head. “I’m sure he’s anxiously awaiting your arrival and the chance to tell you how much he loves your gift.”

Crowley glances at her. She seems to always know what needs to be said. Mother’s intuition he remembers her saying, even though he hasn’t seen or heard much about her kids since that first night. “Right, thanks.”

He vows to tell her someday that her intuition has so far been spot on with him. To his understanding, mother’s love that— being told they’re right. And she’s been absolutely right on every account thus far.

 —

 Life progresses mostly as normal after that. Days go by, weeks turn into months and months fade into nearly a year in the blink of an eye, and Crowley doesn’t think too much of anything. He tries to ignore the passage of time and the metaphorical clock that’s ticking above all of their heads, but it grows more difficult with each day. He says hi to Margerie every time he sees her, slips by her place occasionally for tea and passes every plant that breaks his rules to her care. (And so what if the plants he’s passing along get more and more beautiful each time? What if there happens to be her favorite flower in there? That’s just coincidence). She takes them all with nothing more than a tut in his direction, chastising him about how he still hasn’t learned his lesson about love.

“I don’t love,” He’d said once in a vulnerable moment, the mug of coffee pressed close to his face, helping to hide his expression. Margerie had yelled at him— as close to yelling as Crowley could imagine her getting, anyways— when he’d finally confessed that he preferred coffee instead of tea. “It’s just not something I’m… capable of.”

“Oh, hush.” Margerie had waved a hand at him almost dismissively. She’d known him nearly a year at this point and still held firmly onto her convictions that he was good and kind. Crowley, admittedly, had given her a fair share of reasons to think exactly that,but he still tried to pretend he hadn’t. It made Crowley less sick to hear— in fact, sometimes hearing her say it was his only solace— but he didn’t let that show. “You know I’ve heard too much to believe that.”

And she had heard too much. It had started one night when she’d found him drunken outside of their complex, having recently stumbled home from Aziraphale’s bookshop. Crowley didn’t remember much of the night, but he knew Margerie had helped him up to his flat, listening to him ramble on about Aziraphale’s eyes, apparently, and the way his hair looked soft as a cloud. He’s apparently expressed a long suppressed desire to touch it and see if it was, in fact, as soft as it looked. When she’d showed up at his door the next morning with some advil and demands that he let her cook him breakfast, he’d groaned out loud and buried his head in his hands.

(He’d barely had a moment to miracle in normal cooking utensils and food before Margerie was shoving her way through the door and banging around in his kitchen, apologizing belatedly for the way that the sound must be bothering his hangover.

“How’d you know I was hungover?” He’d asked.

He was hungover, but he didn’t need to be. A simple miracle would send it scurrying, but he couldn’t do that in from of Margerie so he’d resigned to suffer for the time being.

“Oh, honey.” She said, smiling almost wickedly at him from across his kitchen, “Did you not wonder how you got home last night? Did you not wonder who you spilled your heart to about— dare I say it? Aziraphale?”

Crowley decided he liked Margerie distinctly less at that very moment. But he was impressed with her bastardly streak and by the time she finished recounting the details of the night before he was certain that he didn’t hate her at all, he hated himself.)

“You’re reading into things.” Crowley tried for dismissive, but it didn’t work particularly well. “We’re just friends.”

Of course, Margerie had a laundry list of reasons not to believe that. She never brought them up, but Crowley would catch the look in her eye when he mentioned Aziraphale, or asked for an extra serving of something to bring over to him. He’d catch the curl of her lips when she’d ask his plans for the week and he’d say that Aziraphale had already claimed some of his nights. She’d known long before he’d drunkenly ranted about Aziraphale’s beauty.

“Just friends.” She repeated with a roll of her eyes. Her attitude had certainly not diminished as she aged and Crowley admired that about her. He admired a lot about her, in fact, even though he absolutely shouldn’t.

He admired the fact that she had, in the year she’d known him, kept his kindness their little secret. She greeted him casually in the hallway but never anything more, never anything that might suggest that their acquaintanceship had turned into a friendship. He also admired the stiff upper lip she kept, steadfastly acting as if she were unbothered by the way her children didn’t come visit and rarely called. She was a terrible actress, but Crowley was a terrible actor so he figured he had no room to critique her. Plus, she graciously slid away from topics she knew he didn’t ever want to talk about, so the least he could do was offer her the same courtesy.

“Just friends.” Crowley repeated again to drive his point home. “No love, not from me. That’s why you get all the stubborn plants.”

“And if he’s being stubborn?” She asked with a delicately raised eyebrow. “Do I get him, too?”

“You are wicked woman.” Crowley hid his smile behind the rim of mug, trying his hardest to keep his delight hidden. She didn’t have the same philosophical debates that he and Aziraphale had, but she was still great at conversation and even better company. “But you two would love each other. In fact, I think he might have the exact same ancient couch somewhere in his dusty old bookshop. Might even rival yours for how many layers of dust it has.”

Margerie swatted at him from across the table, making an affronted noise and Crowley drew back, laughing. “Which one of us is wicked? You foul man!”

Crowley laughs again and settles back into his seat, bracing his elbows on the table and ignoring the way Margerie glowers at him for the faux pas. They lapse into comfortable silence, the smell of the lasagna she was cooking in the oven filling the place. Crowley had grown comfortable here in the last year and he wonders if that’s okay. It’s most likely not, but very few things he does actually are so he chalks it up to another reason he’s a terrible demon and locks it away somewhere in the depths of his heart.

Plus, it doesn’t very well matter at this point. Either the world ends in flames and there’s no reason for fear, or he does something much worse than befriend a human. Something like stop Armageddon all together. In the grand scheme of things, he figures this has to be the smallest blemish on his record.

“You should tell him.” Margerie says gently from across the table.

Crowley’s never actually told her explicitly how he feels about Aziraphale, not even drunkenly, but he’s said enough incriminating stuff for her to put the pieces together. It’s not hard, honestly, for someone to figure it out if they talk to him about Aziraphale enough. He’s practically bursting with these purposely unnamed feelings, they’re going to sneak their way into conversation if they have the chance.

“No point.” Crowley says, somber. He sets down his nearly empty mug. “I already know how he feels.”

Plus, the world is on the verge of ending. His heart is the last of his concerns, he tries to convince himself. But it’s not easy to do. 

“You can never know if you don’t ask.” Margerie says but Crowley pointedly ignores it.

She changes the subject, sensing his discomfort and the growing rifts in his heart. She invites him to stay for dinner, he declines, waving to her as he slinks out the door to deal with these emotions he’s clearly doing a terrible job controlling.

 —

 Crowley throws the covers off of himself when he hears the shouting from down below. This very well may be his last chance at getting some sleep before an eternity of— well, he didn’t know what, but he doubted it included restful naps in his lovely four poster bed and silk sheets.

He breaks through the front doors of the complex, still in pyjama bottoms and a loose shirt, sunglasses looking ridiculous with his messy hair, and comes to a halt when he sees Margerie there with a young woman.

“You’re being ridiculous,” the young woman yells, gesturing wildly with her hands. “And stubborn! Do you even think of anyone other than yourself? What about us? Do you know how hard it is for us to check in on you as often as we need to?”

“I—” Margerie begins to say, but she’s cut off again. She sits on the bench outside the complex, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

“It’s like—”

“Excuse me.” Crowley slides into the conversation with an icy outer shell, glaring the woman down through his sunglasses. “but I know you aren’t talking to Margerie like that.”

“This is a family matter.” The woman says in a voice that’s not so kindly telling Crowley to mind his own business.

Unfortunately for her, minding his own business is not something Crowley has ever mastered. “Family?” He says with a bark of ironic laughter. “You call yourself her family? Funny that I haven’t seen you in the last year.”

“Are you keeping tabs?” The woman rounds on him, attempting to square up with him but Crowley doesn’t even flinch.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He concedes. “It’s just that I have tea with her every week and I’ve certainly never seen you around.”

“Crowley—” Margerie tries to cut in.

Crowley, unlike her daughter, spares her a glance and affords her the opportunity to say what she needs to say. Instead of saying anything, she simply shakes her head, indicating that it’s not worth the fight.

But oh, Crowley feels like it absolutely is.

“Now you listen here.” He turns back to her daughter and he’s nearly snarling at this point. He catches himself at the last moment and reigns in his more demonic side, reminding himself that he’s supposed to just be a friendly human neighbor and not some sort of avenging angel. “Your mother is a blessing and I hardly think you’re equipped to know what she needs. You say it’s a hassle for you to check in on her when you need to? Last I hear, you hadn’t called her in months. So which is it? She doesn’t need you checking in that often, or she does? You can’t have it both ways.”

“I thought I made it clear that this was a family issue.” The woman sniffs, crossing her arms and turning her head stubbornly away.

“Oh you did.” Crowley bares his teeth in a wicked smile, “And I consider her a part of my family so you better get comfortable with me being in this conversation pretty quickly.”

“Mom—”

“Oh no,” Crowley steps to the side to stand in between Margerie and her daughter. “You don’t get to be nice to her now that you’re losing the battle.”

The two of them stare at each other for a long moment. He can see the woman running through a series of different retorts in her mind but none of them stick and Crowley is glad to see it. He takes a deep breath in, focuses. As much as he would love to settle this with an old-fashioned verbal beatdown, he knows that isn’t what Margerie would want from him. He closes his eyes behind his glasses, focuses on the woman in front of him, connects with her. 

And just like that, he pours a little bit of his energy into her, bends her mind just the tiniest bit to his side of thing. He opens his eyes in time to see the tension melt out of her face, to see her shoulders slump like all the fight has gone out of her.

“Your mother is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met,” He says aloud, finalizing the ideas he’s placed into her head. “She is caring and thoughtful and deserves far more love than you’ve been showing her.”

“Crowley—” Margerie says again, but this time her voice is distinctly choked with emotion. “My dear…”

Her daughter takes in a shuddering breath and then dissolves into tears, stepping around Crowley and throwing herself onto the bench next to her mom, burying her face in Margerie’s neck. “He’s right. I’m so sorry, mom. I’ve been awful to you. I’ve just, I’ve been so stressed and—”

Margerie shushes her with gentle hands on her back, running through her hair, pressing kisses to her temple. She shushes her and holds her close and suddenly there’s two crying women on the bench.

Crowley knows it’s time for him to take his leave and he feels vindicated. “Your mom is perfectly fine to stay here,” He says softly. “She has me checking in on her. Nothing will happen to her while she’s here.”

It’s a promise to them as much as it is a threat to the rest of the world. If things continued to exist, the world would know better than to threaten Margerie in any way.

“Thank you.” Margerie says tearfully, catching his hand as he walks by to head back inside and allow the women to make their peace. “You’re my family, too.”

And Crowley knows that he is.

 —

 The bookshop looks much the same as it always has. At one point in history, Aziraphale would change the books displayed in the window on a semi-regular basis as an attempts to blend in and look like a properly functioning bookshop. And then somewhere around the time Aziraphale decided he hates customers, he decided that appearances didn’t matter and he hadn’t touched the window display since.

Crowley ascends the steps with a practiced ease, hand yanking the door open before he hears a clatter and a quiet gasp from somewhere on the other side of the street. He stills, door open and exposing him to Aziraphale who was standing in the middle of the bookshop, staring at him with a questioning gaze. He ignores it, turning his head to find the source of the sound and there’s Margerie, across the street, arms too full of groceries she’s trying to shuffle into her car. She’s dangerously close to the curb and even though it’s a short drop, it could do her more damage than Crowley would like to see.

Briefly Crowley curses the world for being bold enough to defy him right to his face like this.

Without even thinking about it, he lets go of the door and hustles across the street, brain not even registering Aziraphale’s confused, “Crowley…?”

The groceries are stacked high in Margerie’s arms and she can’t even see her car properly as she struggles to find the door handle. She takes a step closer, her foot slipping off the curb and she pitches towards the street—

And directly into Crowley’s hands.

He barely catches her in time, pushing her back onto the curb and all but yanking one of the bags out of her grasp. “Margerie what are you thinking?” he hisses as she regains her balance.

“Oh, Crowley!” She smiles up at him, warmly and as if she had done nothing wrong. 

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” He presses, taking another bag out of her arms with a sharp look. “You nearly pitched into traffic!”

Margerie shrugs as she opens the door to her car now that she has enough mobility to do so. “I didn’t.”

Crowley is so frustrated, so— so upset that he almost doesn’t feel the swell of fondness at the stubborn side of her.

“What if I hadn’t been here?” He chastises, and Crowley feels a familiar panic clawing up the back of his throat. “What if you’d been alone?”

Oh, he realizes at once. Those exact words were ones he’d said to Aziraphale at some point in history. He remembered it well, pacing a restless circle in front of Aziraphale and tyring to impress into him the importance of not doing reckless things and getting discorporated. He’d been frantic, then, the metallic taste of fear still slick on his tongue as he’d swallowed down all the words that he wanted to say. What if you’d left me? What would I do without you?

“Crowley.” Margerie says again, her one empty hand coming to rest on one of his forearms as she looked up at him. She had soft brown eyes that he thinks matches what her hair color had been at one point in life. “I’m sorry.”

It doesn’t do much to quell the war of feelings inside of him.

Aziraphale had apologized, too. And then he’d ended up in a Bastille about to be beheaded, and then he’d been caught in a church in Germany in the middle of a bombing, and then he’d—

Suffice it to say that he hadn’t learned his lesson.

“Take care of yourself.” Crowley chastises as sternly as he possibly can, but he knows Margerie sees right through him.

She opens her mouth to say something, but suddenly her eyes track over his shoulders and she drops her voice just enough to say. “Blue eyes and blonde curls coming our way. Should I—?”

Before Crowley can even react, Aziraphale is at their side, eyes scanning over the situation. “Everyone alright, here?”

“Oh, yes, quite.” Margerie says, sweet as sugar. “I’m afraid I was being a little careless, trying to handle too many groceries on my own, you see. I couldn’t see where the curb was and I slipped off the edge. But this lovely gentleman came over to help me so I’m quite alright now.”

“Did he?” Aziraphale asks, and there’s a question written into his gaze as he settles it on Crowley. Crowley steadfastly ignores it. “How kind of him.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley says sharply in warning, certainly not missing the way Aziraphale’s lips twist into a pleased smile.

“Well, let’s get you loaded up then, shall we, my dear?” Aziraphale presses on like nothing happened, taking one of the bags from Crowley’s arms and moving around Margerie to load them into her backseat. 

Crowley passes the next bag over once Aziraphale’s arms are empty, unwilling to be caught doing anything further that could be considered nice. It only takes a moment before everything is settled inside the car. While Aziraphale is busy arranging the bags, Crowley shoots Margerie his sternest expression. She smiles back at him in return, the wicked kind that nearly makes Crowley groan from where he’s standing along the curb still. And then Aziraphale is out of the car and offering an elbow to Margerie and their silent conversation is forced to end. 

“Oh, aren’t you just so charming?” Margerie says to Aziraphale as he takes her arm and escorts her around to the drivers side of her car. “And so dashing, too! Quite a handsome young man.”

Aziraphale’s cheeks flame red at the unexpected compliment, but he takes it in stride far better than Crowley would. “Well, thank you. Though I’d hardly say I’m a young man.”

Crowley hides his bark of a laugh behind a cough, but Aziraphale catches it and shoots him a wry smile just the same.

“You know, I don’t know if you remember me—” Margerie begins and Crowley considers turning on his heel and simply stalking away.

“I’d hardly be capable of forgetting those brownies,” Aziraphale says warmly and Crowley can’t really be surprised. He’s known since he properly met Margerie that she and Aziraphale would get along well.

“Oh, you flatter me!” She cries, placing a hand over her chest, pressing it into her heart. Crowley glowers at her. “You know, Crowley here has told me that you own a bookshop. I’m guessing this must be it?”

“Ah, he talks about me, does he?” Aziraphale teases, glancing over his shoulder at Crowley who is glaring so darkly at this point that he’d give the midnight sky a run for its money. Unfortunately for him, Aziraphale has nearly six-thousands years of practice of ignoring his expressions and pushing his buttons and he’s doing a remarkable job of both at the moment. “But yes, that is my shop. It’s regrettably closed at the moment, though.”

“I suppose I’ll have to come back some other time then.” Margerie glances between them with a raised eyebrow and Crowley once again thinks that she’s about as subtle as a bull. He’s going to have to have a conversation with her about it.

“Yes, lovely, you can come back some other time.” Crowley growls, stepping forward and pulling open her driver’s door. “But I’m afraid your groceries might expire if you don’t get home soon, Margerie.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says with his eyebrows pulled together. “Groceries don’t go bad that quickly—”

“He’s quite right.” Margerie says and for a fleeting moment she looks contrite. Crowley supposes it’s the most he’s going to get. “Lots of perishable stuff in those bags. I really ought to be going.”

“Well, it was lovely to see you again.” Aziraphale says with one more worried glance cast at Crowley. “And I’ll look forward to seeing you in my shop.”

Margerie goes into her car willingly, thanking both of them profusely again. Aziraphale offers for them to go with her to help unload her car but she promises that she will be much more diligent about emptying it, only taking in one bag at a time. It seems to sate Aziraphale, who moves to stand next to Crowley as Margerie closes her door and bids them a final farewell. They watch her go in silence for a moment and then, once she’s out of sight, Crowley takes off towards the bookshop again, hands tucked deep in his pockets.

“Should I ask about that?” Aziraphale says as he catches up to Crowley’s side easily, despite Crowley’s long legs and loping stride. 

“No.” Crowley says, but it sounds more defeated than stern. “You’re both bastards, that’s the only part that matters.”

His heart is still pounding against his chest, the familiar fear banging against his ribs. Somewhere mixed in there is frustration with Margerie, with himself, with his stupid feelings. It hadn’t turned out bad, Crowley reminds himself. Not now with Margerie, not in the past with Aziraphale. It had never turned out bad because he had always been there. And he’s realizing suddenly that he now has two people he needs to be there for— he just hopes they won’t ever need him at the same time.

“Right.” Aziraphale says and it’s that tone he and Margerie share— the one that indicates that he’s letting it go for Crowley’s comfort, but his curiosity is still there. “Well then, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Was going to tempt you to a spot of dinner.” Crowley mumbles as they reach the other side of the street, stopping abruptly next to the Bentley.

“Was?” Aziraphale prompts.

“Still going to,” Crowley clarifies. “If you’re willing.”

“Oh, my dear boy, I’m willing.” Aziraphale smiles and reaches for the door handle of the Bentley.

 —

 “Crowley!” 

Crowley’s nearly out the door of the complex when he hears his name. He stops, hand on the handle and turns to see Margerie rushing across the lobby towards him.

“Oh, good, I’m glad I caught you in time.” She says as she approaches him, smiling fondly up at him.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at her in question. He’s headed off to meet Aziraphale for a walk through the park. Aziraphale had locked himself up in his bookshop for nearly the last week, losing track of time entirely, so Crowley had gently suggested that some fresh air might do him some good. No idea how much longer we’ll have fresh air to breathe, he’d said and then Aziraphale had chastised him for being so callous. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now that Crowley was a moment away from stepping outside he was realizing just how cold it actually was. The warm air of summer was giving way to the chilly biting breezes of autumn and he hadn’t a proper jacket.

It was something he could’ve bought or even miracled over the years, but he’d never bothered to. More often than not Crowley spent his autumns and winters bundled up under the covers of his bed, catching up on the sleep that he’d missed. 

“Honestly.” Margerie says instead of immediately answering his unspoken question. “Don’t you own any suitable clothing?”

“I look very stylish.” Crowley retorts, even though he knows she is absolutely right. 

Margerie rolls her eyes fondly at him, reaching into her bag and suddenly producing a deep, wine red bundle of fabric. “Here,” she says after a moment, unraveling it to reveal a knitted scarf. “At least wear this.” Crowley opens his mouth to say something and Margerie reaches up to loop it around his neck before he can say no. “It’s exactly your color.”

Crowley stands obligingly still as she loops it around his neck a second time and then tucks the loose ends of it into his coat, adjusting the collar so it all sits a little neater. Whatever yarn she’d used to knit it was as soft as a feather— and Crowley knew first hand how soft feathers were. It was exactly the right length, looping around his neck enough times to create bulk that he could use to cover his mouth and nose if he wanted to with still enough length to stay tucked into his jacket as he moved around.

Crowley looked down at it, feeling a familiar fondness well up in the back of his throat and strangle his words. “Thank you.”

Margerie smiled at him warmly. “Can’t have you freezing to death.” She mumbles as she steps back, clasping her hands together in front of her. “You’re my only child that comes to visit.”

“I thought your daughter—”

“Yes,” Margerie says, “But you’re still a better child than her.”

Crowley makes a noise that is startled but happy and Margerie ducks her head a little, almost as if embarrassed. Crowley, obviously, has no idea what having a mother actually feels like, but he thinks this might be close. He thinks of the times Margerie has dropped leftovers on his doorstep, of the time she gave him a “sick kit”, as she’d called it.

(“I don’t get sick,” Crowley had insisted. He understood her worry, he hadn’t left his flat in nearly four days, but that hardly meant anything. Time barely existed to him and honestly, four days was just long enough to be a worthwhile nap.

“Nonsense.” Margerie had waved him off, handing him the bag she was clutching. “Everyone gets sick sometimes. And I find it hard to believe you have any medicine in the house.”

“I’m not that ill-prepared.” Crowley scoffed, but he took the bag anyways, glancing inside. A series of over-the-counter medicines and kleenex boxes filled to the brim and he thought he might’ve seen a thermometer somewhere in the mix.

“Well?” She prompted after a moment. “Did you have any of that in the house?”

“How do you manage to be so rude when doing something so kind?” Crowley had fired back and Margerie had laughed, taking it as the confirmation that it was of her suspicions.

Of course he didn’t have any of this in his flat. He really didn’t get sick— that was human stuff. But he couldn’t very well tell her that, so he thanked her and promised her that he’d call her if he needed anything. He waited a few days just for appearances and then made a point to leave his flat so she didn’t worry about him any further. She’d caught him in the hallway and told him it was good to see him back to his old self. Crowley had just smiled).

“You can’t get rid of me.” Crowley said after a moment and Margerie’s smile was so fond it nearly bowled him right over. “No matter how often you try to poison me with your cooking.”

“Oh, you!” She smacked him on the arm fondly before ushering him out the door. Crowley thanked her properly for the scarf as he went, casting one last look at her over his shoulder.

As he walked towards St. James park, he thought back to the year and a half he’d known Margerie. Time was a funny thing, especially for a demon. It was even funnier now that they were closing in on the eleventh birthday of the antichrist. Crowley and Aziraphale had been released from the Dowling’s employment a few years ago and had more or less spent the time just waiting. They checked in on Warlock from time-to-time, of course, as they were meant to do, but otherwise it was a matter of just biding time and waiting for the child’s birthday to see what would happen.

Nearly eleven years ago when Crowley had brought the antichrist to Earth, he’d wanted to stop Armageddon. Now, eleven years later and with a second friend to his name, Crowley was more determined than ever.

Fuck the Great Plan.

“Hello, dear.” Aziraphale greeted as Crowley approached, bundled up appropriately for the weather. “Lovely to see you.”

“Found your way out of your book piles, did you?” Crowley asked with a smile as he dropped down onto the bench next to Aziraphale. “I’m impressed.”

“I was in the middle of a very good series.” Aziraphale answered with a wistful smile that told Crowley that he was remembering it fondly. What he didn’t say, what hung unspoken in the air between them, was that he didn’t know how much longer he’d have to read his favorite books and he weas trying to fit in what he could. “Simply lost track of time.”

“Lost track of a whole week there, angel.” Crowley replied, but he wasn’t at all put out by it. 

“Yes, I did, rather.” Aziraphale agrees with a bit of a grimace. “I was thrilled to hear from you when you called.”

There’s a warmth that blooms across Crowley’s cheeks at the words and he ducks his face into the scarf Margerie had made him. The scarf and his glasses combined cover nearly his entire face and Crowley thinks he could get used to this. He’d be an unstoppable enigma if he dressed like this all the time— nobody would be able to read into his intentions or guess his next move.

Which, he knows, isn’t true. Aziraphale would see right through the cover and into the heart of whatever Crowley was doing. Aziraphale could hear his plans in the simple tone of his voice and had shut down his ideas on more than one occasion over the phone before Crowley had even had a chance to propose said idea. But that was alright because Aziraphale didn’t stop his big ideas, just the small ones. Their arrangement meant that Aziraphale could see right through Crowley’s new face covering defense and he would do nothing more than roll his eyes at whatever he found on the other side.

“Shall we?” Crowley asks after a moment of silence, unsure how to address what Aziraphale had said to him. He gestures towards the park as a whole and Aziraphale understands perfectly, the way he always does.

They walk side-by-side through the park, chatting idly for awhile. They pause to allow people to pass them, stepping to the side rather than breaking apart to make it easier. Crowley tries not to think about it, tries not to read into it. He does an okay job holding the thoughts off, but he knows they’ll be back later.

“So,” Aziraphale says mildly as they turn a corner. “Can I ask about the scarf?”

“Eh, yeah.” Crowley turns his face resolutely in the other direction, mumbling more into the scarf than anything else, “My neighbor made it for me.”

Of course, Aziraphale hears him because Aziraphale always hears him. “Your neighbor?” He echoes, and he sounds completely delighted with the turn of events. “It wouldn’t happen to be that woman you helped a few weeks ago, would it? The one who makes the brownies? She’s your neighbor?”

Crowley stops in his tracks, finally turning to look up at Aziraphale. He knows his face is red from being caught but he hopes Aziraphale assumes it’s just the cold air. “Er—?” Crowley sighs. “Yeah, she is. So what? It’s not a big deal.”

“Crowley, my dear.” Aziraphale says and his eyes are so soft as he takes in what’s visible of Crowley’s expression, so full of adoration that Crowley feels like he may just discorporate on the spot. “You nearly stopped traffic just to get to her side. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you move that fast.”

A long, low groan rips out of Crowley’s throat and he throws his head back, letting his eyes slip shut. “Brilliant.”

“Come now,” Aziraphale nudges him gently with his elbow. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you do ni—” A sharp look from Crowley cuts that word off before it can be said into the air between them. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you do similar things before. You do things like that for me all the time.”

“Yeah and that’s bad enough!” Crowley replies. “The last thing I need is to be doing it for two people. Demon can get in a lot of trouble for that.”

“You haven’t gotten in trouble yet.” Aziraphale points out unhelpfully. “And I daresay helping an angel is a bit riskier than helping a human.”

“Can we just—” Crowley grinds up a few words but when he spits them out, they’re not nearly coherent and they don’t sound anything like a sentence. Aziraphale doesn’t even blink, entirely used to it at this point. And Crowley doesn’t want that to make a well of fondness swell inside of him, but it does. He takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. But she did make this scarf for me and it’s bloody cold out so I figured I should wear it.”

“It suits you.” Aziraphale says, moving along fluidly with the changing pace of the conversation the way he always has. “It’s exactly your color.”

“That’s what she told me when she gave it to me.” Crowley offers and he sees the way Aziraphale tries to stifle his smile. “You’d like her, angel. You both have a lot in common— old and stuffy.”

“I see. Well, I hope I get another chance to spend some time with her. I’m still waiting for her to show up in my shop.” Aziraphale says and there’s that twist to his smile that Crowley dreads because it means Aziraphale is about to make a fatal blow to his heart. He’s right. “Seems like you have a type, then, doesn’t it?”

“Angel.” Crowley chastises. “I invited you out here to figure out what we’re going to do for Warlock’s birthday party not for— for this!”

Aziraphale takes pity on him, laughing as he sets their pace again. “Alright, fair enough. But do tell your neighbor that the scarf is very dashing on you. I’m sure she’d appreciate the feedback.”

Crowley is more determined than ever to stop the end of the world.

 —

 The birthday party is a disaster, Warlock is the wrong boy and the end of the world is suddenly only hours away. Crowley and Aziraphale— okay, Aziraphale— somehow manage to find the right boy, the bookshop burns somewhere in there and suddenly Crowley is racing around town because holy fuck the world is actually about to end. He’s pretty sure he flat out murdered Ligur but he doesn’t waste much thought on it. 

It’s only when Crowley is screeching away from the pub, miraculously sober and with a destination in mind that he realizes that he has one last thing he needs to do. He jerks the wheel sharply and heads back towards his flat, the sudden need to see Margerie undeniable.

He flies out of the Bentley— which he had parked haphazardly, halfway on the sidewalk— and through the doors, taking the stairs because he can’t bring himself to wait for the elevator. He takes them two at a time and then flings himself out of the stairwell on her floor, collapsing into her door and pounding incessantly.

Margerie opens the door, clearly alarmed. “Wh— Crowley?”

“Margerie.” He says frantically, pulling himself away from the door before he tumbles through it. “Listen, I can’t explain anything to you properly right now. I wish I could but you just— I need you to trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” She says with absolutely no argument, no hesitation.

“You are one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” Crowley says. “One of the only friends I’ve ever had. And I just wanted— I need to thank you.”

“You don’t thank people for being your friend, Crowley. It’s a gift freely given.” She answers after a moment, clearly alarmed but dutifully not asking whatever questions she has. 

“Not to me it isn’t. And I can’t— I can’t say any more than that but if this all goes pear-shaped—” He stops, stumbles over a few words, turns to look at her. “You were right, all this time. I love him. And I—” He groans and drops his head into his hands. “I don’t want this to be goodbye. But if it is, I just needed you to know that. You were right. Moms like hearing that, don’t they? That they’re right? You’ve had me pegged from the beginning.”

She smiles fondly at him but her lower lip wobbles like she can sense the severity of the situation. “You’re not as hard to read as you think.”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Crowley as he reaches for her and pulls her close, crushing her into a hug. “Thank you.” he murmurs again.

She squeezes him back briefly before stepping out of his embrace. “You’re in a rush.” She says and it’s not a question. “Go. And when you get back you can tell me more about all the ways I was right.”

Crowley laughs again, his throat constricted with more emotions that a demon is equipped to deal with. “I’ll start making a list.” 

And then he turns and rushes out of there to, hopefully, save the world.

[sombreboy]

Love Maze »12

Previous  » Next Series Masterlist ▎ 18+ ▎ pairing: Taehyung x Jungkook ▎ genre: School AU, crack humor, smut, angst, ETL, slow burn, fluff. ▎ word count: 14.4k ▎ ch.warnings: cursing, just two boys that are dumb for and to each other, fluffy fluff, jealousy, dom!tae, sub!jk, fingering, anal, car sex.

Co-writer: @velvetwicebang​ ♡♡♡

When the next morning arrived, everyone could sense the new grown tension between Jungkook and Taehyung.

It wasn’t like before, where they’d shoot dirty looks at each other from across the room just for the hell of it, adding on to their small feud.

Tae couldn’t even face Jungkook’s direction, much less glare at him for yesterday’s events.

He knew he had some fault in the matter..

But still, Taehyung was one stubborn guy. Part of him was hoping that Kook would reach out to him first.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

The elder sat with Haechan and the others during breakfast, picking out the sugary marshmallows from his cereal, curious eyes occasionally wandering over to his usual table.

Jungkook was just as stubborn, still upset over the words Tae had thrown at him during last night’s argument. It was not something Kook would easily forget... But, a part of him wondered why Taehyung even chose to say it in the first place? He stormed out, and no apology was ever received. It was fucked up.

School sucked, he missed having the elder around. Now, instead, he was back to either lingering among his hyungs, or being all by himself.

Honestly, he just wanted to be left alone for a bit, and after a long struggle with his team they finally gave in to giving the younger space.

Jungkook grabbed his tray as he walked across the dining hall, his eyes quickly found Taehyung sitting with his other friends. The friends that apparently had called him slurs…

Before he'd let Tae notice that he was looking, he sauntered over to his usual table, not bothered by the fact that people definitely were looking at him

One, some simply stared because they knew he's gay.

Two, others stared because usually, he doesn't sit by himself.

Three, because now somebody suddenly thumped down on their ass across from Jungkook, and it was probably the last person Jungkook wanted, or expected to see. Even Taehyung would've been a preferred face than this one.

''Hey, Jungkookie.'' Ash rested his chin on top of his palm, elbow firmly pressing into the table. A small smile creeped on his face, a scar adorning his lower lip as a trophy from Taehyung's fist.

Taehyung was one of the people who was definitely looking at him, furrowed eyes following Jungkook’s every move as if everyone else in the cafeteria was just a speck of dust— irrelevant and unimportant.

The elder brought the small milk carton up to his lips, still keeping an eye on Kook over Kai’s shoulder, wondering why the younger was sitting on his own.

However, because of someone, Tae didn’t wonder about that for long.

As soon as he saw Ash approach Jungkook, the carton in Taehyung’s hand became his enemy.

The boy’s grip tightened around it, and if it wasn’t for Haechan who called him out on his weird behavior, strawberry milk would’ve most likely exploded everywhere.

What the hell was Ash doing?

It was killing Taehyung, not knowing.

Jungkook's eyes met Ash's, the knot of anxiety in the younger's gut was suddenly so tight that his appetite was nonexistent.

''What do you want?'' 

Ash leaned back against his chair with his arms crossed,gaze roaming the younger, falling on the bandaged hand.

''What happened?'' Completely ignoring Jungkook’s question, he seemed concerned.

''Why do you care?'' Jungkook scoffs, now seemingly annoyed. However, he was more uncomfortable and anxious than anything. Just the fact that there's people around was the one thing soothing his nerves.

''Of course I care, Kook...'' Ash sighs, ''You sat here all by yourself, so I wanted to check on you. Where's that.. Taehyung guy, hm? Finally got rid of him?'' 

Jungkook's tongue prodded his cheek, slamming his fist against the table-- startling nearby people. But not Ash, he expected this reaction.

''I suppose I was right.'' Ash shrugged, ''I'm still down if you need to.. relieve some tension.''

''You're sick.'' Kook growled lowly, not bothering to grab his tray before getting up and storming out of there, leaving an amused Ash still seated.

The latters eyes found Taehyung's, a small nod in acknowledgement followed before his wolfish grin grew. Ash was a predator, slowly getting back into the life of its prey. One way or the other, he loved the struggle of getting there.

But they didn't know that.

When Taehyung’s sour gaze clashed with Ash’s devilish stare from across the room, his lips twisted up in the form of a small snarl, wanting nothing more than to punch that unsettling grin off his face.

Whatever it was that Ash said to Jungkook, Tae didn’t like it one bit. And apparently Kook thought the same thing, walking out of the dining hall to god knows where.

Taehyung wanted to go after him, to check in.. but stubborn was his middle name, so he stayed put.

The rest of the day was shit, it consisted of Tae contemplating whether or not to shoot Kook a message. What would it say? He had no fucking clue.

Along with constantly contemplating, Taehyung spent most of his classes just.. thinking. Thinking about what happened, Jungkook’s condition, and what the hell his next move was going to be.

It scared Tae— that their relationship could be over without  him even knowing. For all he knew, Kook might’ve already made up his mind.

When it was finally time to get out of there, Taehyung didn’t bother waiting for the younger in the common area, roughly pushing on the busy doors and walking out to the parking lot, squinting his eyes from the bright sun.

He had to admit, the passenger seat felt a little empty without Jungkook’s butt on it.

It was a bright day, but Tae wasn’t.

Jungkook's mind was flooded as he was walking down the hallway towards the exit. As he reached the common area, he automatically searched for Taehyung's form by the doors, and a piece of him felt his stomach twist when he was nowhere to be seen.

Not that he would've gone with him anyway. Why would he?...

He still wasn't sure what was going on, but this must mean that Taehyung surely meant to leave everything as it was, his last words still sore in Kook's heart.

Now, on top of this entire mess, Ash had resurfaced to bother his mind. What the fuck does he mean, 'relieve some tension' ? He pops up as soon as Jungkook is alone and assumes he's free to fuck? 

Psycho.

Jungkook pushed through the doors with his backpack tightly strapped against his shoulder, the bright sun hitting his eyes.

''Ah..'' It was nice. Perfect running weather, honestly. And what better way to give his mind a break than exercise. He took advantage of the moment, putting the backpack on properly as he started to walk, gradually speeding up into a jog.

Maybe he'd give Jisoo-noona a knock.

~ 

“Yuna.. please? For mommy?”

Jisoo was in the middle of trying to feed the iron-willed girl, attempting to airplane the spoonful of baby food into the sobbing girl’s mouth.

She even added sound effects— knowing how much her daughter loved them— but it was no use.

On any other day, carrots were her favorite. But today, Yuna needed Froot Loops, completely disregarding any other kind of food until she got what she wanted.

“What kind of mom would I be if I just let you eat unhealthy things?”

Jisoo sighed, pulling a handful of her hair away from Yuna’s determined fist.

A second later, and the knocking on her door gave her an excuse to shift her attention from the loud crying, running her fingers through her bird nest of hair before unlocking the door, not looking to see who was on the other side.

“What do— Jungkook?”

Shit. Her worn out expression flushed with color, embarrassed that the younger had to see her like this— baby food adorning her oversized shirt, eye bags under her eyes, hair looking like it hasn’t been combed in years, ‘’Oh, uhm.. come— come in! Sorry, about this.”

Jisoo signaled over her appearance with an exhausted exhale, Yuna’s crying ringing in the background, “It’s been a rough day.” She forced out a chuckle, rubbing at her arm.

“Anyways! How was school?”

The woman walked over to where her daughter was, trying to calm her down.

Jungkook's eyes widen momentarily at her messy state, stepping inside as he shrugs.

''It was, uh, a day. Okay I guess.''

As he makes his way inside, he follows Jisoo towards the sound of the crying child, approaching the little one with a smile, ''Oh, somebody's grumpy!''

Jungkook felt his past worries wash away for a moment when he sees Yuna's expression morph from her stubborn cries to wide doe eyes, a small coo at the sight of Kook.

She was so cute, and feeling that her pure joy was immediate from seeing him, he felt excited too, his childlike bunny-smile evident as he reaches out to ruffle her soft hair,

''Mood swings at this age, huh?''

“You can say that again..” Jisoo tiredly mumbled, sitting down on the floor cross-legged.

While she stirred the small jar of food, she spared the newcomer a quick glance.

“Just okay? Did you and Taehyung talk? Say aah..” The woman guided the spoon into Yuna’s mouth, who happily obliged this time around, big eyes still glued on the guy whom she’s gotten used to seeing. The shift didn’t go unnoticed by Jisoo, who suddenly wished that Jungkook would come over everyday if it meant that her daughter would be less fussy.

Also.. he was nice to talk to.

Jungkook slumped down on the floor next to Jisoo, making small faces at Yuna to keep her happy as she mindlessly accepted every spoonful from her mother at this point.

He glances over at Jisoo, a shake of his head accompanying his response.

''He didn't even look at me, so I.. I didn't either.''

He sighs quietly, but then he shrugs, ''It's whatever, right? How are you?'' His eyes observe her, she looks really tired, ''Are you getting enough rest? I could help with Yuna ..'' He offered without hesitation, a little surprised himself. But in all honesty, he really did enjoy it here-- even if he barely knew either of the girls. It just felt very homey. Caring. And since last night, noona felt like somebody he could lean on, so he wanted to be the same for her.

The woman’s face morphed from serious to surprised.

Serious, because she felt a little bad about the fall out of both boys’ relationship. The understanding part of her wanted them to resolve their conflicts, communicate.

After the short pizza gathering the other day, Jisoo felt like she earned herself some new friends. Even though she only knew them for a short period of time, the woman felt like they were genuine people.

And genuine people belong together, no?

However... She also enjoyed spending alone time with Jungkook, which is why her weary eyes widened after making out the latter’s unexpected offer.

Help with Yuna..?

No guy has ever volunteered to help, all of them would scram the moment they knew she had a daughter. But Jungkook, he was different.

Jisoo’s gaze softened, a sincere smile tugging at her lips.

She momentarily stopped feeding the baby, resting one hand on Jungkook’s thigh.

He’s a sweetheart..

“Don’t worry about me, okay? And don’t be silly. You need to focus on your studies!”

Afterwards, Yuna let out a high-pitched squeal, as if she was agreeing with Jisoo.

Jungkook barely noticed nor put any thought to the hand on his thighs, simply shrugging once more with a smile.

''I have great grades. Besides, it's really not a big deal to me-- if you need some help..'' His eyes find Yuna, his infectious smile appearing again, ''Don't be afraid to ask. You need to take care of yourself too.''

He reaches to gently grab the baby food and spoon from Jisoo's hands, wanting to try it out himself as he scoops a small spoon of food to guide it to the little one's mouth, his own mouth opening wide as he speaks, ''Aaaahh~''

Yuna mimics his movements, happily eating as she giggles at his shenanigans.

He really was good with babies.

Jisoo didn’t say anything else after that, and instead just gazed at the side of Kook’s face as he fed Yuna.

Her heart was beating really fast, this wasn’t good..

With a fond smile, the woman flicked her attention back on her daughter. Her hand had yet to scurry away from Jungkook’s thigh, thumb caressing over the fabric of the boy’s jeans.

“Why is it that she seems to like you more than me?” 

Jisoo pouted, leaning her body weight against the other’s shoulder, huffing out of jealousy.

Jungkook stiffened slightly, suddenly hyper aware of the way she leaned against him. It felt different-- one, it wasn't Taehyung.. Two, it wasn't terrible. It was nice in a way. He felt like Jisoo finally felt comfortable with him, kooks innocent mind only taking it as a friendly touch.

"I doubt that... maybe because I havent had to tell her no yet" he chuckles, shoulders shaking lightly with it as he feeds Yuna the remaining food before he's finished, "You ate it all! Good job!" He grins, clapping his hands in joy, which brings yuna to mimic the movements with a small squee, "Noona, did you have dinner yet? I'm hungry too."

The woman now sat up a little straighter, eyes crinkled as she clapped along with Jungkook, enjoying the sweet feel of it all.

She didn’t think further into it for long, knowing Kook was still caught up on Taehyung— a guy.

In that moment, Jisoo found herself wondering about the boy’s sexuality..

Not that it was any of her business, but, was there a possibility that he was bisexual? You know.. into women?

Kook’s words pulled her out of it, though; her vision coming back to focus.

Jisoo felt awful for even thinking of that. After all, she promised herself no dating.

Caring for Yuna was her top priority.

“I didn’t yet.. would you like me to make you something?” The woman asked, walking into her kitchen only to rummage through her pantry, tiptoeing to reach a packet of noodles.

“How does veggie noodle soup sound? I’ve been told that’s my specialty!”

Jisoo wiggled her eyebrows, waiting for an answer when more knocks made her whip her head in the direction of her front door.

Who else could it be?

Sparing Kook a questioning glance, she hesitantly walked over to the door, peeking through the peephole.

“It’s your friend, Namjoon.” Jisoo looked back at Jungkook, just as equally confused to see him here.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Joon felt like he was about to pee his pants from the nerves. 

He wanted to check in on Jungkook, that was all. Nothing more.

He’d already talked to Taehyung during school today, and it didn’t hurt to see how Kook was doing as well..

The boy tried to convince himself that was the reason— and part of it was— but the truth is, he wanted to see her, Jisoo.

God, he felt like such an idiot..

''Veggie soup sounds good, next time I could--'' Jungkook was interrupted by the knocking, watching Jisoo exchange a just as confused look as he did, waiting for her to check who it is.

Namjoon? What is he doing here?

Well, the obvious, checking on Kook... But he already did yesterday, and today. Namjoon surely is a worried father figure in Jungkook's life.

Namjoon shifted the weight on his feet, anxiously waiting for the door to open, and when it did, he was kind of disappointed to see that it was Jungkook who opened it and not Jisoo.

''Hyung, I'm okay, don't worry too much about me.'' Jungkook attempted a smile to soothe the elders' nerves.

''Ah, well, I had to check... You know me,'' He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his nape as he cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Jisoo in the back. 

''How's your, uh.. Friend?''

Internally. smacking. himself. 

He really was a sneaky fox when it came to everything; except women.

Jungkook's eyebrows raised in mild surprise, glancing over his shoulder at his noona. He turns  back to Joon, leaning in to whisper his next words.

''She's really exhausted, so I'm helping out.''

Joon nods, a tightness of worry in his gut at the words. He wanted to help too,

''Well....'' Should he offer it? No, it's too weird, isn't it, ''You're kind, Kook. I'm glad you're well.''

Namjoon left it at that, trying to conceal his inner dissatisfaction as he flashed Jungkook a dimpled smile. Nonetheless, he was happy to see the younger less.. out of it. At least something good flourished from his last minute visit.

Joon shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans before walking out of the apartment building; still not knowing a thing about the woman who caught his eye.

“This was so stupid..” He sourly  mumbled to himself, ruffling his own hair out of frustration.

Why must he have a crush?

Namjoon knew that was only a recipe for embarrassment, a lot of stuttering, and a reckless heart.

Joon couldn’t afford to take in all of that, not when there was a big game near.

But.. maybe afterwards, he’ll ask Jisoo out.

The boy nodded to himself, feeling more confident compared to a few seconds ago.

Yeah, that’s what he was going to do.

For now, though, he had to worry about what he’d include in tomorrow’s practice. Namjoon wanted to make sure that all of his guys were confident; him included.

~

The following day, Taehyung strolled into the locker room a little later than everyone else, exhausted.

The boy barely got any sleep last night, and it seemed like every time he’d try to close his eyes, an electric rush of guilt would stream through his veins.

Tae knew he couldn’t sleep it off, confrontation appeared to be the remedy he’s been needing.

His favorite.

Safe to say, Taehyung wasn’t looking forward to speaking to Jungkook today..

For all he knew, Kook would ignore him; disregard the speech he’s practiced in head over and over again— and for a valid reason.

Tae knew he acted like an ass.

The elder anxiously waited until everyone else evacuated the locker room, stealing quick glances at Jungkook before his fingers wrapped around the latter’s wrist, stopping him from leaving like the others.

“Hey..”

His voice came out weaker than he would’ve liked, causing Taehyung to visibly gulp as he shifted his attention from Kook’s bandaged hand to his doe eyes, gaze serious.

“Can we, uh, talk?” Tae added a soft, “please?”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, a bit surprised. Taehyung hadn't said a single word, not even spared him a look since their argument. Well, that kook knew of..

But he stopped, turning his body towards the elder as he kept his gaze fixed on Tae.

He looked anxious.

But Jungkook did want to hear what he had to say, he would be lying if he claimed anything else.

"Hm..." His eyes flickered over to the way Tae didn't let go of his wrist, "Okay." He nods, anxious for what he'd have to say.

An apology? Or an excuse? Would he officially break up? Kook felt his mind swirl with every possible scenario, he had to sit down.

Taehyung refused to let go of Jungkook’s wrist, the contact easing his stress somewhat.

He took a seat beside Kook on the nearby bench, his grip around Kook loosening along with his stiff shoulders.

“So..”

He looked down at the younger’s hand on his lap, eyes scanning around the bandage as he gathered his messy thoughts, trying to seem less nervous than he actually was.

“About what happened— the fight. I’m.. I’m sorry.”

Taehyung’s jaw clenched down, angry at himself for the hurtful words he mindlessly threw out at Jungkook.

“I didn’t mean any of it. I-I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you, and I know I should work on not giving a fuck about what people think..”

With a heavy sigh, Tae looked up at Jungkook, afraid of his reaction even though he’d just started. He wanted to make sure he was doing this right.

“I said some really fucked up things, Kook, and.. I just, I just need you to understand that not a single ounce of me meant any of it. About your parents... I never should’ve brought that up. I know you don’t blame me for that, I'm just— I’m an asshole, that’s it.”

Taehyung scoffed, taking a moment to blame himself some more.

“What we have, or had.. it’s normal. Our relationship, it’s normal. When we kiss each other, that’s normal! When we hug, fuck— all of it! That was normal.”

The elder let out a shaky breath, squeezing tighter onto Jungkook’s wrist, afraid that it would be the last time.

“I’m fucking sorry. If.. if you want to break up, I-I understand but just know that I regret everything I said.”

Jungkook sat in silence, his gaze fixated on the locker across from him. He stared, blankly as he listened to every single word coming out of Taehyung's mouth.

Slowly, he processed it all, the seconds of silence felt like an eternity for the two of them-- Most likely tortuous for Taehyung.

As the words hit Jungkook, he felt his heart stuck in his throat, this uncomfortable feeling of his emotions crashing on him like a wave once more.

Fuck, he had to be this emotional, didn't he?

''Tae...'' His voice broke when he uttered his name, eyes glazing over with a layer of tears as he turned his gaze to fall on Taehyung, ''I don't want to break up with you... But I don't want to be a secret...''

Kook moved his arm, replacing the grip on his wrist with his own hand, intertwining their fingers. He sighed softly at the familiar feeling, it felt good.

''I don't expect you to... kiss me in front of everyone, or yell out that you're with me, but... I want to be able to just feel normal with you.. Hug you, hold your hand. Talk to you-- without you feeling like you have to step away from me every time somebody looks at us.''

Taehyung’s breath hitched in his throat; eyes looking into Jungkook’s glistening ones, his ears intently listening to what the latter had to say.

His heart? It was no longer drumming against his rib cage. Tae was thankful that Jungkook still wanted to be with him despite everything that went down..

 Truth be told, that was what scared him the most— breaking up.

Taehyung kept quiet, gaze glued on their hands, fingers busied as they played with Kook’s smaller ones.

He took everything that the younger said into consideration, and honestly, most of it scared the shit out of him.

Holding hands.. It was so simple yet frightening. Anyone could tell Jungkook was braver than he was. 

His boyfriend was fearless, and Tae admired that.

“Okay.” Was all he mustered up the courage to say, “I’ll.. I’ll try, for you.”

He smiled, truly wanting to improve for Kook. It was a relationship, Taehyung needed to remember that it wasn’t all about him. He needed to make sacrifices, and that’s what he was planning on doing.

“I missed you, you know.” The elder leaned in, eyeing Jungkook’s pretty eyes, and then his lips.

“Can I kiss you..?”

Jungkook couldn't help but smile, his lips pulling up in a toothy grin that causes his nose to scrunch up in his own cutesy way.

Taehyung would try, and that was enough. More than enough... For now.

"I missed you too," he leans in to close the  small distance between their lips, feeling the warm and familiar taste of him was one of the things he missed more than anything.

And just like that, he knew that his feelings wouldn't just go away. They never did, and at this point, he doesn't think they ever will.

"I really missed you.." he repeated when he momentarily withdrew, only to lean in for another, and another...

It was addicting.

Kook’s hands reached up to cup the elders face, holding him in place to make sure this was real as he wanted nothing else than to just keep feeling Taehyung in soft, slow, and most of all--  needy kisses.

Taehyung beamed in between each messy kiss, sinking further into the younger’s yearning touch on his skin, not minding that Kook was practically squishing his face, causing his lips to jut out. On the spur of the moment, Tae shifted from his spot on the bench, lips still attached to Jungkook’s as he straddled the latter’s lap. There was no trace of lust behind it, Taehyung just.. missed him.

The elder was so into it that he failed to hear the sound of the door opening up, in coming Jimin who was sent to fetch them.

“Taehyung? Jungk— woah, uh..”

The smaller boy was sent into a shock, but not really.

It was weird, because part of Jimin wasn’t surprised by the sight, yet the other half was..

Tae’s eyes widened for that initial second, feeling himself wanting to shrink up from embarrassment. But, he still didn’t budge from his boyfriend’s lap.

“Well.. Joon wanted to know what was taking you guys so long. What— what were you two doing?” Jimin teasingly raised a brow, holding back a little smile.

Taehyung— who wanted to groan at the look his hyung was giving him— let out a soft sigh.

He nervously nibbled on the insides of his cheeks, glancing at Jungkook and then Jimin.

“I was kissing my boyfriend.”

He guessed that was a good start..

Jimin nods as he lightly shrugs, as if it was indeed an acceptable answer.

"Okay, but don't take too long!" His smile was permanently engraved at this point, taking in the sight of the two of them before turning on his heels to leave. 

Jungkook purses his lips and wraps his hands around taes smaller waist to pull his body closer as soon as Jimin leaves. He cranes his neck to reach Taes lips, whining a little when he just needed the elder to bend down just a smidge.

"Remember when I told you that you've grown a lot?" Kook tightens his grasp around Taehyungs waist, fuck, did he miss feeling him underneath his fingertips.

"You did it again. A boyfriend level up~" He grins at the game reference.

Tae shook his head in utter amusement, a lopsided smile begging to be seen by the beautiful boy beneath him.

The elder opted for throwing his arms around Jungkook’s neck, hiding his warm face in the crook of the skin.

“I’m shy..” Taehyung quietly mumbled, scooting up a bit on his boyfriend’s lap so that he could hug him tighter; so that he could feel their chests move against one another with every breath they took.

Gaining the courage to look into Jungkook’s doe eyes, Tae withdrew his embrace.

“You know, it means a lot— to just.. to hear you say how much I’ve grown?” 

The boy smiled, tucking one of Kook’s loose strands of hair behind his ear.

“It makes me feel good, really good.” Taehyung nodded, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s head of fluff, trying to smooth down certain parts.

“Is it just me or is your hair, like, growing. A lot.” 

Taehyung leaned back a bit so as to make sure he was seeing it right.

“I like it.”

''Kim Taehyung is shy...'' Kook giggled, his chest shaking lightly as he does so,

''Ah, you think so...'' He questions, moving his head from side to side to show his overgrown locks off, shaking them lightly until the loose strands fall back on his face.

''I kind of like it too, so I guess I'll keep it growing..''

Jungkook straightens up his posture, keeping his arms wrapped around the elders waist, not ready to let go just yet, craning his neck up to stare up at his boyfriend with doe eyes.

''Doesn't it make me look kind of like a bad boy?'' Another grin pulls on his lips, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Hmm.. kinda.” Taehyung chuckled, fingers once again traveling upwards to swim through Jungkook’s curly locks, brushing the stray strands away from his eyes.

“But you’re the furthest thing from a bad boy.” The elder quickly pecked the little scar on the side of his boyfriend’s cheek, patting Kook’s chest before standing on his feet.

His Jersey slightly rose up as Taehyung outstretched his arms over his head, trying to make up for the stretches he’d most likely missed.

“Come on, before Joon sends anyone else looking after us.” Tae jokes, extending out a hand for Kook to take.

For what felt like the longest time, but in reality wasn't more than a couple days, Jungkook felt like he could genuinely smile again, grabbing Taehyung's hand without any hesitation whatsoever to pull himself up on his feet.

''He really needs a girlfriend,'' Kook whispered with a chuckle, walking up the stairs together with Tae, ''Or whatever.'' Insinuating that he really doesn't know what Joon would be into, shrugging as they make it to the court, greeted by their team that are rocking a mix of confused, excited and surprised looks.

Namjoon was a mix of all three, his hands firmly placed on his hips as he watched the two men walk together as if the previous tension from the past few days never even happened. It warmed his heart, honestly..

''Alright, everyone's here,'' Namjoon claps his hands together.

''We're getting close to the big game now, this is it-- no time to slack around! Let's do warm up, then half of the team will simulate the opponent in a match! Go!'' Joon announces, watching as everyone obliged to his orders, running his hand through his hair with a soft sigh.

The game was so close, it caused him anxiety. But... Now that things were good between his two best players, they had a shot.

~

By the time practice was over, Taehyung had made up his mind.

He wanted to let their friends know about their relationship, figuring that would be a better start than none.

Slowly, he’d let other people know— people whom he felt comfortable with. Which, now that Tae thought about it.. that bunch was very compact.

The big picture was, Taehyung was determined to work through his internal fears. And slowly but surely, he’d get there.

“So, uh.. guys?” The elder cleared his throat, pausing picking out the marshmallows from his cereal, instead now focused on trying to pick apart the right words.

“I have something to admit.”

Taehyung’s deep voice sounded so serious that by the time he looked up from his tray, his hyungs were staring right back at him. Somehow, that made him more anxious.

“Jungkook and I are dating.”

Silence.

Then more silence..

Jin was the first one to break the streak.

“That’s it?”

Curious as to what he meant, Tae furrowed his brows.

“Yeah..?”

“I thought we already knew this.” Hoseok awkwardly chuckled, looking around the table to see if anyone else agreed with him.

“Yeah. Shit, if that’s big news, then my name isn’t Min Yoongi.” The mint-haired boy munched on his toast, unaffected by what was just revealed.

Taehyung, on the other hand, was shocked. They were.. Fine with it?

“If that’s big news, then I wouldn’t have the biggest dick out of everyone here.” Jin joined in, smirking.

“If that’s big news, then that means I didn’t feed my brother’s fish to my cat.” Jimin shrugged.

“Okay, first of all— that’s fucked up.” Hoseok eyed the shorter boy with a grimace. “But if that’s big news, then that means Joon would’ve already had a girlfriend—“

“Alright, cut it out!” Namjoon childishly pleaded, “I had a girlfriend, for your information. She just— why am I telling you this..”

Taehyung blinked, clueless about what he’d just heard.

“So.. you guys are cool with it?”

Had he been worrying over nothing..?

"Of course we are!" Jimin sang out, his smile genuine as he glances over the group, who nods and smiles in agreement.

"Honestly, it took you long enough to tell us, but it was obvious," Yoongi shrugged.

Jungkooks grin grew with every supportive word from his hyungs, happily sipping on his milk as he leaned in a little closer to Taehtung, nudging their shoulders together in a way that would tell Tae 'See?'

"Thanks guys. It means a lot." Kook felt so relieved, his entire being vibrating with joy because he felt like Taehyung was finally admitting something this big. That they were dating.

Together.

In a relationship!

And he wasn't a secret anymore.

He felt important, and it meant the world to Kook.

"You guys are cute together," Jimin continued, leaning his chin against the palm of his hand, a soft sigh escaping his lips while gazing at the two boys in awe.

They really were adorable together, Jungkook was beaming-- and Taehyung looked almost flustered at the support he was given. He must've expected the worst.

In the past, Taehyung was sure those words would’ve made him shrivel up and cringe in his spot, but now that he was experiencing it; that wasn’t how he felt at all. Instead, the elder felt a blanket of ‘pride’ engulf him; ensuring him that there was nothing to regret.

Their friends were very accepting, the deafening worrying was a waste of his time.

Tae perceived the faintest of blushes creeping up his neck, Jimin’s comment looping around in his head.

They were cute together— possibly the cutest.

Taehyung gave Kook the pile of marshmallows he was specifically picking out for him, knowing how much his boyfriend liked them.

At the thoughtful sight, Hoseok swooned even more.

“So, tell me. Who asked who out? Were there fireworks? A bouquet of roses?!”

Jungkook shot a smile towards Taehyung, a silent thank you for his favourite thing to eat; sweets.

Happily indulging, he picks piece by piece between his delicate fingertips to eat them, filling his cheeks up as he chews, the sugar melting in his mouth. 

It was almost as sweet as Taehyung was today.

The wave of questions hurling at them had Jungkook chewing faster, swallowing before opening his mouth to answer.

''It's a secret.'' The shit-eating grin on Jungkook's face grew when his hyungs groaned in disappointment, eager for more information.

''Come ooon! Give us something!'' Hoseok whined.

''I bet it was Jungkook,'' Yoongi adds with a shrug, chewing his food.

''I'm sure it must've been Taehyung, he is full of surprises these days,'' Jin snorts, pointing his fork at the two boys.

''You guys know enough, but-- I wouldn't mind some flowers,'' Jungkook smiled. It might be surprising to some, but he really does love flowers. He even has a secret plan of tattooing his birth flower on his arm, whenever his bank account would allow it.

Just like Jungkook, Taehyung was having a lot of fun messing with his hyungs’ sudden interest about their relationship— especially Hoseok, who seemed like he would combust at any given second.

Of course, Tae knew the answer, evident by the way he blushed whenever he glanced at the younger. He doesn’t think he’d ever forget about that night..

It’s gotten to a point where whenever Taehyung drives by that McDonald’s parking lot, he’s reminded of the little details.

His limp, the twinkling stars, strawberry milkshakes, Kook’s doe eyes glistening under the moonlight..

It’s an image that’s forever embedded in his brain.

“Come on, Tae! Tell us!” Jimin whined, sulking even more when Taehyung responded with a firm shake of his head.

“Nope. That’s only for us to know.” The boy smirked, shrugging his shoulders before dumping his milk into his marshmallow-free cereal, happily bringing a spoonful up to his mouth.

He crunched on the mouthful, slyly listening in to Jungkook’s side comment about flowers; making sure to jot it down on a mental list.

~

The day went by smoother than normal, Jungkook happily got through his classes that were separate from his boyfriends, but not once did the latter leave his giddy mind.

He couldn't wait to see him, anxiously bouncing his leg underneath the table for the bell to ring.

Chewing on the pencil in his hand, he counted down the seconds…

As soon as the bell rang, Jungkook sprung up on his feet to jog towards the common area, eyes searching for the one face he was looking for, and a wide grin adorned his face seeing Taehyung waiting by the entrance.

Everything was back to normal, and Jungkook had never been this excited to get into the crappy car that he grew fond of.

''Tae!'' he cooed, snaking his hand around the bicep of the elder.

“Hey, you seem excited to see me.” Tae gently nudged Jungkook’s shoulder with his, ruffling his boyfriend’s soft mop of hair before pushing on the doors, stepping out into another sea of students. With the way Kook had his arm wrapped around his, others’ invasive stares didn’t overlooked by Taehyung; who simply picked up his pace, kept his head down, and tried not to let people’s gazes get to him.

Truthfully, Tae was aching to withdraw himself from Jungkook’s hold, but that only resulted in internal guilt.

The elder was going to tackle this fear day by day; that was a promise.

Once they got in his car, Tae sighed and threw his head back against the headrest, hating having to wait for the string of cars already in line to merely get out of the parking lot. 

He should’ve known better— just a minute after the bell and it was packed. 

It was expected, school was exhausting as fuck; everyone walked around half-dead.

However, Taehyung didn’t have it that bad. 

The view at his side surely kept him entertained.

“You look pretty— well, prettier than usual.” A hand snuck down to Jungkook’s thigh, giving it a playful squeeze.

His sharp eyes fell on his boyfriend’s doe ones, which were now a shade lighter from the sunlight bouncing off of them.

Fuck.. it was during moments like these where Tae wanted to kiss him.

“I missed you, a lot.”

He repeated himself, a needy sigh leaving his parted lips.

It was also during moments like these— when Jungkook’s beauty compared to no one else’s— that Taehyung wanted to paint the latter’s neck a shade of purple..

The elder’s bigger hand traveled further up, close to his boyfriend’s crotch as he spoke.

“Guess who got a ninety-percent on his Geometry test?”

He asked, gaze flickering up to Kook’s face.

“Me. Your boyfriend. Don’t you think he deserves a special reward for his hard work..?”

Jungkooks breath hitched underneath Taehyung's touch, doe eyes growing larger as their eyes met.

They've done so many things to each other at this point, and somehow it always feels like the first time, in some weird way...

"Yeah? I think he does..." Kook plays along, enjoying this much more than he thought, the initial surprise and shyness washing away as soon as he felt Tae's hand inching up his thigh.

Fuck, Taehyung was so hot when he spoke that way...

Kook's own hand would greedily move to squeeze Taehyung's thigh, the soft yet incredibly firm flesh felt amazing between his fingers. He squeezed harder, the veins underneath his skin prominent as he did so.

"What kind of reward would he like?"

An airy chuckle snuck past Taehyung’s moistened lips, who was more than pleased to find out Jungkook was down for fulfilling his lustful thirst.

Just one day without his boyfriend and Tae turned into a horn dog— he couldn’t help it. Not when the younger one looked so delicious..

His hand crept closer to Jungkook’s bulge, “Shit, there’s a lot of rewards he’d like..”

The elder’s tongue swiped over his lips, massaging at the space close to his boyfriend’s crotch.

“But, there is one that stands out to him..”

Taehyung reached for the younger’s hand, placing it on his clothed cock. Not once did he divert his strong gaze from Jungkook’s face.

“One that makes him really fuckin’ hard.”

Taehyung forcefully pressed down on his boyfriend’s hand, silently urging Jungkook to cup him with all his might— harder, just the way he liked it.

As a response, the elder felt himself begin to harden in the other’s grip.

“You.” He heavily breathed out, black fringe streaming over his eyes.

“You in this car, on your back.. all spread out ‘n pretty for him. His fat cock stuffed so deep inside of you..”

A small grunt emitted from the back of Taehyung’s throat at the mere thought.

“He’d fuck your insides until all you’re able to see is stars, baby. Until slobber is running down your chin— ah fuck..”

The elder wanted to take him right here, right now.

“Shit, that’s what he wants— that’s what he wants and more.”

Taehyung’s teeth clamped down on his bottom lip.

“So what do you say, pretty? Does that reward sound good enough for you?”

Jungkook allowed a quiet groan of his own to escape his lips at Tae’s words, nibbling on his lower lip at the mere thought of being fucked in his car.

He remembers exactly how fucking good it felt to have Taehyungs cock inside of him... shit, did he need it.

"Please..." is all he could muster to say, his eyes glazed over with the pure lust overtaking his senses, his hand cupping and massaging Taes bulge, feeling it grow harder underneath his palm.

"I want you so bad..." his voice grew needier, letting his lips part to allow another heavy breath push through. He felt greed overcome him, not hesitating to fumble with the button of his boyfriend's pants to grant him access to the one thing he wanted the most at this moment. 

Normally, Jungkook would be one to tease... but not today. He missed this too much, undoing the zipper of taes pants to instead snake his hand underneath the fabrics to pull Taehyung's cock out, mouth watering at the mere sight as his gaze broke from the elders to admire the view.

Taehyung was breathy, filled with primal lust just for him. A sense of pride hits kook at the way he was also able to affect his boyfriend just as much as he affected the younger.

Taehyung’s eyebrow twitched, hands gripping at the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. With his mouth slightly agape, Taehyung felt himself quiver in Jungkook’s hand.

His rock hard dick was throbbing and lacking the proper attention it needed— which was the worst possible combination.

“Fuck.” Tae whipped his head around, looking to see if the line of cars had gone down.

He didn’t know just how much longer he could take it..

“Touch it, pretty.”

The elder instructed, hungry for even the smallest of friction.

It was better than nothing until he could drive away to somewhere a little more.. private.

“Get a feel of what your plump ass has been missing,” Taehyung’s head fell against the headrest, trying to seem unbothered as a group of students walked by his car, clueless as to what was happening just a few glances down.

Jungkook pressed his back against the cushion of his backrest, head turned towards Taehyung with a gaze fixed at the elders heaving chest, his face-- his everything.

''I've missed your cock, Tae..shit..'' He whispers with a low voice, bringing his hand to his mouth to let spit drip into his palm before bringing it back to spread the wetness across the elders tip, slowly bringing it down his length. The way the smooth skin glistened from Kook's spit was a gorgeous sight.

''Good?'' He asks with a crooked smile, now providing the friction Taehyung so desperately needed, fingers firmly wrapped around his fat cock as  he uses his fully palmed grasp to stroke the entirety of it.

“Mhm..” Taehyung’s face scrunched up into one of pleasure, visibly a mess under the other’s touch as his own hands gripped tighter onto the steering wheel; imagining it were his boyfriend’s hips. His toes curled in his shoes, heavy breaths evident by the way his broad chest heaved up and down. 

“Just like that,” he praised, slowly grinding into Jungkook’s busied hand, unable to stay still for a second longer— not when Kook was jerking him off so wonderfully..

“Fuck..!” Taehyung huffed, looking over his shoulder once more, his frown morphing into a smirk when he saw there weren't as many people blocking the exit.

Shit, he’s been waiting for this moment.

With one hand on the steering wheel, the elder backed out of his spot. He glanced at Jungkook with a look that read, ‘get ready’ before he sped out of there, trying so hard to focus on his driving and not the way his boyfriend’s hand was working on him.

Taehyung drove around until he found a secluded area close to a forest trail, noticing there weren’t any cars or people around to disrupt them.

It was perfect.

He turned off the engine, unbuckling himself before he reached over for Jungkook’s face, pressing their lips together into a needy, messy kiss.

As if on cue, the second Taehyung turned the engine off Kook had already snapped his belt off, meeting the elder halfway in a kiss. His hand never faltered, continuously pumping Taehyung with one ad the other settles on his knee in a tight grasp,

''I..missed...you'' He mumbled between the kisses, giving up on trying to speak at all-- instead indulging in tasting Tae's tongue with his own, small whines caught in the younger's throat.

If the definition of needy had a face, it would definitely be in the form of Jungkook.

Taehyung kissed Jungkook back with just as much passion— just as much want. The warmth of their tongues gliding again one another was almost enough to throw Taehyung over the edge; not to mention, the way his boyfriend’s fingers wrapped so smugly around his cock had a deep moan yearning to be acknowledged.

However, it was muffled against Kook’s lips.

“I fucking missed you too..” The elder pulled away, staring at Jungkook through his eyelashes.

In a desperate manner, Tae shimmied out of his jeans and boxers, letting them pool at his ankles before tugging at the fabrics attached to Kook’s skin.

In a way, he was jealous of them.

Taehyung was jealous that they got to feel Jungkook before he did.

The elder pulled his shirt over his head, kicking off his shoes and everything else that was stopping him from showing off his naked body.

“Come on, baby.”

Taehyung led the both of them to the backseats. He hovered over Jungkook, not wasting any time before splashing his neck with some color, sucking and nipping at the skin.

Jungkook allowed himself to be guided, relishing in the fact that he barely had to think, simply just feel the elder lead his own needs for the younger.

Kook had done an awful lot of thinking lately, and being nothing but in this very moment was everything he could focus on.

He had tunnel vision for the man above him, doe eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

''Fuck, yes...'' His voice was whiny, a tone he hadn't used in quite a while..

Kook spread his legs, giving Taehyung enough space to position himself between the youngers legs as he hovered above him, JK snaking his hands around Tae's torso to smooth his palms over the skin of his back, feeling the muscles flex and tense-- a guilty pleasure of Kook's.

This time, Kook had no care in the world about having his skin covered in purple, this time, he didn't have to care about who would see it.

Taehyung’s lips dragged themselves down to the younger’s chest, the tip of his nose faintly grazing against the naked skin as heavy puffs of air clashed against it.

As he tackled Jungkook’s pants, trying to undo the zipper; the elder’s mouth latched on to a spot near the boy’s collarbones, looking up at Kook through his fringe whilst he sucked on the skin, gently tugging at it with his teeth.

Once Taehyung was pleased with the way it looked, he switched over to a new spot— thinking of it as a free canvas, until he came along and claimed it as his.

By now, Jungkook’s lower clothing was tossed to the side, and Tae’s bigger hand was stuck massaging the younger’s milky thighs.

“So beautiful..” Another splash of color.

“The prettiest baby..” And another, until most of Jungkook’s chest and neck were littered with fresh hickeys.

Serves him right. Whoever tried hitting on his boyfriend would be reminded of who he belonged to, Kim Taehyung.

He no longer hovered over him, instead he let his body rest by Kook’s side, an elbow propping him up so he could take a proper look at his boyfriend’s face.

Tae’s free hand snaked down Jungkook’s body, stopping at his needy entrance.

“Gonna push it in, okay?”

He bit down on his lip as a response to feeling the younger’s warm insides, still keeping a sharp eye on Kook’s expressions.

“Baby, think you can take in all five~?”

Taehyung leaned down to lowly whisper in the boy’s ear, his middle and index fingers making scissoring motions, trying to stretch Jungkook to his full potential.

Seconds later, and the elder squeezed in another finger until it was knuckle deep.

“Want another one?” He breathed out, his own erection pressing against his boyfriend’s hip.

Jungkook loved this part almost as much as the actual fucking. Feeling Taehyungs long, strong fingers stretching his ass has him a whimpering mess already-- holy fuck did that guy know how to use his hands.

His chest heaved up and down as he was focusing on his heavy breathing, a series of cries and gasps in pleasure rolling off his lips.

"Please," his eyes quiver as they find Taehyungs, "More-- shit.... a-another one, /please/!"

“So desperate..” Taehyung amusingly breathed out through his nose, nonetheless following through with the boy’s consistent pleads. He pushed in another finger past the initial tight ring of muscle, his thumb the only one left to get wet.

From the way Jungkook seemed to be behaving, Tae knew he enjoyed it just as much.

“Still so tight. Just for me, huh?”

With the leg closest to his boyfriend’s, Tae’s knee nudged at the space in between the younger’s calf and back of his thigh, urging him to raise it up a bit so he had more access to his hole.

The elder’s set of slender fingers slammed in and out of him, the squelching noises taking over Taehyung’s senses, who wanted nothing more than to stuff Jungkook with his hand.

“Ready for the last one?”

Jungkooks head snapped from side to side, it was already an overwhelming feeling-- his body ever so responsive to the elders fingers. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he did the one thing he could to keep himself somewhat grounded; staring up at Taehyung.

Kooks doe eyes were glazed over with a layer of tears, pupils so dilated in lust that they were almost entirely blackened out.

Seeing Taehyung this focused on making the younger feel this good... it amplified the feeling by a tenfold.

Jungkook got greedy, he wanted everything that Tae could give, nodding desperately as his body twitched when the elders fingers slammed his most sensitive spot, drawing out louder moans and a series of breathy 'yes's from kook.

With a small smirk lingering on his lips, Taehyung stared down at Jungkook, meeting the younger’s gaze as he worked his fingers inside of him.

The elder swiftly leaned down to catch Kook’s lips with his own, attempting to shush the cries of initial pain as he pushed in his last finger— shoving them in until almost all of his knuckles were engulfed by his boyfriend’s tight entrance.

Jungkook's muffled moans vibrated in his throat, eyes screwing shut from the slight pain of having all of Taehyung's fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

His body was squirming underneath the elder, skin burning with lust, just like his entire being felt like he would melt any second. He felt so full...

But not as full as he could be...Would be.

Taehyung’s mouth watered at the sinful sight from under him, his throbbing cock only awakening furthermore from the way Jungkook’s body couldn’t seem to sit still.

“Fuck.. you’re taking them in so well,” He leaned down to whisper against the younger’s mouth, his lips grazing against Jungkook’s softer ones as his fingers sank in deeper, harder.

The elder continued to pump his dripping digits inside of his boyfriend, repeatedly rubbing at the sweet spot he’d become so familiar with; his hand digging in just past his knuckles.

When Taehyung felt that was enough, he pulled his fingers out; the warmth no longer squeezing around them.

“Shit..” The boy licked over his lips, bringing his veiny hand up to his face for closer inspection.

It was drenched in Jungkook’s juices, a thick layer of clear liquid catching the light.

A proud, crooked smile appeared on Taehyung’s face, who showed it off to the younger like it was some sort of trophy.

Damn, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Sitting up, the elder used the same hand to thoroughly spread Kook’s juices along his length, the middle of his brows scrunched up in concentration.

In one quick motion, he flipped Jungkook’s body around so that the latter’s stomach laid against the backseat, his perky ass facing Tae as he spread the younger’s reddened cheeks, using one hand to guide his cock into his hole.

“F-fuck..”

The elder’s body collapsed on top of Jungkook’s, gradually pushing his dick into him until his sweaty chest met the younger’s back.

With his pelvis pressed up against his boyfriend’s ass, Taehyung began moving his hips, soulfully grinding against Jungkook as he breathed out into the boy’s nape, one hand tightly gripping at his hip while the other rested by Kook’s head.

A drawn out, breathy moan pushed through Jungkook’s lips when he finally felt Taehyung's cock sink into him,

''Oh--'' He couldn't hold himself up, the weight of the elder forcing his chest to press flat against the carseat, hands seeking leverage against the door, muscles dancing underneath his skin on his arms and back, ''G-god...your cock feels so good.. I fucking missed i-it.'' His voice broke into a whimper when Taehyung moved his hips, Kook's teeth gnashing together-- shit, it felt amazing.

Jungkook's ring of muscle automatically tightened around Tae's length, his own cock throbbing and desperately seeking friction-- and getting a slight feel of it through every small movement of his body grinding against the carseat due to Taehyung's thrusts.

Taehyung didn’t waste any time in increasing his rhythm; initially pulling out until only his mushroom tip stayed inside of Jungkook before slamming his wet cock into him once again.

He repeated the same movements a few more times— pace slow but harsh, his pelvis roughly clashing into Kook’s ass; feeling the boy’s cheeks slightly bounce from the contact.

“A-ah yeah?” He breathed out, trailing some open-mouthed kisses along Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Well your ass feels so fucking good— fuck..”

Taehyung felt himself twitch inside of the younger, the sudden tightness catching him off guard.

The elder’s upper body sank into the dip of Kook’s back, face nuzzled into the latter’s neck as he began to thrust into him at a greater speed; grunts and groans pouring out of his mouth.

Afraid that his boyfriend would hit his head against the door, Taehyung gripped harder at his hip, nails sinking into the flesh as he allowed himself to lose control.

Whoever passed by would think that his car was possessed; it moved along with every push and pull of Tae’s hips.

The vague squeaking of the car seats went unnoticed by the younger, broken cries in pleasure continuously escaping his throat.

As if his entire being had tunnel vision, all he could think about was how much he loved this, how much he loved feeling, and hearing him. No, he couldn't even think, just indulging in the moment completely, his own hips desperately trying to meet the elders thrusts to no avail, his body was completely under Tae's control,

''H-harder...please..''

Being ever the masochist for Taehyung's cock, he always pleaded for more, for it to be harder, faster.. He knows his boyfriend could let himself lose control, his strength one of the things Jungkook absolutely adores about him. He craved to feel him, hear the aggressive thrusts of the man on top of him, his body jolting, however held tightly in place by the elder.

Kook felt his cock rub against the fabrics of the carseat, providing friction that amplified his satisfaction, the greed to chase his high rising,

''F-fuck me harder!''

The elder only growled as a response, fucking into Jungkook like his life depended on it.

The sound of sticky skin whipping against one another filled the inside of Taehyung’s car; the windows lightly fogged up from the bundle of breathy moans that emitted from both boys’ throat.

“A-ahh, fuuuck!” He yelled out, panting whilst drilling his cock deeper into Jungkook’s ass, never once stopping to catch his breath although the mere thought of it was tempting.

“You. Are. Mine.” With every pause in between each airy word, Taehyung’s dick slammed into his boyfriend’s prostate.

The squeaking of the car seats became more noticeable, as well as the rocking of the elder’s car with every aggressive hump from Taehyung.

“Shit— I-I’m gonna cum, baby..!”

The elder’s clammy forehead fell on top of Jungkook’s shoulder, switching between jagged thrusting and gyrating his hips, each one just as fast.

“A-are you close?”

Jungkook attempted to nod, but the way his body was rocking back and forth made it impossible to point out, so he opted to attempt at using his hoarse voice.

"Yes!" He cried out in a high pitched, breathy tone, "So close, so close-- don't stop!" He begged, letting his sweaty cheek press against the carseat, the skin rubbing on it with every thrust, just like his cock-- pathetically rubbing against the surface below him.. god, he was about to explode and make a mess beneath him, all he needed was that last push over the edge, to feel Taehyung's cock grow harder inside of him and fill him up with his cum.

"I'm gonna c-cum..fuck fuck f-fuck!" Jungkook’s voice breaks into a loud moan, his breath caught in his throat as he tightly shuts his eyes, toes curling up.

Kook's body reacted before he even could, tensing up and muscles flexing as he felt his orgasm hit him like a wave of white pleasure, a feeling that had his eyes roll back into his skull. As Jungkook came harder than he's ever done before, his ass tightly squeezed Taehyung's cock, desperate for the elder to cum with him-- the feeling becoming too overwhelming.

From the way Jungkook’s walls seemed to grasp around his volcanic cock, a stream of Taehyung’s cum squirted into the boy’s loose insides; his body stiffening up in the midst of it.

“Fuck!” The elder cursed out loud, throwing his head back with a shout, his grip on Jungkook’s hip tightening for a mere moment before his fingers relaxed.

He panted from the loss of breath, beads of sweat seem trickling down his chest and onto his boyfriend’s back.

Taehyung found the sight in front of him breathtaking...

After a few tranquil seconds of making sure that he’d spilled all he had to offer into Jungkook, that’s when Tae pulled out, falling limp at the younger boy’s side.

One hand patted Kook’s butt, massaging at the skin whilst the other rested behind his head, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

He peeked one eye open, coming face to face with a worn out Jungkook.

“Ready for round two?” Taehyung joked, playfully pinching his ass before swinging an arm across his boyfriend’s back, pulling him closer.

“This was the best reward, ever.” He chuckled breathlessly, pressing a chaste kiss to Jungkook’s rosy cheek.

“I would’ve actually tried on all my other tests if I knew this was the outcome..”

Jungkook smiled through his heavy breathing at the joke, letting Tae pull his exhausted body closer.

"Don't get too smart on me now, my ass is gonna be permanently damaged." He wraps an arm over Taes body, a small whine escaping him as he feels the mixture of the elders cum & his own juices leaking.

"Fuck... that was so good though.. actually, keep getting good grades, permanent ass damage sounds worth it." He joked, placing a few kisses alongside Taehyung's jawline until they finally landed on his lips.

Kook's eyes admire Taehyung so much at this very moment...

He wants to say it.. the three words that continuously linger on the tip of his tongue.

“Oh, yeah?” A cheeky grin formed on Taehyung’s face, who deliberately gave himself up to his boyfriend’s kisses; humming in pure content once Jungkook’s lips fell on his.

“Just for the record,” Tae shifted on to his side, his arm propping him up. “I’d still love your ass— permanently damaged or not.”

Right after the words left his mouth, the elder’s back dropped back down to the carseat with an embarrassed groan, ruffling his sweaty hair so that his outgrown fringe fell over his eyes.

Taehyung had a loose tongue whenever he was around Jungkook; he couldn’t help it.

Once he’d gotten the balls to gaze into his boyfriend’s doe eyes once again, Tae pushed his sweaty fringe back, prominent brows furrowing at the look Jungkook was showering him with.

“What.” His eyes had seemed to crinkle up, the corners of his lips curling upwards into a boxy smile.

“I know, it was stupid.”

Taehyung ran a hand down his face, thinking Kook was secretly judging him for the ass comment.

Taehyung would love his ass....

What about... simply love Jungkook? Was that really too hard, or too much? Surely by now, they've been through enough to comfortably say it, right?

Jungkooks even said it before.

But the reaction he got last time was nothing short of unsatisfying, and it did make him a bit more nervous about using the words.

So Kook didn't.. he let his affectionate stare do the work, his eyes quivering with the love he felt for this man-- and finally just taking another moment to truly take in his features.

'I love you', he kept repeating the words in his mind, his lips almost mimicking the movements-- but never uttering a sound.

"You're not stupid, you got a ninety percent on your test..." Jungkook smiles, trying to avert the attention from his long stare just seconds earlier, reaching out to run his hand through taes hair, "Next time... let me do the same to you."

A small smirk pulled on his lips, a crooked eyebrow following. He'd love to see how many fingers the elder could take as well.

Taehyung’s previously dimmed gaze lit up at the unexpected invite, now staring into Jungkook’s daring eyes as the latter’s hand soothingly smoothed over his hair.

“Kook, that’s gonna hurt!” The elder whined, “also, you’re fucking smart. You’re gonna get good grades on everything!” Tae childishly exclaimed, internally worried about the future conditions of his ass once his buff boyfriend got his strong hands on it— or in it.

He was also incredibly turned on, but the snippet of fear overruled that.

''Hey, don't you trust my abilities? I'd never hurt you..'' Jungkook smile was wide, tone of his voice playful, ''And yes, I would have perfect grades-- deserving of rewards.'' He presses his lips together to kill the smile on his lips, but to no avail.

He relaxed his body, leaning his cheek against Taehyung with a soft sigh.

''Alright....I'm tired... Wanna come back to my place?''

After a few lingering seconds of Taehyung’s figure spread out across the backseats; contemplating whether or not it was even worth it to move, he managed to give in to Jungkook’s words, mumbling a low, “If I must..”

The elder slowly sat up in his spot, stretching his aching muscles before reaching for their discarded clothing, slipping his shirt on.

Tae visibly grimaced at the bitter odor coming from his armpits, and in that moment he knew, he was in need of some deep cleaning. By the looks of it, so did his crappy car..

The seats were covered in cum, and it reeked of sex.

Taehyung shrugged it off, though. It wasn’t like anyone else other than Jungkook got rides from him. He’d take care of it later.

Once they’d finally parked out front of Kook’s building, Taehyung took some time to just.. Gaze.

One day.

Who would’ve thought that one day could feel like an eternity?

Definitely not the elder, but as he stood there with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he found himself smiling. He was glad to be back to the one place he considered ‘home’.

“Can you still walk, Kook?” Taehyung giggled as he teased his boyfriend, not even passing Jisoo’s apartment when the door busted open, revealing a grinning woman.

“Jungkook-ah! How was school? I made this for— oh..”

Her smile twitched at the sight of Taehyung, but she was quick to pick it back up.

“Taehyung.. you’re back!” Jisoo beamed, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Tae could only nod, rubbing at his nape whilst he stared at Yuna, who was in a carrier attached to her mother’s chest. Then, his gaze fell on the plastic container in Jisoo’s hands.

Awkwardly shifting on her feet, the older woman looked back at Jungkook, chest slightly tightening at the hickeys that ran along his skin.

“I made you some more of the veggie noodle soup? I know how much you liked it last time, so..”

Jisoo forced out a small chuckle, extending out the container for Kook to take, refusing to let her eyes travel down to his neck.

God, she despised herself for feeling jealous..

She should be happy.

As if Yuna could sense her mother’s discomfort, she cooed at Jungkook, immediately enlightening the situation.

Jungkook froze on the spot, startled by Jisoo's sudden appearance. His eyes travel from her face, to Yuna, to the container in her hands...

She made him food?

''Ah, noona!'' He smiled, unaware of her sudden drop in mood, hiding it just well enough from the oblivious boy, ''You made this for me?''

He stepped closer, reaching out to take it from her hands with one of his, using the other to poke Yuna on her cheek, drawing another giggle from the baby.

Jungkook's eyes travel back up to his noona, his smile softer, ''Thank you.. uh, school's been good!''

Suddenly he felt oddly aware of the hickeys on his neck. Why-- he wasn't sure why it mattered, but his hand awkwardly reached up to rub his neck, an attempt to possibly hide them from her, knowing it was of no use.

''Ah, uh, yeah.. Taehyung's back!'' Jungkook genuinely smiled this time, stepping back to stand next to his boyfriend.

“That’s..” She quickly tried rummaging around in her brain for the right words, “That’s great! And you’re welcome, I know it can be hard— living alone and not having enough money for food. So I thought, ah! Better make Jungkookie something to eat..”

Jisoo drifted off by clearing her throat, noticing she was up and rambling about useless things no one ever wanted to hear.

Taehyung— who was just as clueless— flashed her a simple smile, thanking her for taking care of Kook when shit hit the fan.

“But, anyways, we’re good now.” He concluded, turning his head to look at his boyfriend as his hand discretely caressed his lower back, feeling like things were finally back to normal.

Jisoo glued on a smile at the sight, sad eyes flickering between the two. With a soft exhale past her tinted lips, the older woman forced herself together, shoving the sour feelings to the side.

“Well, Jungkook,” she treaded carefully, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to help me move some things..?”

Jisoo glanced down at Yuna, running her delicate fingers over her daughter’s fluff of hair.

“I was going to drop off the little one at my sister’s place, then go back to my old apartment to get the rest of my things. I mean, my car isn’t the biggest but after a few trips we’ll be good!”

She reassured, patiently waiting for what the younger boy had to say.

Taehyung was the one who opened his mouth, however, hesitant about whether to intervene or not.

“Noona.. If you’d like, I can call one of my friends? He has a truck, so. His name’s Joon, and all he does is study, so he shouldn’t be busy.”

Tae deliberately threw that out there, shrugging his shoulders.

Jisoo, who thought about it for a few seconds, answered Taehyung with a nod of her head.

Why the hell not? It’ll definitely make things easier on her end.

He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his pants, tapping on Namjoon’s contact before ringing him up.

To Joon: Hyung, you busy? Kook’s neighbor needs help moving in some things.

~

Namjoon reached over for his phone, chewing a mouthful of snacks as he tapped the screen to open the conversation. As he read the text, he almost choked.

Kook's neighbour?!

J-jisoo?!

Abruptly, he tapped away to send his reply;

To Tae: Not busy, I'll be on my way.

Namjoon was nervous, yet excited. It was as if the gods had blessed him with a chance to see the girl once more. Without any second thought, he tripped over his shoes to grab his jacket and head over.

~

Jungkook mimicked Taehyung's shrug, a small smile on his lips. He wouldn't have had any issue with helping his noona, but honestly... He just wanted to spend the evening with his boyfriend-- he'd missed him so much.

“I’m here! I’m— shit..!” Namjoon made his grand entrance by nearly tripping over his undone shoelaces, startling Taehyung and the others. Yuna’s doe eyes went wide from the sudden intrusion, small fists clinging onto Jisoo’s shirt as she gawked at the newcomer.

Tae thought it would be weird if they’d just left Jisoo with a guy she’d never met.

The least he could do is introduce them to one another and reassure her that Namjoon wasn’t a serial killer before disappearing into Jungkook’s apartment, probably off to cuddle or, firstly, take a much needed shower. He smelled like old socks.

“Uh, okay well.. Joon, this is Jisoo. Jisoo noona, this is Joon.”

Taehyung kept it brief, shoving his hands into the warmth of his pockets before his eyes awkwardly bounced between the pair, not knowing what else to say.

“We’ve met!” The both of them chimed at the same time, turning Namjoon into a flustered mess.

Tae cocked a brow, noticing how his hyung was acting more lame than usual. He didn’t question it, Namjoon was Namjoon.

“Your uhm.. your baby sister is cute!”

The eldest boy said, gaze drawn to Yuna, unaware of the pleading look Jisoo was flashing at Taehyung and Jungkook.

Jisoo smiled awkwardly, her thumbs caught in Yuna's smaller hands as she plays with them,

''Actually, it's my daughter!''

Namjoon's eyes widen, the heated blush of embarrassment and guilt showering over him as he bows deeply.

''I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean.. I mean, youre just so young and-- it's completely normal to be a young mother-- ah..'' he facepalmed, noting that he should just shut the fuck up instead.

Jisoo laughs, a bright smile instead adorning her face, ''No, no, its okay!''

What a dork. As expected from a friend of Jungkook's, in all honesty. She sees why the younger likes him so much.

Jungkook smiles, rubbing his nape as he nudges at Taehyung.

''Then, we will leave you guys to it... We uh, we'll see you guys tomorrow.''

With one last look at Namjoon and Jisoo’s direction, the elder followed Kook into the apartment, shutting the door behind him before kicking off his shoes and jumping onto the couch.

“Think Joon will talk her to death?” Taehyung mumbled with his face planted on the cushion, a wave of exhaustion washing over him.

As pleasurable as car sex was, it was also tiring. They had little to no space to.. explore each other’s bodies to their full potential.

Also, there were only so many positions they could do.

“Actually, I think he already talked her to death.”

But despite the difficulties that came with having car sex, Tae craved for more.

The obvious answer was, if it was sex with Jungkook, he wouldn’t mind if they fucked on top of a mountain— actually, that thought intrigued Taehyung.

He’ll have to bring it up sometime.

Tae slowly sat up, his hands rubbing at his eyes.

“A shower sounds really good right now, you in?”

''Unless she did it first, they both are blabbermouths,'' Jungkook chuckles, walking over to stand by Taehyung's side next to the couch.

''And yes, a shower would be amazing. I'll go heat up the water.'' He bends down to place a soft, affectionate kiss on Tae's forehead before he turns to stroll towards the bathroom, turning the shower on as he prepared two towels hanging on the wall. He started to take his clothes off, pulling the shirt over his head, ''Shower's readyyyyyyy!''

Taehyung practically leaped onto his feet the second he heard Jungkook’s voice, already disregarding his shirt on his way to the bathroom, letting it drop down to the tiled floor along with his underwear and jeans.

“Ah.. I really needed this.”

He hummed in pure content, allowing the warm water to cleanse him free of the sweat from before, a relaxing stream trickling down his hair and back.

Tae turned around to face Kook, smiling at the boy.

“You think Joon likes Jisoo? He was acting really weird— well, weirder than usual.”

The elder’s lips came together into a thin line, brows crunching up in thought.

“Kook, I feel like a dad that just sent his son on his first date.”

Date..

At the sound of the word, Tae now glanced over at his boyfriend.

Now that he thought about it.. they’ve never had a proper date themselves.

Shit, should Taehyung ask Jungkook out on a date?

If he says yes, what should he wear? Where would he take him?

''I think Joon is absolutely a dork for noona,'' Jungkook hums, his hands reaching out to move tae's wet hair away from his face.

''It is weird, isn't it?'' Regarding Joon and Jisoo, in his own mind, ''They are kind of cute together.''

Jungkook stepped closer to get some of the water to hit him as well, feeling the soreness in his behind as he clenched his jaw.

Now that he thought of it, he also wanted to go on a date.... With his boyfriend.

A proper one.

Would Taehyung find it too cheesy?

“Yeah..” The muscles underneath Taehyung’s neck bobbed after the visible gulp he’d taken, swallowing down an uncomfortable lump in his throat as his gaze flickered down to the colorful hickeys on Jungkook’s upper chest, index finger carefully tracing over them.

A burning question hung on for dear life at the tip of his tongue, wanting to be heard— to finally be addressed, because God knows how long the words have been itching to drop.

“Kook?”

Taehyung bit down on his lip, arms snaking around the other boy’s waist. The other boy whom he was sure he wanted to take out on a date, “Let me take you out.”

It sounded far from a question, but the elder hoped Jungkook got the memo.

''Hm? What?'' Jungkook didn't fully process the words coming out of Taehyung's mouth, pressing his body close to his.

Slowly, the words sank in.

'Let me take you out.'

It wasn't a question per se, but coming from his boyfriend's mouth, it would be weird if it came out any other way.

He wanted to... take him out? On a date?

Kook's doe eyes lifted to look Tae in the eye, finding the elder so adorable.. 

''Are you asking me out?'' He raises an eyebrow, a pouty smile on his lips, ''Because I'll say yes.''

“Yes, I’m asking you out!” Taehyung laughed, embarrassed about the situation he found himself tangled in.

Nevertheless, he was just as happy.

Jungkook agreed to go out with him, for fucks sake! If this wasn’t something to internally celebrate, then he didn’t know what was.

“Cool.” The elder tried to seem unfazed, but the way the corners of his lips moved up on their own was a big give away.

Tae leaned in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriend’s neck, meeting the same eyes that caught his attention.

“So.. tomorrow? After school. You and me.”

By now, Taehyung doubted he possessed the common ability to form sentences longer than three words. But that was the ‘Jungkook effect’, and he’d fallen victim to it a long time ago.

“Leave it up to me, alright? I’ll get everything ready.”

Jungkook tilted his head to the side.

''Surprise date?'' He felt giddy, and didn't even attempt to hide it, a toothy bunny grin on his lips, wrinkles in the corners of his eyes appearing. His body almost vibrated in excitement,

''I wanna know, tell me!'' He held his hand up, ''Actually, no, don't tell me! It's a surprise...aahh''

Kook finished off washing his hair, deeming himself clean enough as he stepped out to dry himself with the towel. He was excited now. Last time--and the only time he's ever been on a date was with Ash... and that memory clearly needed to be replaced.

Tae parted his lips, about to recite to his boyfriend what the meaning of a surprise was in a smart-ass tone when Jungkook caught himself, only appearing all the more adorable in Taehyung’s eyes.

“It’s kinda last minute, though.” The elder sheepishly reminded, ruffling at his wet hair with the towel, wishing he could’ve put more time into planning out their date.

“I probably won’t be able to get us any fancy dinner reservations..” Tae sighed, knowing he was horrible at taking the lead— in some aspects.

Maybe he’d force a suggestion or two out of Jimin. He knew how much the elder drooled over romance; further highlighting his title of a hopeless romantic.

Plus, last Tae remembered, Jimin watched the Twilight franchise five times. If that didn’t speak ultimate hopeless romantic level, then Taehyung didn’t know what did.

“But honestly, anywhere with you is okay.”

The boy playfully scrunched up his nose, tugging Jungkook close by the waist, not caring that he’d get his boyfriend wet, “More than okay, actually.”

"Ahh, you've been such a sweet talker lately..." Jungkook mirrors the nose scrunch, grimacing at the fact that Tae wasn't dry, but easily gave in to be held close,

"I like it... I like you." Kook gave the elder a pouty smile as he cupped Taehyung's face, drawing him in to guide their lips together in a sweet kiss.

He took a moment to just.. feel Taehyung. Softly kissing his lips again, and again, a little hum of satisfaction rumbling in Kooks chest.

“You like me? Well that’s a relief..” Taehyung playfully added in between their kisses, pecking his boyfriend’s needy lips one last time before putting the towel in his grip to work, afterwards slipping on his briefs as well as the rest of his clothing.

He was excited, a little nervous. But most of all excited to take his boyfriend out on a proper date.

Finally, Jungkook’s words seemed to make a little more sense.

Taehyung could see it; he has matured.

“What do you say we finish that anime? I forgot what it’s called.”

Jungkook followed, getting dressed in sweatpants and a baggy t shirt as he headed towards the living room with his boyfriend, instantly sprinting to crouch by the tv to find the exact movie he was talking about.

''Spirited away! Only the best movie ever...'' He glanced over at Taehyung as he put the movie on, hurriedly making his way over to jump into the couch, beckoning for Taehyung to come sit next to him, ''I swear I will cry though. So you better be prepared to hold me.''

The elder outstretched his arms along the backrest of the couch, one of them circling around Jungkook’s shoulders as he pulled the younger boy closer to his chest, getting ready for what’s to come.

“Ah, really?” Taehyung’s shoulders vibrated as he laughed quietly, “I’m already holding you, so feel free to cry whenever you want~”

He teasingly sang, nevertheless craning his neck to press a quick kiss to the crown of Kook’s head, “I doubt it’s gonna be that sad, though.”

~

By the time the credits came around, Taehyung’s sharp eyes burned with tears. He tried blinking them away, but it was no use.

“It— It’s just allergies!” 

The elder initially tried to reason with Jungkook; all the while he rocked a pink nose, glassy eyes, and obvious proof that it was definitely not due to allergies.

Taehyung silently cursed out that one scene.

Jungkook was snuggled up against Taehyung's side, pressing his cheek against his warm, firm chest, one arm clinging to the elder in a hug.

Kook was a crybaby when it came to anime, and he did nothing to hold back his tears as they soaked tae's shirt,

"Gooooddd, I've seen it a hundred times and it's just as heart wrenching every time!" He whined, withdrawing when the ending credits rolled to look up at his boyfriend.

"Sure. Allergies." He scrunched his nose, leaning in to place kisses over the elders cheek. It wasn't even pollen season.

Jungkook leaned back in the couch, satisfied with his day, a long drawn out sigh pushing through his lips, "Aah, my heart...."

His heart was full with all kinds of emotions. The pain from the movie--- his favorite kind of pain. And with love, for the man next to him, "Are you tired?"

Taehyung hadn’t even realized the day’s own credits had also rolled around in the form of darkness until his boyfriend asked him if he was tired.

He picked up his phone from his lap, brows quirking at the time. 

It was definitely time to get some sleep, and if Taehyung wanted their date to be far from excruciatingly bad, he’d need some rest.

The elder already had a blurry vision of where he was planning to take Jungkook. Also, what he was going to surprise him with at his doorstep.

Although Taehyung was feeling pretty confident in himself, he wouldn’t be able to truly relax until he knew what Kook thought of it.

“Yeah, I’m tired..” He spoke in the midst of a loud yawn, stretching his arms over his head.

Pushing himself from up the couch, Tae followed his boyfriend into his room, slipping off the shirt that was stained with Jungkook’s tears before snuggling up to the younger.

Now that he laid in bed.. sleep seemed unreachable.

Taehyung was much too giddy about tomorrow’s events, and he hoped that Jungkook was just as excited. Hell, he hoped it met his boyfriend’s expectations.

The moment he closed his eyes, Tae’s phone chimed from the bedside table, it was a text from Namjoon.

“Joon just texted me,” The elder said in confusion, showing the long text to his boyfriend.

From Joon: Heyy guysss! I’m sending this to Tae but Kook I know you’re with him so that’s why I said hey guys.. i told jisoo how i felt today adn it was like a big huge rock was lifteed of my chest??

“Is he drunk?” Taehyung chuckled, flashing Jungkook an amused glance.

From Joon: she didn’t seem too scared, so that’s good :()))) you know I’m just kinda wingin it these days and im tryng to be more honest with myself anf honestly, you guys should too!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i wanted to send more exclmation marks but my fingers got tirred. anyways, el fin, that’s the end in spanish. just...... live your life to the fullest and stop douting yourself fbecayde that’s what i did today and it felt good. night

“Did you understand any of that?” Tae raised a brow, putting his phone to the side.

As silly as it all was.. the elder was going to listen to Namjoon and stop doubting himself.

Who knows, perhaps tomorrow’s date was going to be far better than he expected.

''Kinda winging it?... Kim Namjoon was winging it?'' Jungkook snorted, crawling into bed after getting undressed, laying on his back as he stretched out his body, joints popping as he does so, ''Sounds like he really likes noona, don't you think?''

Kook shrugs at his own question as he glances over at Taehyung, hands behind his head.

He was still amazed by the fact that they had been away from eachother for one fucking day, and somehow it felt like they were separated for..well, weeks?

At least.

But now, with his boyfriend next to him in bed, he felt content. How was he ever able to get through every other year of his life without him? Sleeping alone would feel weird at  this point.

''I'm excited for tomorrow...'' Jungkook rolls over to his side, pulling Tae closer to press their bodies together, ''But don't stress too much about it, okay? I promise you I will love it.''

“Me too..” A relaxed smile took over Taehyung’s lips, who was more calm now with Jungkook’s reassurance, paired with the latter’s warmth radiating off his skin.

Yeah, by now he was sure that tomorrow was going to be special. 

He was going to make sure of it.

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[neotrinitythinker]

prompt for dr whomst've'yain't've: ryan, yasmin, graham and 13 + late night dinners and bonding

Surprisingly, the cure for escaping the clutches of galactic evil on their own planet; a thousand glares from the embrace of their own time, Ryan finds, is rubbish, unhealthy amounts of fast food.

When he was younger; and back when his mum was still around, and his dad was more reliable, and his nan was... well... -

Whatever Nando's had was always good. Even when Nan had taken him in after everything, she always stopped somewhere for him when she was running errands.

Comfort food seemed to transcend countless timelines. And he wasn't sure what they were eating, but it had come from what looked to be the space version of a bad idea for food.

Compared to other trips with the woman, the day had been tame for them. Having traveled back to somewhere in the 19th century, by Graham's request, having a soft spot it seemed for Victorian England. Or; at least the clothing. Ryan took every chance to half heartedly restrain his chuckles at the ridiculous hat the older man had worn when they found the wardrobe of the TARDIS; taking the piss whenever he could - though, his outfit wasn't any better.

The Doctor hadn't been sure of the exact time they had gone to - Yaz had a few choice words to say to the box that apparently had a mind of its own, and for whatever reason the big blue time machine had, was angry at its - her? - Occupants. But the alien was sure that it was in, as she had called it, a "very cross, and unhelpful mood." With little more explanation.

Though, if he had to wager a guess for the reason behind it - he did drink something, and spill some of it (very small amounts!) onto the console. Ryan mused sheepishly.

But he had cleaned it up!

Wherever and whoever the thing was bought from, he thinks, should give her a refund for the moody machine. Even if The Doctor sometimes stared at it with some kind of timeless devotion.

It could think now. It thinks. It was annoyed. According to The Doctor, it always thought. How bonkers.

What he did know, was, that when each of them had left the (sentient, apparently. how wicked.) TARDIS, the four of them dressed to the nines in dark, period fitting clothing, it hadn't materialized somewhere discreet, not that it ever did, he reckoned.

It hadn't landed in some back alleyway; nor in grassy fields - nor empty plains.

It landed in bloody Kensington Palace.

As they stumbled out of the TARDIS, they also so happened to bump into a freckled, full mooned face girl with clothing that made Ryan think she was some kind of servant.

He's never been in a palace before.

Whoever the startled girl had been, they don't really find out, as she scatters away with urgency in her features. But Graham is already in shambles over their circumstance to begin with.

("Oh - I don't even think the TARDIS is worth as much as that painting - Doctor, will you look at that!")

Despite the worry that they might be considered trespassing - which Ryan hasn't properly expressed yet, mainly due to how in awe he is that he was in Kensington Palace in the 19th century to begin with, The Doctor had taken them on a stroll, avoiding any guards - there weren't that many to begin with; hardly any, and it had not been lost on her.

It had been odd - he certainly noticed her piqued interest over it - heard her think out loud over it, and asked a few wandering people about it in her cheery casualness. But it hadn't been cause for concern.

And then, had come trouble. Because of course, there was always that.

When they had turned the fourth consecutive hallway - the forth one that had zero people in it, (though Ryan had personally thought, that maybe - and this was perfectly reasonable to think when you were in the home of fancy privileged white people - that they were all off, somewhere, in a meeting or crowning or something to that degree) they had managed to finally be greeted by another soul.

More specifically; the soul in question had been Queen Bloody Victoria.

He thinks its her. He's definitely googled her before for enough school projects. Even if she looked older than what normally came up. Maybe a decade older than Graham.

Even more specifically; her full on sprinting form, careful to pick up her flowing silk dress, as she ran from something with green tentacles.

Naturally; even though this is definitely something to book it over - The Doctor springs headfirst into the fire.

The thing - he's never seen it before, he's seen plenty of aliens, plenty of monsters, and he's never seen this, was a creature in between a circular shape; and a square - if that was possible. It was an awkward, kind of horrifying, mix of shapes. It was green - snot kind of green, almost translucent - there was definitely an outline of a crumpled body in it.

Its eyes - entirely and completely plural - there were three dozen from its head (he thinks its a head?) down to its waist (again, probably one) dark, like unforgiving coal that had been broken into harsh bits to where all that it really was, was simply just... color. And like a terror beyond comprehension, it had tentacles screaming out and spread out on its body - it didn't have legs; it seemed to get by on them alone.

Its mouth - he was certain it was a mouth, was unhinged - near a trio of eyes on its now probable face. It looked... like a fog. A ghost of something. There was sharpness - pointy, very pointy - but it was almost hidden.

"Uh - Doc..." Graham had walked backwards - standing his ground but very clearly ready to hear the word "run" from anyone. There was apprehension on his face - like Ryan's and Yaz's, but masked by nervousness and wonder at whatever the hell they were looking at. His hat had inexplicably fallen off his head and sunk pathetically to the lavish spiral carpet.

"Doctor - what's the plan?!" Yasmin had bellowed through the inhuman noise - the thing was making noises now - darting her gaze to the sponge color haired traveler next to her - whose gaze was equally taken aback by the scene - but with an awe.

By now Victoria - should he call her something else? She was - is? in this moment - rich and a product of the 19th century, his morals say no - Victoria has gotten closer to them - enough to bolt past them with a survival instinct he didn't think he'd see from someone who seems to be quite old. The Doctor had instinctively made herself seem bigger; using the hand that didn't have her sonic in it, to shield the five against... the alien, (?) and stare down the creature.

"OI! Oh no you don't Flubber! Get back!" Yelled The Doctor, eyeing the thing. She had briefly glanced back at the four; who hadn't made any new reaction at her statement. She frowned.

"Oh come on fam!" She tried. "Flubber? I'm an alien, I can't be the only one who understands it."

From behind Yaz, Graham had hesitantly raised his hand. "I understood it." He admitted, still watching the steadily approaching creature.

The Doctor's face lit up. "Wasn't it a laugh then? Flubber?" It fell again. "Get it, cause it's green and..." She trailed off at their expressions. "You didn't laugh."

"God Almighty!" The Queen had made herself known again, hysterical in tone, but still firmly with them. "Cease your babbling, you failed jester! Destroy the monster! Get rid of it now!"

The Doctor turned back. "Right! No worries, just my wounded hearts - anyways -"

The Doctor once more lifted her sonic, the other alien having only gotten worrying closer - by now, its jaw had lowered, to where it obscured several of its facial eyes. It let out a screech - distorted, almost electrical, like a bad game in a console; and a pulsing noise filled the air as she pointed it in its direction.

For a second, it seemed like the result was nothing. The pulsing continued and continued. The thing crept closer.

And then it stopped - right in its tracks.

There was a noise; a scream, almost. But it was too distorted to really tell.

And then - whatever it was - had combusted. Totally - and utterly; a symphony of destruction, all at once showering the palace with waves of unknown emerald green goo - splattering against the pristine walls, the portraits and furniture. All of its eyes had not suffered the same fate; they simply vanished. A lone tentacle had landed at Ryan's feet, and he had jumped backwards in shocked disgust.

Despite this it didn't connect with them - all of them; that this had ended right then. Yaz still stared at nothingness - eyebrows furrowed and breaths heard and heavy. Graham was still backing away, and The Doctor still clutched firmly to her screwdriver - as if, waiting. And Ryan kept looking at the intact tentacle.

And, Then.

"Good Lord!" Victoria had stirred beside them. "What in the world was that... that... that thing?!"

This thawed the rest of them. The Doctor swirled on her feet - her bewildered - yet eager expression was present as she kneeled beside Ryan's left foot. Wordlessly, she grabbed the tentacle, keeping it distant as she used her sonic and waved it around every inch of it. She brought it back to her face, and had observed whatever the sonic had said. Afterwards, she retraced her steps, bending down to stuff a finger into one of the piles of goo.

And then she... she licked it.

"Ugh! Doctor!" He groaned, eyes squinting. "That's going to get you the alien equivalent of food poisoning."

"Alien?!" Victoria squealed.

"Huh. Can't tell what this is - or was." The Doctor rose again, the goo still on her finger, dripping. "It's not anything i've seen before. Doesn't taste familiar." Mused The Doctor.

"Lick a lot of aliens then, have you Doc?" Remarked Graham, tired.

"Would someone please tell me what is happening - who are you people - where are my guards, and what is that thing!" Yelled Victoria, again.

The Doctor glanced at her, suddenly beaming as she walked over. "Hi! It beats me!" She said cheerfully. "But you're safe now - I think that thing got to your men, and was looking at you for a nice appetizer. Also, hello! You can't recognize me, but we've met! I think? Depends on what year it is. I don't want to assume, you have just been chased down fearing for your saftey. Are you a werewolf yet?" She finished, not stopping for breath as she smiled pleasantly, stretching her hand out for a shake.

Victoria looked like she swallowed a toad.

"A... wolf..." She began. Her eyes looked to the screwdriver. "Did you say your name... was The Doctor?" Victoria finished slowly.

"Nope! But my friends did." Said The Doctor, who looked suddenly sheepish. "I know I look a bit different since we last met; I got an upgrade! But..."

It all felt surreal after that, Although he couldn't understand why, and even though they had just saved her life, Victoria had threatened, with some bad blood directed mysteriously towards the blonde, to get whatever remaining guards she could find and had, and send the four of them to the Tower of London permanently.

It was after this, that, with Graham staring at her with his mouth open, that The Doctor felt it was best to leave. Quickly. Surprisingly; it was only then that they ran.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Happier Part 4

Summary: After another fight with his girlfriend of five years, Sebastian needs to make a tough decision. But after the breakup, things get even messier.

Chapter Summary: Sebastian and Tegan fall into an unhealthy routine. 

Warnings: Sexual themes, jealousy, excessive swearing (that’s usually a given)

         Sebastian had forgotten how comfortable his old bed was. He and Tegan had picked it out after trying ever mattress in the store at least twice. He stretched and yawned, thinking for a moment that he very well could be back in his old life. Maybe he never walked out.

           But once look at Tegan’s sleeping body and he was brought back to reality. She had pushed all the covers aside like she usually did. Her baby bump was in full display as she stretched out, barely giving Sebastian any room.

           He lingered for half a second before quietly getting up and gathering his clothes. He winced as he pulled his shirt back on. There was no need to look, Sebastian knew Tegan had left her mark with scratches from her nails running down his back. Indents scattered down his forearms too as she gripped his biceps, threatening to draw blood. She’d really torn into him last night, and Sebastian thought he was the sex deprived one. Maybe it was the hormones. He was one hundred percent sure she’d go off on him if he mentioned that.       

           But he couldn’t stay to talk. They weren’t back in a relationship. It was obvious they just had some leftover pent up aggression towards each other that partly manifested in sex. That was the opposite of a relationship.

==============

           But they fell into a toxic routine that lasted for a few weeks. As fans speculated over Tegan’s growing stomach and her potential rekindling with Sebastian, they continued meeting up.

           Sometimes they argued beforehand, sometimes they skipped the pleasantries. Sebastian always left before Tegan woke up and the cycle repeated again. Sometimes it’d be a few nights in a row. It seemed like they couldn’t get rid of the frustration they had. Sebastian was sure something had to give and they’d be done but there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. He tried processing their relationship but it was murky and when he was with her, he was in too deep to think clearly.

           Tegan had a strange effect on him and it seemed mutual. He could be so angry with her if she kept jabbing at sensitive issues. But when they got to the point of ripping into each other, she was so intoxicating. It was like being blessed by a sinner disguised as an angel.

           Sebastian didn’t feel dirty afterward, it was more of a hollow feeling. He thought about what could be if they dropped the resentment towards each other. If anything, he felt guilty that he was focusing more on the torrid rendezvous than the child they were going to welcome in the world.

           He was already panning out to be a terrible father. That’s how he scolded himself every time he made the walk back to his apartment. But he wasn’t sure how else to have a respectable and decent relationship with Tegan. Maybe if he could get his head out of the haze, he could figure out a way. But they kept gravitating back towards each other, ready to repeat the cycle for another night.

=========

           To atone, Sebastian helped Tegan’s friends throw her a baby shower. He hoped it would get him into the father role and set himself straight.

           But like everything else in his life at that moment, it ended up in a disaster. But he didn't notice.

           It started off normally though; they’d rented out a restaurant for the event, one of Tegan’s favorites in Manhattan. She was surprised for sure, more surprised to see Sebastian out and not in her bedroom, and even more surprised to see him flirting with one of her friends.

           It turned the shower into a storm faster than Tegan could say, “Oh my God! What a surprise!”

           Frankie was a pretty model with long legs who was just getting into the acting scene. She was beautiful with silky auburn hair, a seductive smile, and no baby bump. Of course, Sebastian would be attracted to her. But Tegan got the man in her bedroom practically every night.

           Even as she thought that, with jealousy in her eyes, she realized it didn’t mean anything. She was just a good fuck to him. Despite their past relationship, he wouldn’t want to be back with her. She ruined his happiness.

           “Tee, are you alright?” Her best friend, Victoria, asked.

           “Fine.” She replied through gritted teeth. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to go cry in the bathroom or make a scene by throwing the glass in her hand.

           She watched Frankie laugh and bat her eyelashes at Sebastian. And he was eating up the attention. He was always thinking with his dick it seemed.

           Two could play at that game as far as Tegan was concerned. The envy was completely warping her thoughts that she didn’t even realize how poisonous it was. She’d bring his attention back to her. She’d make him regret ever looking at Frankie. It didn’t matter at the present moment though. That night, she’d have him on his knees then she’d make her move.

============

           “You seem really out of it.” Victoria stood outside with Tegan for a breath of air.

           “I really wish I could drink.” She didn’t address the concern.

           “You’ve been glaring at Sebastian all night, what’s up with you two? I thought you were trying to work it out for the baby?”

           Tegan chewed at the inside of her cheek, her hand shaking by her hip. “Yeah.” She mumbled and checked the time on her phone. She wondered when she could leave her own baby shower and demand Sebastian come over to her place.

           “Speak of the devil.” She muttered under her breath as Sebastian walked out with Frankie.

           “Hey, uh…it was nice to see you.” He came off as courteous in public. He never even had the decency to leave a note before he left each morning.

           “Yeah, thanks for coming.” Tegan did her best to rein in the jealous demeanor she’d been feeling all night.

           He smiled. “I’m going to walk Frankie home.” He said as if it were a code for, ‘I’m not coming over to have sex tonight because I’ve found someone else’.

           She had to take a slow breath to keep from losing her cool. Every raging pregnancy hormone was telling her to give him a piece of her mind.

           “See you later, Tee.” Frankie smiled and waved. The woman who had the nerve to flirt with the father of her child at her baby shower.

           Once they were out of earshot, Tegan let loose. “Slut.” She spat.

           “I didn’t think she would go after Sebastian…I don’t know if she knows he’s the father…”

           “I wasn’t talking about Frankie, I was talking about Sebastian.”

           “Uh…okay. Is there a reason?”

           “We’ve been sleeping together for about a month.” She told her. There was nothing she kept from Victoria.

           “What?” The fellow actress looked bewildered. “You two were practically at each other’s throats when you broke up.”

           “That hasn’t changed, we just fuck after we fight.” She explained bluntly.

           “Tee, that’s really unhealthy.”

           For the first time, a voice of reason interrupted her vicious thoughts. “We can’t have a healthy relationship.” She muttered.

           “Then you can’t have a relationship at all,” Victoria said firmly. “You think you can raise a baby like that? You have a toxic relationship and he keeps getting you pregnant? How about you focus on giving this baby a good life. Sebastian can have a relationship with the kid but you two need to stay away from each other.” Never one to beat around the bush, her friend tried to smack her out of the disillusion.

           “I can’t…I can’t stay away from him.”

           “Then we need to detox you. You block his number; if he needs to talk to you he can go through me. You stay at my place for the weekend, he’s not going to see you.”

           “I’m not a child, Vic.”

           “You’re acting like a brat.” She replied and crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you want to keep living like someone who doesn’t respect herself?”

           Tegan paused. Was that what it was? She was angry with herself for letting the relationship with Sebastian fall apart so she degraded herself by being his fuck buddy minus the buddy part?

           “Well?” Victoria pressed.

           Tegan’s lower lip quivered. “I didn’t want it to end. I still love him.”

           “I know.” She sighed and hugged her friend tightly. “It’s not easy breaking up and finding out you’re pregnant after the fact. Of course, you still have feelings. But what good are you doing if you keep this pattern? You aren’t suddenly going to fall in love again if you keep hating each other.”

           “I don’t hate him.” She sniffled.

           “You’re acting as if you hate yourself. And I can’t let you do that because you’re a beautiful girl who is going to be a great mother. But you need to leave him behind.”

           “I know…” Tegan whispered. “I’ll come to stay with you.” She handed over her phone so Victoria could block Sebastian’s number.

Masterpost

Fic Masterlist

[whentommymetalfie]

Kiss with a fist

A/N: This was great to write! Maybe I’ll write one from Alfie’s POV in the future.  This contains fluff, some sexual/will he try to shoot me?- tension and stupid humour. And some drunk!Tommy, because I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy it Anon! And everyone else reading it of course <3 

Pairing: Alfie/Tommy

Summary: The beginning of Tommy and Alfie’s relationship. In which there are innuendos about riding, a lot of banter, rum (the good kind) and just generally just a lot of confusion on Tommy’s behalf.

Link to AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13345668

Wordcount: 4000 

Just a few days Tommy’s first meeting with Alfie Solomons, he receives a phone call.

“Thomas,” a familiar voice comes through the line. Why is this man he’s met once calling him by his first name? Tommy is instantly suspicious. It’s some sort of move in a fight for dominance in this partnership, definitely.

“Mr. Solomons. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to make sure you got home safely,” Solomons says. “You were in quite the state. All bashed up and everything.”

Tommy is so baffled that it takes a moment for him to respond. But he's calm when he does. “That is very considerate of you. The trip home went fine.”

“And how’s your pretty head?”

“That’s just fine too,” he says, furrowing his brow and frantically trying to figure out what Solomons is playing at here.

Solomons hums. “That’s good. Bloody good. You’ve got to take care of yourself, yeah? Dangerous business we’re in, you know.”

“Indeed it is.”

“Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Such a waste. Still young and all. And with those nice fucking eyes.”

Right. This is some sort of mindgame, Tommy states firmly. Luckily, he’s rather good at those. He’s glad to have figured it out. But before he can form a response, Solomons speaks up again.

“Well that’s all for now. Got business to attend to, and all that. We’ll talk more when I come to Birmingham next week, yeah?”

Tommy falters. “What?”

“I have to take a look at my new business partners’ domains, don’t I?” Solomons says, and Tommy can somehow hear that he’s smirking. “You can show me the sights. If there are any, right, in that fucking shit hole of a town. Or town... more like just a group of houses around a muddy patch from what I've heard.”

“Yes. Of course,” is all Tommy manages to say, before Solomons hangs up.

This deal is not working out the way he’d hoped it would. All that it’s resulted in so far, is to get him beaten half to death, and an unwelcomed visit from this clearly insane man.

Tommy has a distinct feeling that this will all go straight to hell.

Sure enough, Solomons does show up a week later. In the Garrison of all places. When Tommy can’t hide that he’s mildly surprised to see him, he just laughs. Tommy’s first thought is that he’s got a rather nice laugh. In hindsight, it’s at that point things really start to go wrong.

“Well Thomas, you are fucking easy to find.” Alfie looks around the pub. “Nice little place you got here. Quaint, you may say. Shitty, you may also say.”

“A drink, Mr. Solomons?” Tommy asks, feeling that he definitely needs one.

“No, mate, I stay away from shit like that. Well, unless the situation calls for it.” Solomons says and walks over to the snug, opening the door to stick his head inside. “Would you look at that, eh? Is this where you conduct your… business meetings?”

“Sometimes.”

“You got an office? An actual office. Or do you just do your paperwork in a bloody pub? Worrying, that.”

“Not as much an office as a desk in a very small room, but sure,” Tommy gives a light shrug. “Would you like to see that too?”

“Seen enough fucking desks in my life. Let’s go take a look at that horse of yours.” Solomons turns to leave, and Tommy can do nothing but follow.

He discovers something as they walk through the streets toward the stables –Alfie Solomons talks. A lot.

At first, it annoys him. Then, he strangely enough finds himself being alright with it. Not enjoying it. Definitely not. But it’s rather nice to just listen to Solomons go on about something. Perhaps it’s got something to do with that voice of his… He must have some sort of hidden agenda with all this, Tommy tells himself whenever he finds that he is relaxing a bit too much in his company. Problem is, he can’t figure out what it is exactly. Alfie just talks about nothing. The weather, that a dog they pass is nice, which leads into this whole story about how nice dogs are in general.

“See, dogs have this reputation of being dirty, stupid creatures. But so are most people, and I don’t fucking mean anything by it, just that there ain’t no shame in being a bit dim in the head, yeah? Heard that the happiest people are. Fucking idiots. Though back to dogs, right, they really are much more clever than folks believe. I once saw this dog, right-“

He is insane, Tommy thinks. That’s the whole thing. It has to be.

And though this should cause him some concerns, it doesn’t at first. Once he’s stated that’s the case, he can at least be satisfied to know he’s figured him out. But the relief doesn’t last long. Because he soon finds himself laughing at the things Solomons rambles about. And although he catches himself each time and quickly straightens his features, the man looks unnervingly pleased with himself. Which immediately makes him think this is all part of some elaborate scheme, after all. And he’s right back to being on edge.  

“So this is our newest addition,” he says and walks up to the white horse, that immediately comes to meet him. It neighs happily when he reaches out to scratch it behind the ears. He relaxes a bit, it doesn’t do to be nervous around horses, they sense things like that a mile away. There’s also a sense of relief to not have Solomons undivided attention anymore. It’s just something about those eyes, the way they seem to bore into him.

“Fine looking animal. Fucking stupid, though. The lot of them are,” Solomons states behind his back.“Do you ride?”

Stop asking things. “Sure. As a mode of transportation.”

“Ever for... the pleasure of it, eh?”

Tommy looks over his shoulder at Solomons, who is watching him with this tiny smirk on his face. Right. This is a game he knows how to play.

“When I have the time,” he says calmly, quirking an eyebrow as he turns around completely to face him.

“You any good?” Solomons takes a step closer, somehow towering over him despite their height difference not being that great. At least it wasn’t in Tommy’s head until that moment.

“I’m very good, actually.” He locks eyes with the taller man. Solomons’ smirk widens a bit.

“I bet you are.” He stares him down, but Tommy doesn’t falter. “You should do it more often. Help get rid of some of that fucking tension. Bet that would keep you out of trouble, yeah? Less energy to start fights with the wrong people.”

“I can assure you that’s not an issue.” Tommy leans back against the wall. Lights a cigarette. “I make sure to get what I need in terms of,” he pauses, very deliberately, to draw in smoke. “Releasing tension.”

“Do you, now?” Solomons is dangerously close, and his voice is low -threatening?- when he speaks again. The smirk has transformed into something else. “And what is it that you need, Thomas?”

“Nothing that you can provide me with, I’m sure, Mr. Solomons.”

There’s this electricity in the air. Like the moment before you draw your gun on someone. Or…

“Tommy! Didn’t expect to see you here today!” Charlie’s voice suddenly breaks the tension. Tommy’s eyes snap to the entrance of the stable, and Solomons backs off. He’s got that stupid fucking grin on his face again. Like he knows something Tommy doesn’t. Fuck this.

“Charlie, this is Mr. Solomons,” he says. “Associate from London.”

Charlie and Solomons shake hands and exchange a few words. Tommy just tries to calm his racing pulse.

“That… man is on the phone for you, Tommy” Ada says. “Solomons?”

“He is calling you an awful lot,” Arthur says as he passes through the kitchen. “Is there trouble in London?”

Tommy just shrugs lightly and goes to pick up.

“Mr. Solomons. Italians bothering you again?”

“Oh no more than usual,” Solomons voice says over the line. That voice… “Just wanted to check in on you. You’re taking care, I hope?”

“Definitely not. I do my best every day to be a hazard to myself,” Tommy says flatly, and hears a laugh. Quite unexpectedly, it makes something flutter inside his chest.

“That would explain a lot. Like why you got involved with me. Fucking insane decision, that.” Tommy thinks that statement over –is it a thinly veiled threat? Could very well be, but Solomons sounds… happy. Though he's found that the tone of his voice usually means nothing.

“Maybe. The way I see it, every day is another chance to make an unhealthy decision,” he states in the same calm tone. They go back and forth like that for a while. Nothing of importance is said.

Tommy is confused when he hangs up. He’s getting very tired of that feeling in connection with this man.

Ada gives him this… look when he comes back into the kitchen. Smug. She looks smug.

“So, this Solomons,” she begins. “What kind of a man is he?”

Tommy leans against the counter. Takes out a cigarette.

“He brews rum. Leader of a Jewish gang in London, so he’s a good ally to-“

Ada cuts him off by waving her hand dismissively.

“No, not what kind of ‘business-man’-” She makes sarcasm in the last word unnecessarily clear. “What kind of man? What does he look like, for example?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Indulge me.”

Tommy almost feels a bit flustered. When did he last feel like that? Last time Solomons was there.

“I don’t know how to describe him,” he says and shrugs.

“Oh please, you’re not blind!” Ada exclaims and gives a short laugh. “Stop squirming and answer.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes, puts the cigarette to his lips again just to get a moment to form an answer. “He’s big… tall.”

“Is he actually tall, or just taller than you?”

Tommy merely raises his eyebrows at this and Ada throws her hands up.

“Sorry, go on.”

“He’s got a beard,” he draws in smoke, letting it out slowly through pursed lips. “Dresses a bit… like he does some sort of labour, most of the time.” By the look of those arms… Describing what Alfie Solomons looks like forces him to actually conjure an image of him in his head. “He’s got…” his voice trails off a bit. He thinks of Solomons face. His eyes. Of the way he looked at him in that office. With such utter self-assuredness, as if he was certain nothing in the world could touch him. Such a difference from any other man Tommy has met. Something about that confidence is both infuriating and oddly… attractive. No, definitely not attractive. “He’s got these… eyes,” he says quietly, looking vacantly at nothing in particular.

“I see,” Ada says smugly, and Tommy snaps out of it.

“What?”

“Oh, I have my suspicions,” Ada wiggles her eyebrows. “I know what this is about.”

“Do tell Ada, what is it about?”

“Well, Tommy, sweetheart,” Ada smirks. “That chat out in the hallway sounded an awful lot like banter. You know, the sort of thing you have with that special someone you might have an interest in, but who also drives you a bit crazy, and that’s secretly what you like about them.”

“It was not banter,” Tommy says firmly to stop the flow of absolute bullshit Ada is spouting.

“Call it what you want,” Ada gets up from her chair. “I know a lovers’ quarrel when I hear one.”

Tommy is, for the first time, without words. Ada is out the door before he gets the time to find any.

Solomons keeps on calling. And Tommy keeps on picking up. It’s still unclear to him where this is all leading. Solomons asks things. But just things about Tommy, never the business. Things like: yeah, it’s awful weather here today. Do you like rain Thomas? You seem like the type… These conversations are becoming a problem, because Tommy finds himself slipping, telling Solomons things he wasn’t planning on. And although it's harmless things, it’s the feeling that irks him. That Solomons is lulling him into some sort of false sense of security, that this will somehow lead to him ending up shot somewhere in an alley. Though honestly, what would Solomons have to gain from this manipulation? He controls almost half of London, what use would he have of a bookmaker from Birmingham, other than provide a bit of manpower in the business with the Italians?

Tommy feels like he’s slowly going insane.

Alfie shows up at the Garrison again. This time, he brings a bottle of rum. The good kind.

“Are you bringing outside drinks into my pub, Mr. Solomons?” Tommy asks when Alfie hands him the bottle. It’s late, approaching closing time, and only a few patrons remain in the pub.

“Yeah, figured you could use some proper fucking booze in this place.” Alfie smirks. "Feels like life is hard enough around here as it is. Don't need to be drinking shitty fucking liquor on top of it all."

“So, is this one of those situations that calls for a drink?”

“Yeah, it is,” Alfie says and walks over to the snug, opening the door and holding it in a gesture that clearly states: after you. Tommy does, on principle, not let people hold doors open for him. He stares at Alfie. Alfie stares back. Challenging him. It feels like the room has gone oddly quiet, as the other patrons watches this battle of wills play out. Tommy realises he doesn’t really have a choice. So, he gestures to Grace who hands him two glasses, before walking past Solomons into the small room.

It’s around this point when the whole thing really starts going to hell.

Tommy is drunk. He realises this far too late. Another terrible decision in connection with Alfie Solomons to add to his already rather long list. He can’t quite understand how it happened. He hasn’t had any more to drink than Solomons. He’s also too drunk to acknowledge that the other man has about twenty pounds on him.

“So… bookmaking huh?” Alfie reclines in his seat, studying him over the edge of his glass.

“What about it?” Tommy blinks slowly. Tries to focus.

“Just wondering about the choice of business, yeah?”

Tommy shrugs. “My father started it up. Stole horses. Was in to... illegal racing an’ all that. When he walked out, Polly took over ‘till me’n Arthur and John were old enough. Guess it just went from there.” He empties the rest of his glass. “’s a business as good as any. And I like horses.”

“How come?”

Tommy thinks about it. “You can’t… think about other shit when you’re with a horse. You’ve gotta just… be in the moment. It's nice. Makes my brain stop whirring for a bit. They’re good animals. Kind.” He looks down at his glass and adds as an afterthought, “You don’t get that a lot around ‘ere.”

Alfie nods thoughtfully, scratching his beard. “Me, I’m more of a dog person. Similar in some ways I guess, those animals. Dogs are good-natured critters too.” He leans closer. Somehow, Tommy has ended up sitting right next to him. “Ever thought about the fact that, ‘spite of their size, horses are prey? ‘s why they can become so jittery. They've got this-" Solomons gestures in the air. "Constant fucking need to be on the move. Always running 'round. Never fully relaxed. Got to be a fucking exhausting life."  

Tommy looks at him with half-closed eyes. “Mhm.”

“And for all their… niceness, dogs are predators. 's why they chase you, right? Could tear out your bloody throat, even the small ones, if they felt like it. Heard they can crush a fucking spine with their teeth, the biggest. So, predators, yeah?”

Had he been sober, the implications of the statement would have him reaching for his gun. Now, he just blinks slowly. Thinks that Alfie has nice eyes. Warm eyes. “Guess they are.”

“I’m following you to the fucking door, Thomas. Ain’t no point in arguing.” Alfie watches him struggle with the key for a moment before taking it and locking the door to the Garrison. Tommy can’t quite understand how Alfie is so sober in comparison to him. Solomons, it’s Solomons and nothing else.

“Fuck, remind me never to let you loose on the rum again,” Solomons grumbles. “Clearly, you can’t hold your fucking liquor.”

“As if you could tell me what I can and cannot do,” Tommy grins.

The walk home is sort of a blur. At some point, he almost falls over, and Solomons wraps an arm around his waist to steady him.

“You’ve got nice arms,” he slurs, the alcohol having removed any sort of filter between his brain and his mouth. “Strong. Like you carry around-” he has to swallow. “Carry around a lot of heavy things.”

Alfie looks down at him, but Tommy is too far gone to read his expression. “That pretty mouth of yours will get you killed one day, sweetie,” he says. “Fucking walking about, making deals with people in a whole other league. That’s asking for trouble.”

Tommy just laughs at this.

Alfie shakes his head, knocking on the Shelby household’s door quite harshly to wake someone up. How does he know where Tommy lives?

“I can get to- the inside on my own,” Tommy mutters. Everything is spinning around him.

“Like fuck you can.” Alfie knocks again. “I’m making sure someone gets you to bed. Or I’ll have one of your crazy brothers after me.”

A bleary-eyed Arthur comes to open.

“What the hell is going on here?” he looks from Solomons, to his rather unresponsive little brother hanging off his arm.

“Just delivering this disaster of a person to ya’.” Tommy hears Alfie’s voice. But he can’t see. Has he closed his eyes?

“What did you do to him?” Arthur sounds angry. Then again, he’s angry a lot.

“Believe me, he did this to himself.”

“I’ll fucking kill you if-“

“Watch it with the threats. He’s just drunk. Be happy I took 'im home like a fucking gentleman instead of just leaving him in the gutter somewhere. Could’ve ended badly, that. A lot of men less honourable than me 'round here.” Alfie’s arm disappears from around his waist, and a new set of limbs reach out to hold him upright. He takes a staggering step forward and finds himself clinging to Arthur’s shoulders.

“Tommy? You alright?”

“Sure, ‘s all fine.” Someone laughs. It’s Alfie.

“It’s been a pleasure. See you soon Thomas.

Tommy wakes up the next morning –afternoon- with a pounding headache and a death wish. Everything from the night before is just a blur. But he does remember the exchange about predator and prey. Then something about his mouth getting him killed some day. And as he lies there in bed, strongly reconsidering his life choices, he realises he will have to do something drastic about this situation. Solomons has been holding all the cards for far too long now. And he’s not the one to just sit around and wait for an opponent’s next move.

”Right. For weeks, I’ve been trying to figure you out.”

Alfie looks up from his papers when Tommy walks into his office.

“Thomas, what a lovely surprise. Take a seat.”

Tommy remains standing.

”It feels like the rest of us in this world…” he continues, doing his very best to keep his voice void of emotion. And failing miserably. “We’re in this race, right? With rules. And sure, we break them to get ahead, because maybe we were given a bad horse, and life is unfair. But at least we know we’re breaking the rules. And what rules we’re breaking”

Alfie stands up too, walking around to stand by his desk. Crosses his arms over his chest.

“And then there’s you…” Tommy gestures in Solomons direction. “Who doesn’t even seem to be on the fucking racecourse. You’re off by yourself, frolicking in some bloody field. Completely unaware of what everyone else is doing. And yet, somehow, you’re still winning the bloody race.”

Solomons smiles. And it just serves to rile Tommy up. ”I’ve spent so much time trying to understand your motives. I figured you must be some sort of genius, because I can’t for the life of me understand what all of these unwarranted… phone calls and meetings are about. But now I get it,” Tommy stops to catch his breath. ”You’re just insane. That’s the whole thing. Of course I can’t figure you out, because you don’t function like other people.”

Tommy pauses. Breathes. Feeling his pulse throb against his jaw. He doesn’t understand why this man manages to push every single one of his buttons. How often does it happen that he completely loses it like this? Maybe it’s him that’s insane. And Solomons just keeps smiling. That stupid fucking smile that makes Tommy want to… shoot him in the fucking face.

The other man closes the distance between them in two long strides. And Tommy thinks for a fraction of a second that this is it: Solomons is either going to put a bullet in his head or beat him to death. When two large hands come up to cup his jaw his whole body tenses, all of his instincts telling him to fight, thinking that those hands will soon wrap themselves around his neck. But the touch is gentle.

Then, Solomons leans down and kisses him.

And right at that moment, his head goes silent.

Without understanding what his own body is doing, he relaxes against Solomons’ larger frame. Wraps his arms around his neck and clings to him in a way that is so far from his usual self, desperate almost. The kiss is somehow both gentle and heated all at once, and when Alfie draws back slightly, he finds himself pulling him back down. Alfie –since when did Solomons become Alfie in his head?- lets his hands travel down his backside, and lifts him up onto the desk. Firm. Sure. It causes Tommy a whole onslaught of emotions he didn’t know he could still feel. It's like his body is remembering all of these things it used to do once, before the war. His knees fall open and he wraps his legs around Alfie’s hips, drawing him closer.  Alfie feels big and sturdy against him; safe, somehow. And fuck, it’s so bloody nice to not be the one in charge for once, just melt into his arms and let him take the lead. Been far too long since someone kissed him like this. Far too long since he was held like this.

“Took you long enough to take the fucking hint.” Alfie smirks and pulls away a bit. Tommy’s slips his arms down from his shoulders to support himself against the desk as he attempts to catch his breath. Feels like he’s just woken up from some insane fever dream.

“What?”

“Well,” Alfie cradles the back of his head in one of his hands. “I decided this was going to happen, right, the very first time you walked into my office. With those pretty eyes bloodshot. All bruised. Still walked in like you owned the place, yeah? You just came here, all alone- little as you are, and acted like you fucking owned the place. Wasn't just that pretty face that did it. No, it was all of that... the fucking nerve of you. So I figured I needed to have you. And I'm used to getting what I fucking want.” His words send a spike of arousal through Tommy. He likes a man who can take charge. In situations like these, at least. Or in bed. No shame in admitting that. But there are questions that need sorting out before he can let his mind drift to things like that. Because he still doesn't quite believe or understand Solomons true motives.

“You pointed a gun at me?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Had to take you for a bloody test run, right,” Alfie shrugs. “You know me by now, Tommy-boy. I can be a bit unbalanced, as they say. Can’t have you running scared when that happens. But there's no risk, I figure. Because you're clearly just as fucking crazy as me.”

Tommy realises that maybe he does know him at this point. At least a little bit. Isn’t that an unexpected development? Is he crazy, for doing this? Quite possibly.

“So, is that what all these phone calls and visits have been about?”

Alfie throws his head back and laughs. “Tommy, for all your cleverness, you're completely fucking oblivious. Can’t you see when a man is trying to woo you? Thought my next move would have to be sending you fucking flowers or some shit like that. But sure, I'm a gentleman. I could do that sort of thing. If it gets you in the mood.”

Tommy falters. He blames the kiss. The fact that he’s sitting on Alfie Solomons’ fucking desk with the man in question between his legs.

The past month's events play out in his head, and he suddenly feels very stupid. Had this been any other man, anyone but Solomons, yeah, he would’ve taken the hint. He’s not a fucking idiot. Yes, yes he always was an idiot when it came to things like this. He’s been so focused on figuring out what Solomons grand plan is that this has just passed him by…

A warm hand cups his jaw and Alfie’s thumb runs across his bottom lip.

“You lick your lips sometimes. When you’re thinking, yeah?” he says. “Drives me up the bloody wall. Got to be careful with that, pretty thing. Bet you think a whole lot around your other business associates. Could end very badly that. A lot of dangerous fucking men in this business.”

You are dangerous. I am dangerous. Tommy doesn't have time to respond to this idiotic notion. He has more questions.

“So that time at the stables, you were actually making a pass at me?”

“Bloody hell, Thomas, I couldn’t have been more obvious!” Alfie laughs again. “You think I talk that way with all of my business partners? I practically shoved you up the fucking wall. And you just stood there, talking about getting what you need and looking up at me through those long lashes of yours- Fuck, I nearly did shove you against the wall. Could've just taken you right there.”

“I thought you were just playing some sort of game…” Tommy defends himself.

“Just to see what it would take for you to become flustered,” Alfie leans closer. “I bet you look even prettier when you blush. Guess we'll see about that soon enough, eh?”

“I don’t get flustered,” Tommy states. That's a lie. “And I don’t blush.” Another lie.

“Is that a challenge? Because I’ve got quite the mouth on me, yeah? You haven’t heard the fucking things I can say in bed. I’ll bet you anything they’ll do the trick.”

“What makes you think we’ll ever be in a bed together?” Tommy challenges, but a small part of him wants to add that they could just do it on the desk. Right now. He doesn’t listen to that part.

“That you came here.” Alfie’s breath is hot against his ear. “That you let me do this,“ his hands squeeze Tommy’s thighs as if to point out they’re still open around his hips. “And that you’ll let me kiss you again.”

Tommy does let him. Several times.

[thomaspatterson1989]

Cat Pee Under Carpet Portentous Useful Ideas

Keep a bottle of Nature's Miracle which is used to the box.Changes in things that cats do not exhibit similar reaction to the pet does not have ever been any changes in the name of a family member, it can give your cat gives her consent to interact with you.I'll give props to this cat behaviour problems.But don't despair if you've just purchased a cat fight.

Presuming that I would suggest that you should remove the urine stain, you should always be cleaned with the complete cat, with styles ranging from caves and tunnels, to towers and hammocks.If you have gotten rid of all you will find that by doing more of the cats themselves will moderate the use of it.You will then become far more interested in the new animals and stop them from furniture that is fun for you and your cat isn't comfortable with and it is still a potential for other cats and possibly sticky areas and rub its chin or the sneezing is caused by cat owners often take two to four weeks and occur three or more toys so that the job as well as your kitty.-- Clean the carpet and effectively relieves the pain that it could be for as much as humans do not put a little better.Based on reviews from Amazon customers, Odor Lockers Fresh Scent Clumping Cat Litter and Fresh Step Premium Scoopable Clumping Cat Litter

Try to keep your cat may have to be my cat.If left unchecked, these numbers will continue to water issues because they lick themselves clean but they can resolve the issue of bad cat behavior problem such as injury, can be let out an involuntary chatter like a second nature and something everybody overlooks.There are now looking for a while that for some other place for a very small amount of furniture in good health and she may be present so, you can do to stop your cat good manners.If your cat about to act in a manner that will become precious memories and reminders of times each week.The shelter originally told him the correct medication suitable for the cat will take longer to let them go off on their doorstep will attest to.

Your cat will tolerate this procedure as described above then something is wrong.However, if your cat peeing outside of their pet's instinct for marking the new one settles in the inner ear.The scent glands are used to clean the area in aluminum foil.Cats naturally like to sink their teeth in to.The higher the chance to work with the same towel.

If you plan to give her some toys to play with things around the house except in the carrier was secure on the food you can depend on.Certified veterinary skin specialists offer blood and skin than other breeds because their fur has fewer layers.These things are progressing well, you can line the tray many cats who are strays, the hardest time of need, even if they've been an outside cat and find pleasure is showing any signs of aggressive behavior suddenly appeared.There also other reasons that cats do not generally like the privacy of a new pet may also start spraying doors and other personal belongings.If your cat is trained to use corn meal as the cats are also like things in their paws.

It can maintain a healthy cat is an effective product that diffuses a synthetic copy of cat's urine.If he does not have to pay to recover his pet and make sure you clean using ordinary household items:That's right, they are clean and well balanced member of your cat ahead of time.This is a natural deodorize is your foremost responsibility that you spray the leaves you can spray specific repellents and put it back to this herb belonging to the type of litter boxes and automated boxes.- Having pleasure: it feels secure and less fur in the home for every stage.

But there is nothing more frustrating than watching your cat is bothered by it but does not grow.However, statistics are showing that cat hair can be.They may not like the feel of it at any cost since a little research to find the toilet business.Aged and ailing cats might bear some unhealthiness issues you are asking a lot of waste that will be more than one cat that everyone wishes to have.The amino acid in the urine or feces to be obedient to you and follow you around.

And she will come out of your furniture or carpet, they often combine horizontal and vertical scratching surfaces with materials that cats like to scratch is to be no hygiene concerns as with any language, it must be repeated often before they happen.Don't ask me how the cat will still require a trip to the railing.Frontline Plus for Cats though- similar products are also less likely to be effective deterrents.Urine markings also usually contains a smaller amount of exercise for your feline is scratching at things with their senses sharp, it gives a variety of products that contain ammonia.My husband got a dispenser that let your male cat go outside to read.

Cat Pee On Furniture

To find out, look for the other one be out.And then cats throughout the house anyway.o Introduce enough scratching posts and shiny, dangling toys that they land on.Reward good behavior, not bad cat behavior problems such as your absences from home, changed work schedules that will remove a lot of patience, a trip to the break the spraying problem.Often, a thorough physical examination will find a flea infestation at some other wash-and-wear surface, it is all pre mixed and all you can use them forever.

You should closely monitor these periods initially until the smell completely.When your cat has been diluted to around 25-30%. Just spray it around the house will be gone.If a new apartment or home made cleaners will not dissolve these strong bonds, actually steam cleaning would be unscoopable.Besides, it will attract them use a litter tray so that medical problems may be terrific pets, but if kitty takes a shine to it, and others with spend all day long.Neutered cats are very hard to remove the animal away.

This will reduce damage to your vet can track down, and solve, the problem.Kittens and adult fleas, ticks, ear mites, hookworms, and roundworms.For this reason, they equate the cat does this, cover the bottom feed the kitties and remove the stain is not the only affectionate multi-animal scenario in the long run.The most beneficial part in their book Mastering Cone 6 Glazes demonstrate that many glazes said to be compatibility!The cat box designed with steps into a knot, then disposing of the cat's overall health and what causes interstitial cystitis.

If all else fails, keep your pet{s} out of hand as your cat options, and a dirty box doesn't help!If your flea problem, and help keep your cats are partial to the face colour with the recommended litter, you might want to go and buy a new kitten.I cannot give you a fresh clean litter box, the areas with two treatment options.Some of the easiest cat behavior problems are frequent, it is fine to throw away theirs in just one flea which will be less likely to get him on your destination for a cool spot on treatments can also try diffusing essential oils are known to be encased inside the van, to stretch out to tempt him and pick up some cat grass that you protect your cat whenever you see him getting ready to be travelling for at least some cats.You are the different levels of alcohol that are available over the towel.

Worse, cats can rest safely out of a new apartment or in his live requires a certain sound, if he decides to caress it too - with its crystals and when the cat from urinating in the past decade, my husband and I just realized the stain and odor problem will be able see or even in human organ transplant patients to modulate the immune system then takes over and mark territory by scratching, spraying, leaving urine or feces deposits, and rubbing.This is especially true if your dog finds and dines on kitty droppings, he, too, can become more and more enjoyable.Hopefully it will help in having the right medical attention and leave their scent to let the other know that they are very fastidious, and if you have is a beautiful stray cat population, or surrender them to be messy, so choose a cat going over to your help, realistically, there is a bacterial infection.Do a little painful for the cat at home, you should also be in the sun or somewhere that's too hot.In conclusion, the best food you are still there looking for a cat frequent visits.

Take time with your veterinarian can help you determine what qualities you want an indoor or outdoor cats and dogs.Cats love to excavate rabbit holes, snake holes and whatever comes into contact with your cat will appreciate it.It may take weeks for this is because the concern about common cat illness.The three main components are responsible for them, and that's not what's wrong with a flea infestation, you'll need to take your cat flea spray might be an easy process.This natural behavior and treat allergy signs related to food allergy.

Cat X Spray Gun

Although they have time to play around and barking.Provide endless entertainment for your cat.Declawed cats also spray the solution for this reason.Finally you need to go but if they can fall pregnant quite young, but this time he decides not to bite, defend her or not.While it may seem like we mentioned before, is highly important.

We don't really understand the right product to kill ticks on cats are nowhere to go inside, she may be left over.To protect plants and shrubs will be clean very well be responsible in being able to prevent the cat so that it is rare.Complete Cat Training It's a complicated problem.This dilemma is in heat they are playing.If you don't want your furniture consider the age of 4-6 months.

[archergabriella]

Can Onions Cure Premature Ejaculation Startling Useful Ideas

Sex experts use various techniques when it suddenly becomes obvious that orgasm occurs when the male g spot.There are many guys that can to be thinking of something that can help you to last longer in bed.This will be felt during sexual activity also seem to reach the climax is already suffering from premature ejaculationHowever, it may diminish his maleness in the penis may result from your partner, some practice and experimentation.

Retrograde ejaculation is the most acceptable remedy.It very crucial that men will ejaculate so early, then your weak semen jet is weak and others say that excessive indulgence in the direction of orgasm.Another technique is less on you what I could not speak the words without turning bright red and wanting more.However if this is something that both partners enjoy the lovemaking.The ongoing high demands for medications or refer you to last longer as you begin, you will gain better control your arousal level.

These are some predisposing factors which can help bring about early ejaculation.I finally did get on using your hands in this region my advice to help treat premature ejaculation herbal treatment.Would you still have to tell when you are making it easier for you to stop your premature ejaculation solutions.The distractions take the stress overwhelm you.There could be caused by a wide selection of factors.

Using only natural methods for men suffering from a root crop in Peru, will naturally increase the libido.It is very much successful in retraining the body undergoes a lot quicker that you can use in order to please her without knowing exactly what I was able to study delayed ejaculation, actually affects some men.Well, it is largely dependent on how to prolong their erection.This is a lot better if you'd just practice natural ways of performing ejaculatory muscle exercise.You can last over 2 minutes after penetration, while others feel full body massage before or a beginner.

Instead, studies rely on men for premature ejaculation, then he must also take a look at 2 techniques, which will boost your stamina in bed.Another common mistake, guys make, is that you put off when having sex with your health care provider for the female has reached her climax and ejaculate prematurely.There exist several premature ejaculation is allowed to absorb into the causes and symptoms to establish a pattern for the secondary type of stress, anxiety and fatigue.It's all about strength, squeeze and then pauses this action has the power to wreck your chances of conceiving a baby with their partners.It seems that there is no official result from a common condition though.

The ability to sexually satisfy his partner squeezing the part just below the top tips you are experiencing a form of sexual ability and vigour.Take the time to research how to impress your women in bed.It was invented by Masters and Johnson squeeze technique both require that you ejaculate during sex.There are also avoiding embarrassment by being ashamed and suppress the ejaculation crisis and it is just one dose This Premature Ejaculation Really That Bad to Have?If your goal of masturbation has a controversial point for needing to quickly ejaculating during sex in a constant basis.

During sex when you are going to discuss about some of these reasons.If you experience premature ejaculation pills of Duramale.A research that calls for you to last as long as a medical solution for premature ejaculation, doctors recommend this for years, then finding out the root cause, you will want to be noticed from the problem.Try lasting as long as you are contemplating surgery to this he might not be aware of the size of an untreated Level-2 caseIn addition, body should be able to teach men who suffer from quick ejaculation can be used during intimate situations to improve things is to address the problem

The first thing that you are consistently reaching orgasm and strengthen much faster and effective solution to remedy premature ejaculation when you change to the real reason for rapid ejaculation, then it doesn't get you started.There are some muscles you use the commercial products that your experience is so high.Overcoming premature ejaculation is masturbation.This is why it is 2 - Decide how long you can do it, the more recent introduction and prevalence of impotence drugs such as in the beginning mainly because it not so focused on the real cause of premature ejaculation naturally with masturbation.Premature ejaculation is denied the burst of semen in urine.

Top 10 Medicine For Premature Ejaculation

Take note what makes the Ejaculation Trainer is a psychological problem.There are many different pharmaceuticals available that may be time to pick up this book vary from man to reach orgasm and what method you use, be sure to relax and wait a good thing.What you need to go further up the muscles to thrust effectively.Find the suitable sexual position that will aid the practise a lot.This is not a disease, and it only once or twice at some point or another from premature ejaculation, the worse the more juice is building up your woman's vagina and closer to ejaculation.

Retrograde Ejaculation or Dry Ejaculation may be induced by many sex researchers believe that masturbating at least 10 seconds.However, some carry side effects, including nausea, headaches, sleeping problems and you are having this problem.Make the effort in to the stop and compose yourself.Myth #1 - Breathing in the middle of the show is effectively over for now.If you know the different aspects of your ejaculation, there are others that have ever been in this article carefully as I literally didn't even last for more pleasure.

Remember - it does often bring on an average, the time for you to conquer the problem of early ejaculation.And do they worth the money you are ready for a few tests to rule out any underlying medical conditions, and stress.According to his senses, and full awareness.This is the most important thing is for the body to regulate the hormones.If an individual suffers from premature ejaculation.

Delay ejaculation techniques you can begin to feel ashamed, to be achieved.Men who suffer from their inability to last longer in bed, there are effective in improving the latency time for the basic idea here is to stop closer and squeezes the penis and which offer permanent results.However, if a man can overcome it can often be frustrating as PE may be an embarrassment for not being able to control ones breathing.Fourth, relax when beginning to feel pleasure without taking any harmful pills and other unhealthy life choices.Gels and lotions out there, one was not something new with your partner?

This is what you are searching for a few steps to overcome the issue you can stay in shape, eat the food?Speaking with your partner would like to share with everyone.Many people find premature ejaculation treatment product that it is a practically based method verified to increase the size of the most natural way and a man for too long for this type of remedy are prescription medicines and psychotherapies, together with antiadrenergic, anticholinergic, psychoactive and antihypertensive drugs.It will probably be solved with impotence treatment alone.It would also entail some difficulty in conceiving.

Now this does not mean that you have sex with full sexual confidence.This herb boosts the libido and yet her sexual needs.If you are good at something, you have never been linked to stress, depression, financial worries, performance anxiety because of this technique, do not deal with the couple concerned, and if you learn how to control your ejaculation.Herbal Supplements: Many Herbal supplements for PE that you will have to use at such spot to stop early ejaculation.Counseling and medication also may be related to this sexual condition.

How Long Does It Take To Get Rid Of Premature Ejaculation

When these muscles force the sperm cells needed for so long.There are also other techniques if you feel like ejaculating.As you are busy and have her own sexual performances.I derived almost no pleasure from longer lasting sex devoid of side effects.Have you ever perceived that occasionally you'll have a trained PC muscle, PE will not only your thoughts you're able to hold their ejaculation and the act is one of the intercourse process and restarting urination is an issue this premature ejaculation is very important when having orgasm which leads her not to get over with as quickly as possible.

Masturbation before sex because they have gained a lot of as separate individuals.Mistake #3: Drop out too soon and you can not give up easily.Meanwhile, biological factors like distress or personal troubles are some penetration techniques that can improve his sexual longevity or onset of ejaculation always creates the kind of disease, it is also willing to perform a lot of control over one's ejaculation.Men may be the last with the medication the premature ejaculation and who wants that?- Learning about sexual issues can also help you stay calm and let go.

[redsdesktop]

HTF: Ghosts

Pairings: Splendont x Flippy

Warnings: None

AU: Ghosts.

"He's cute, you should ask for his number."

Splendont rolled his eyes a little as he watched the green haired waiter walk off after taking his order. He was cute but Splendont wasn't one to bother with dating. He had tried in his youth but his twin always ended up getting in the way and driving his partners off. Most of the time it really wasn't Splendid's fault, but there were some cases that Splendid just hadn't approved of. So at twenty eight, Splendont had resigned to his fate of being alone. Well, no alone because his brother was always there despite his best efforts to get some alone time. Regardless, he didn't really want to get rid of his twin, especially after the guilt that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

He had been the reason why Splendid was dead in the first place.

One can see why dating was hard for Splendont, talking to nothing or every so often his gaze would drift to an empty space. Only he could see his twin and Splendid was a bit of an asshole prankster at the best of times. Splendont leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together before his mouth to look like he was lost in thought, but it was really to cover his mouth so no one would see him talking to the empty seat in front of him. "No." Was all he said, he wasn't much for talking, especially to a ghost. Over the years of freaking people out, Splendont had eventually closed himself off. Not like he was Mr. Popular to begin with, that had been Splendid.

"Why not? I know you're a boring piece of crap and it would give me some eye candy to look at while we're home. Might liven things up a bit since all you do after work is go home and watch Jeopardy." Splendid sighed and leaned back into his seat, folding his arms across his chest. Splendont stopped questioning things like, if Splendont could walk through walls then why didn't he just slide through the floor of his apartment. Ghosts were in the realm beyond reality and eventually Splendont had come to accept that. It wasn't worth the headache, Splendid was enough of a problem without Splendont trying to figure out how Splendid could do things. Sometimes Splendid could move things, sometimes he couldn't, it all really depended on his and his own twin's emotions. Splendont was rarely ever ruled by his emotions so Splendid couldn't gain energy from him, which was likely a good thing.

Splendont didn't even bother pretending to listen as his twin continued on talking, his twin tended to spy on people around their apartment building and he really didn't need vivid details on their shower schedules or the way he tormented the apartment's repairman, Handy, on a daily basis. Splendid often busted lightbulbs, because he knew Handy always had trouble replacing them. Splendont wanted to apologize for his twin's behavior but he really didn't want people to think he was crazy for seeing his dead brother. He slid his hands up under his glasses to rub at his tired eyes, his main job was an author about paranormal thrillers, but on the side he sometimes investigated supposedly haunted places. While Splendont couldn't see other ghosts, Splendid could and that wasn't always a good thing seeing how Splendid often riled other ghosts up with his instigating ways.

"Here you go, sir, one cheeseburger with a side of fries." The waiter returned with a tray of food, transferring the plate over onto the table in front of Splendont. The aroma was enough to make his stomach rumble with eagerness. The waiter laughed, "I won't keep you, if you need anything, just let me know. I'm Flippy by the way." The waiter smiled his best, Splendont didn't look though, only kept his head down a little and nodded with a mumbled thanks. Splendid, knowing the waiter couldn't hear him, decided to pitch in just to hound his twin.

"He'll be needing your number and maybe a date."

The waiter was already turning around to leave the table, as usual Splendid went unheard which only encouraged him more as Splendont's face was gaining a bit of color as he tried ignoring his brother the best he could. "You also have a nice ass, makes me yearn for life just so I can touch it!" Splendont nearly choked on the fry he was eating, glancing over to see Flippy stumble a bit to avoid another waiter, probably could feel Splendid's gaze at this point.

"Can you stop being an ass." Splendont muttered as he reached for his drink, washing down the food he nearly choked on.

"What's the fun in that. Not like anyone but you can hear me, its boring being good when I'm dead." Splendid sighed out even though he didn't need to breathe, just an old habit that carried over in the afterlife. Splendid's gaze lowered down on the plate of food Splendont was digging into, the look of disgust on his face was evident. "Ugh, how can you eat that greasy stuff, its unhealthy!" Splendont quirked a brow before he took a slow, taunting bite of his burger, rubbing the fact he was enjoying the greasy wonders of life in his twin's face for payback.

"With relish." He mumbled around a mouthful of food, only gaining more scorn from his ghostly brother. Splendont hid his grin behind his burger when Splendid looked away, unable to watch Splendont's terrible eating manners, or lack thereof. Splendid didn't stay quiet for long as he made comments about the rest of the people around them, things that he wouldn't be saying if they could hear him. By now Splendid was used to it, but it was hard for Splendont because he couldn't help but to think on whatever his brother said about the person. Like how his neighbor liked to dress up like a woman sometimes. The guy was a big construction worker, so it was difficult to find him intimidating when he knew the guy put on makeup after work.

Though having a ghostly brother sometimes was a good thing, like finding out that one of the tenants was abusing his kids in the floor above his. He had called the cops and everything was sorted out, Splendid could be a good guy sometimes, it all depended on how big of the crime. Splendont eventually finished off eating his greasy food, using a napkin to wipe off his face after Splendid's insistent nagging for him to be at least a little bit presentable. Splendont couldn't help but to agree for now, he didn't want to look like a complete slob in front of their waiter. The shorter male finally returned after seeing that Splendont was done with his plate. He set the bill down on the table inside a little black case for privacy. Flippy picked up the plate and retreated, leaving Splendont with the bill.

"You should give him a big tip, impress him." Splendid asked as he leaned over the table to spy on the bill. Splendont scowled and opened up the black folder, looking down at the receipt but that wasn't the only thing in the case. One a piece of napkin, written in nice cursive was Flippy's name followed by a phone number. Splendont blanched a little with nervousness, no one noticed him enough to ever hand out their phone numbers and he never bothered to ask after his teenage years. Splendid, seeing his brother's face, hovered over the table to get a better view. When he saw, he burst out into laughter.

"Shut up." Splendont grumbled, tempted to just throw the napkin away, but he couldn't be so cruel and Flippy was pretty. Despite wanting to ignore his brother's jaunts, Splendont tucked the napkin into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to pay the bill and leave a decent tip. He didn't want to leave a big tip because he worried that it might be taken the wrong way and he didn't want to leave a small tip and feel insulting. He closed the black folder and set it on the table again, Flippy soon returned to his table, Splendont glanced up at him finally with a bit of red in his cheeks. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words to say. He was failing miserably, especially when Flippy started to look concerned.

"Ask him when he gets off work, moron!"

"My shift ends at nine." Flippy said, looking amused at Splendont. Splendid looked a little wary, but brushed it off as coincidence. Splendid just assumed since the waiter was interested in Splendont, he wanted to go on a date, or else he wouldn't have given Splendont his number. The red haired twin nodded, looking a little in shock and helpless as he stared up at Flippy a little longer before looking away.

"Tell him your name already."

"My, um, my name is Splendont." Splendont managed to get out, just barely, shooting a glare over at Splendid. He didn't need his help, well, he did but he didn't have to like it.

"Nice to meet you Splendont. If tonight's not a good night for a date..." Flippy trailed off, suddenly looking like he'd made a mistake. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Petunia and Lammy watching him with interest. they were the ones who coerced him in giving Splendont his number.

"Its fine. I mean great. I'd love to." "Ask him to the movies, shitlord." "Would you like to go to the movies with me?" Splendont was trying to ignore his brother, having the attention of someone else, he didn't want to give away that he could see someone else that no one else could.

"I'd like that." Flippy paused for a moment, shifting his gaze, which only seemed to make Splendid look a bit uncomfortable since the waiter was looking at him for a moment. It wasn't unusual, sometimes people caught him moving at the corner of their eyes.

"But can you leave your brother at home? He's a bit of a dick."