#prcttywings

devon grew up with a skewed view on love. her mother was “the other woman”, and devon could never understand why dad couldn’t always stay the night (however, when he was there it wasn’t like he was any use). that love affair fizzled out, and devon saw a lot of different men joining her for breakfast in the morning, ones that had their own excuse on why they couldn’t stay too long. sometimes, devon was the reason, other times it was because they were getting locked up. when devon became old enough to have their own relationships, they found themselves in fear of being on either end of the spectrum: being too in or not in enough. her own indecisiveness would push a lot of good people away.

that was until them. or, devon was trying to not fall into the same self-destructing cycle this time around. they were one of the first people that devon confided in about her living situation, and how life was like for her growing up. they stayed up into the later hours just talking and understanding one another, and devon swore that this time things were going to be different for her. they had to be. she needed them to be.

“good morning.” devon had already woken up an hour prior, having busied herself with her usual breakfast of black coffee and two cigarettes (toothpaste, too, if you wanted to include that - on the lifelong journey of overcoming her nicotine addiction, she tried not to have too bad of smoker’s breath, either). her hands held up her body as she crawled her way up the bed, kissing their body from the dip of her hip to the base of their neck. “there’s something i want to show you, but you have to get up for it.”

           Maybe he should have stayed in bed. Ignored the hungry pangs in his stomach, willing him to sneak out of his girlfriend’s bed and toward the darkness of the kitchen, clad only in his boxer shorts, bare feet padded against the linoleum floor and instead washed from the light of the opened fridge in front of him. Yet everything in plain sight was strictly for the Thanksgiving dinner the next day and obviously off limits. Taking a deep breath, he let out a sigh, wondering what he could indulge in that wouldn’t get him into trouble on the first serious holiday dinner since seeing the other. Make a sandwich? There was roast beef and cheese.... But the ordeal of actually making it wasn’t appealing. Leftovers of the past dinner was slightly appetizing, but perhaps too heavy. Something sweet, maybe he was in the mood for that? Not the pie, though. That would be absolutely off limits — but the Reddiwhip? H m m. Plucking it, taking off the cap and giving it a good shake before doing the most logical thing — squirting it right into his mouth. “Mmm,” he let out, the sweetness almost too much before he heard a sound behind him. Turning, he held his hand up, “Not the pie, not the pie, I swear, I’m not even touching—” But it wasn’t his girlfriend that he saw within the darkness, but that of her daughter that came for the holiday. “Ella. I’m not touching the pie, if she sent you....did not.” It was then that he noticed his lack of clothing and yet he smiled, “Shit, sorry, I was just... You ever get a hunger for something sweet in the middle of the night? That’s me... I...” He took a breath, eyes even in the dim lighting seeing her figure, trying very hard not to, a touch of familiarity with the younger girl that kept nagging at him, yet it didn’t want to seem to click. “Great minds, maybe?”