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Evan unlocks the door to their apartment. "Hey babe, I'm home," he calls while toeing off his boots before turning right to head into the kitchen, heaving the heavy shopping bags over his shoulder. "Fuck, grocery shopping the day before Christmas Eve is my own special kind of hell. Too many people — which I hate by default. Zero parking — that's on me, though; I shouldn't have taken the Cayenne. And, worst of all, the heating in those stores makes me want to rip my clothes off. And I don't think that's what Frank meant when he sang 'Make the Yuletide gay', and since I already have a warning for public indecency — thanks to you — I'm not doing that again—"
He stops in his tracks.
The kitchen is a mess. At first glance, that's not out of the ordinary when living with Barty Crouch Jr., but there is red splatter everywhere — on the counters, the cabinets, the appliances, the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.
Again.
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Sometimes your boyfriend doesn't know the proper way to peel a pomegranate, and sometimes he's just hungry for cock. (It's not what it sounds like, trust me.)
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how to peel a pomegranate
forced_conforming