2026 Summer Blurbs are here! Rules are the same as always - send me an ask with a prompt from the list and a character, and i'll write you a cutie little summer themed blurb <3 requests are open now but they won't be posted until June rolls around :)
Fireflies
Warm Breeze
Early Sunrise
Sunbathing (Ser Duncan the Tall)
Ice Cream
Eating Outside (Clark Kent)
Fresh Fruit
Lazy Afternoons
Heatwave (Daenerys Targaryen)
Thunderstorms (Roy Kent)
Wildflowers
Lemonade
Road Trips and Diner Food (TASM!Peter Parker)
Walking Barefoot
Beach Day (Finnick Odair)
Characters:
Ser Duncan the Tall
Clark Kent
Jamie Tartt
Roy Kent
Keeley Jones
Finnick Odair
Daenerys Targaryen
TASM!Peter Parker
Remus Lupin
Sirius Black
if there's a character i've written for or talked about before, feel free to ask! but please know that if they are not on the list, there is a chance i will turn down the request :)
beach day with finnick!! give that man the happy ending he deserves :')
ughhhhh my sweet sweet boy!!! need to give him the happiest of endings <3
2026 Summer Blurbs
It’s no secret that Finnick was born to be in the water. Really, in your mind, he was born for the summertime in general. You always think he looks perfect, how could you not, but there’s just something about the way he seems to come alive as the days stretch longer and warmer. The way his hair grows lighter and curlier from the sun and salt, bright blonde against the increasing tan of his skin, the way his smile never seems to fade and the way he always smells like saltwater, fresh and clean. Your boy was made for the summer.
And you, you were made to ogle him.
“You gonna come in the water today?” Finnick asks as he wades back to shore, saltwater dripping from his hair, running down his body in rivulets. You almost don’t catch what he says, you’re too preoccupied with running your eyes up and down his body. He notices, and answers with a wolfish grin.
“I might,” you respond with a shrug once your brain begins to work again. Finnick has crossed the sand to reach out, sitting down on the corner of the towel you’ve laid out. “Seems a little cold.”
While Finnick craves the sea the way others crave a drink, you’re perfectly content just sitting on the sand, soaking up the sun and the sight of him. You know he loves it when you join him, though, and that if you hold out just long enough, he’ll grab your wrists and tug you upwards, gentle yet insistent, before hurling you over his shoulders and racing down towards the water. You’ll squirm and pretend to fight back, only to melt into his arms as the water laps around your waist. He’ll hold you then, and close his eyes, like he’s never been happier.
That’ll come later, you’re certain of it, but for now you’re both in the mood to tease, to be childish in ways you were never allowed to be before.
Finnick disagrees with you, an insistent shake of his head that sends water droplets spraying.
“It’s perfect,” he counters, twisting in his seat to face you, to plant his hands on either side of your head and lean forward.
“It’s dripping on me, and it’s cold,” you argue back, a grin dancing across your features. The water drips steadily from Finnick’s hair, down the tip of his nose, off of his jaw, to land on your face, tiny droplets like gentle kisses. You’re not wrong, there’s a chill to the water, but the day has only increased in heat. Now, you’re in it for the love of the game.
“I could warm you up,” Finnick practically purrs the words out, dipping himself closer to you until there’s only a fraction of an inch between your mouth and his.
“Throwing me in the water won’t warm me up,” you’re incredibly proud of yourself for keeping the back and forth going, especially with Finnick pressed so close to you. You’re rewarded for your tenacity by a laugh that warms you more than the sun ever could. Just when he’s about to close the gap, he stops in his descent and speaks instead.
“We’ll see about that.” Quick as a flash he hoists you from the ground, and you’re too shocked to even pretend to squirm in his hold. He splashes down into the water, and before you know it, the both of you are completely submerged.
When you surface, sputtering, you see Finnick looking mighty pleased with himself. He looks so happy you can’t even manage any faux-outrage. Instead, you just loop your arms around his neck, and vow to get him back later.
beach day with finnick!! give that man the happy ending he deserves :')
ughhhhh my sweet sweet boy!!! need to give him the happiest of endings <3
2026 Summer Blurbs
It’s no secret that Finnick was born to be in the water. Really, in your mind, he was born for the summertime in general. You always think he looks perfect, how could you not, but there’s just something about the way he seems to come alive as the days stretch longer and warmer. The way his hair grows lighter and curlier from the sun and salt, bright blonde against the increasing tan of his skin, the way his smile never seems to fade and the way he always smells like saltwater, fresh and clean. Your boy was made for the summer.
And you, you were made to ogle him.
“You gonna come in the water today?” Finnick asks as he wades back to shore, saltwater dripping from his hair, running down his body in rivulets. You almost don’t catch what he says, you’re too preoccupied with running your eyes up and down his body. He notices, and answers with a wolfish grin.
“I might,” you respond with a shrug once your brain begins to work again. Finnick has crossed the sand to reach out, sitting down on the corner of the towel you’ve laid out. “Seems a little cold.”
While Finnick craves the sea the way others crave a drink, you’re perfectly content just sitting on the sand, soaking up the sun and the sight of him. You know he loves it when you join him, though, and that if you hold out just long enough, he’ll grab your wrists and tug you upwards, gentle yet insistent, before hurling you over his shoulders and racing down towards the water. You’ll squirm and pretend to fight back, only to melt into his arms as the water laps around your waist. He’ll hold you then, and close his eyes, like he’s never been happier.
That’ll come later, you’re certain of it, but for now you’re both in the mood to tease, to be childish in ways you were never allowed to be before.
Finnick disagrees with you, an insistent shake of his head that sends water droplets spraying.
“It’s perfect,” he counters, twisting in his seat to face you, to plant his hands on either side of your head and lean forward.
“It’s dripping on me, and it’s cold,” you argue back, a grin dancing across your features. The water drips steadily from Finnick’s hair, down the tip of his nose, off of his jaw, to land on your face, tiny droplets like gentle kisses. You’re not wrong, there’s a chill to the water, but the day has only increased in heat. Now, you’re in it for the love of the game.
“I could warm you up,” Finnick practically purrs the words out, dipping himself closer to you until there’s only a fraction of an inch between your mouth and his.
“Throwing me in the water won’t warm me up,” you’re incredibly proud of yourself for keeping the back and forth going, especially with Finnick pressed so close to you. You’re rewarded for your tenacity by a laugh that warms you more than the sun ever could. Just when he’s about to close the gap, he stops in his descent and speaks instead.
“We’ll see about that.” Quick as a flash he hoists you from the ground, and you’re too shocked to even pretend to squirm in his hold. He splashes down into the water, and before you know it, the both of you are completely submerged.
When you surface, sputtering, you see Finnick looking mighty pleased with himself. He looks so happy you can’t even manage any faux-outrage. Instead, you just loop your arms around his neck, and vow to get him back later.
May I please request the sunbathing prompt with ser Duncan the tall? 🫶
4. Sunbathing with Ser Duncan the Tall
2026 Summer Blurbs
i hope you enjoy babe <3 thanks for requesting!
You have such a hold over Dunk, it’s a miracle he’s able to get anything done. It’s not even that you’re distracting on purpose, or that you try and pull him away from his tasks, he just can never seem to focus on anything when you’re near him. He’s sure you’d rather not deal with his pining, so he does his best to hide it. His success is a matter of debate.
Egg, for one, has had Dunk’s feelings for you figured out before the hedge knight himself had been able to puzzle out the strange feeling he gets in his chest whenever he looks at you. The young boy does his best to pull the two of you together, or at least to get Dunk to stop staring at you and speak to you for more than a few seconds. Dunk is entirely resistant to this, and normally answers Egg’s gentle scheming with the empty threat to give him a clout on the ear.
And while you may not be as upfront with your knowledge as Egg is, you’re not entirely oblivious to the way the knight feels about you. It would be hard not to notice, what with the way he always seems to drift towards you, the way he can never manage to look into your eyes for more than a few seconds, the way his ears go crimson and he stumbles over his words whenever he speaks to you. And perhaps the kind, ladylike thing to do would be to put him out of his misery, to tell him that you feel a tug in the pit of your stomach whenever you’re near him.
But you also want to see how long Dunk’ll torture himself with this affection for you, how long it’ll take before he notices that there’s a reason why you sit so close to him, why you’re here in the middle of the woods with him and Egg instead of anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms.
Really, you hadn’t expected him to take so long to realize, and now you’re starting to get antsy.
It’s endearing, the awkwardness he seems to radiate whenever he’s around you, the nerves coming off him like heat. Especially now that the days are getting warmer, and you’ve traded your long sleeves for something lighter, and the three of you stop and rest the horses far more often than you had when it had been colder, as much to give yourselves a break as the animals.
Even though there are hours of daylight left as summer stretches on and on, you decide to stop for the day in a shaded field, somewhere near a stream so the horses can drink and you can cool off. Egg had taken off running as soon as he completed his tasks, leaving you and Dunk to watch after his retreating form with fond smiles.
There’s a gentle breeze coming in from the forest that borders the field, and the feeling of the sunlight melting into your skin is far too tempting to resist, especially now that you aren’t sweating on horseback with the sun beating down on you. It seems softer somehow, in this field, but just as bright and warming. So, instead of following Egg to cool off in the stream, you remove the layers you wear for riding and stretch out in the grass, closing your eyes and tilting your head up towards the sun.
You can sense Dunk trying to decide what to do, if it would be better to leave you in peace and follow the boy or if you wouldn’t mind the company.
“Well don’t just stand there,” you say, making up his mind for him. With your invitation, Dunk doesn’t hesitate to seat himself next to you, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. He’s quiet, like he’s still trying to decide something. With your head tilted up like a flower straining towards the sky, you don’t see the harsh rise and fall of his chest as he exhales sharply, but you can picture it.
A few moments pass, and Dunk remains silent. You’re practically brimming with curiosity, with anticipation, so you take it on yourself to fracture the silence.
“What’re you thinking about?” Even as you ask, you keep your eyes shut, and all Dunk can see of your face is your profile, illuminated by the sun like something sent from the Seven Above.
“You,” he answers simply, more honest than he planned. Maybe the fact that he can’t feel your gaze on him makes him brave, maybe he’s pretending that you’re not really paying attention. Maybe he’ll blame it all on the heat of the day if you questioned him on it.
You don’t question it, though, you simply hum in response as if what he said is the most fascinating piece of information you’ve ever received. Finally, you turn to look at him, a soft smile on your face. Just for a moment, you hold his gaze with yours, before turning back towards the sun. The look left him warm all over, radiating from his ribs, but he almost manages to convince himself it was just the sunshine.
May I please request the sunbathing prompt with ser Duncan the tall? 🫶
4. Sunbathing with Ser Duncan the Tall
2026 Summer Blurbs
i hope you enjoy babe <3 thanks for requesting!
You have such a hold over Dunk, it’s a miracle he’s able to get anything done. It’s not even that you’re distracting on purpose, or that you try and pull him away from his tasks, he just can never seem to focus on anything when you’re near him. He’s sure you’d rather not deal with his pining, so he does his best to hide it. His success is a matter of debate.
Egg, for one, has had Dunk’s feelings for you figured out before the hedge knight himself had been able to puzzle out the strange feeling he gets in his chest whenever he looks at you. The young boy does his best to pull the two of you together, or at least to get Dunk to stop staring at you and speak to you for more than a few seconds. Dunk is entirely resistant to this, and normally answers Egg’s gentle scheming with the empty threat to give him a clout on the ear.
And while you may not be as upfront with your knowledge as Egg is, you’re not entirely oblivious to the way the knight feels about you. It would be hard not to notice, what with the way he always seems to drift towards you, the way he can never manage to look into your eyes for more than a few seconds, the way his ears go crimson and he stumbles over his words whenever he speaks to you. And perhaps the kind, ladylike thing to do would be to put him out of his misery, to tell him that you feel a tug in the pit of your stomach whenever you’re near him.
But you also want to see how long Dunk’ll torture himself with this affection for you, how long it’ll take before he notices that there’s a reason why you sit so close to him, why you’re here in the middle of the woods with him and Egg instead of anywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms.
Really, you hadn’t expected him to take so long to realize, and now you’re starting to get antsy.
It’s endearing, the awkwardness he seems to radiate whenever he’s around you, the nerves coming off him like heat. Especially now that the days are getting warmer, and you’ve traded your long sleeves for something lighter, and the three of you stop and rest the horses far more often than you had when it had been colder, as much to give yourselves a break as the animals.
Even though there are hours of daylight left as summer stretches on and on, you decide to stop for the day in a shaded field, somewhere near a stream so the horses can drink and you can cool off. Egg had taken off running as soon as he completed his tasks, leaving you and Dunk to watch after his retreating form with fond smiles.
There’s a gentle breeze coming in from the forest that borders the field, and the feeling of the sunlight melting into your skin is far too tempting to resist, especially now that you aren’t sweating on horseback with the sun beating down on you. It seems softer somehow, in this field, but just as bright and warming. So, instead of following Egg to cool off in the stream, you remove the layers you wear for riding and stretch out in the grass, closing your eyes and tilting your head up towards the sun.
You can sense Dunk trying to decide what to do, if it would be better to leave you in peace and follow the boy or if you wouldn’t mind the company.
“Well don’t just stand there,” you say, making up his mind for him. With your invitation, Dunk doesn’t hesitate to seat himself next to you, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his hands. He’s quiet, like he’s still trying to decide something. With your head tilted up like a flower straining towards the sky, you don’t see the harsh rise and fall of his chest as he exhales sharply, but you can picture it.
A few moments pass, and Dunk remains silent. You’re practically brimming with curiosity, with anticipation, so you take it on yourself to fracture the silence.
“What’re you thinking about?” Even as you ask, you keep your eyes shut, and all Dunk can see of your face is your profile, illuminated by the sun like something sent from the Seven Above.
“You,” he answers simply, more honest than he planned. Maybe the fact that he can’t feel your gaze on him makes him brave, maybe he’s pretending that you’re not really paying attention. Maybe he’ll blame it all on the heat of the day if you questioned him on it.
You don’t question it, though, you simply hum in response as if what he said is the most fascinating piece of information you’ve ever received. Finally, you turn to look at him, a soft smile on your face. Just for a moment, you hold his gaze with yours, before turning back towards the sun. The look left him warm all over, radiating from his ribs, but he almost manages to convince himself it was just the sunshine.
The day is hot, even for Mereen, and Dany swears she can feel herself melting into her chair. The pyramid might be cooler than the streets, and at least she’s hidden from the burning sun, but the air is still hot and muggy and it’s no day for holding court. Everyone around her keeps shifting, from her guards to the petitioners, and Dany doesn’t think she can last much longer.
“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan leans down to speak to the young queen, “perhaps these problems will hold until the morning. Everyone needs a respite from standing in this heat.”
Dany looks up at him with a grateful smile, and tries not to wince as she feels her skin peeling from her throne, even with the cushion. Ser Barristan leads her from the room, leaving Missandei to deal with sending everyone away. Her chambers are blessedly cool, and it seems as if a breeze has begun to stir. Perhaps the heatwave is breaking, and Dany wonders if there will be rain, gods know they need it.
Ser Barristan leaves her alone with her cupbearers, and Dany is grateful for the silence after hours upon hours of listening to the complaints and questions of her people, her children. Still, she feels restless, as if the heat has seeped into her bones, and she considers sending someone to find you when there’s a gentle knocking on the stone walls of her chambers, someone announcing their presence.
She whirls around, unable to hide her eagerness, and is met with the sight of you, sticky with sweat and breathless. Dany doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sight half as welcome, half as wonderful.
“Your Grace,” you greet her with a slight bow to your head, even as your eyes stay locked on hers. Dany crosses the floor to reach you, to grab hold of your hand. She loves the way your fingers curl around hers, the firmness of your grip and the way you can never seem to stop your thumb from trailing along her skin.
“I think it’s going to rain,” she says as she leads you to the balcony, missing your touch the second she drops your hand to lean out and look over her sitting.
“That’s very fitting for you, isn’t it?” You lean yourself next to her, close enough that she can practically feel your body humming besides her but too far for your shoulders to brush.
Dany turns away from her city to look at you, eyebrows raised in question.
“Daenerys Stormborn,” you clarify, and Dany can’t help but laugh even as a rush of heat completely unrelated to the weather overtakes her at the sound of your voice, curling around her name.
Dany loves the way you pronounce the vowels, your voice tilting and curving in the Westerosi tongue. She’s grown used to Dothraki, the once harsh sounding language as comforting to her now as a familiar lover. Ghiscari is still far too guttural to her ears, and while many around her can speak the Common Tongue, it’s been far too long since she heard the Westerosi accent that colors your words. It’s as gentle and soft as silk, as your touch.
“I should teach you Valaryian,” she declares, and your laughter dances through the stillness of the afternoon air.
“I already know all the important words,” you tease, before dramatically clearing your throat and saying, “Dracarys.”
Your pronunciation is all wrong, and Dany giggles, a smile splitting her face.
“No, like this,” she says even as her joy stains her voice, curves her letters, “Dracarys.”
You nod as if you can hear the difference, and then Dany settles her hand along the curve of your jaw, the top of your throat. She feels you swallow, feels your vocal cords moving beneath your skin as you try again.
“Dracarys,” and it’s closer, much better than your first attempt but still rough around the edges. You seem nervous, unused to the feeling of not succeeding at something on your first try. It makes Dany’s chest ache, a warmth spreading through her ribs as she feels your jaw shifting against her palm.
“Better,” she tells you, if only to see the way your eyes light up at her praise. She moves her hand, resting it along your cheek, and a thrill runs through her when you turn your face to nuzzle against her palm, pressing a kiss to the heel of her hand. You remind her of Viserion when you do this, the way he used to press his little face against the curve of her hand when he was small enough to perch on her shoulder, to be held. You’re desperate for her affection in the same way, and she has no issues supplying you with it, in endless amounts.
The day is hot, even for Mereen, and Dany swears she can feel herself melting into her chair. The pyramid might be cooler than the streets, and at least she’s hidden from the burning sun, but the air is still hot and muggy and it’s no day for holding court. Everyone around her keeps shifting, from her guards to the petitioners, and Dany doesn’t think she can last much longer.
“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan leans down to speak to the young queen, “perhaps these problems will hold until the morning. Everyone needs a respite from standing in this heat.”
Dany looks up at him with a grateful smile, and tries not to wince as she feels her skin peeling from her throne, even with the cushion. Ser Barristan leads her from the room, leaving Missandei to deal with sending everyone away. Her chambers are blessedly cool, and it seems as if a breeze has begun to stir. Perhaps the heatwave is breaking, and Dany wonders if there will be rain, gods know they need it.
Ser Barristan leaves her alone with her cupbearers, and Dany is grateful for the silence after hours upon hours of listening to the complaints and questions of her people, her children. Still, she feels restless, as if the heat has seeped into her bones, and she considers sending someone to find you when there’s a gentle knocking on the stone walls of her chambers, someone announcing their presence.
She whirls around, unable to hide her eagerness, and is met with the sight of you, sticky with sweat and breathless. Dany doesn’t think she’s ever seen a sight half as welcome, half as wonderful.
“Your Grace,” you greet her with a slight bow to your head, even as your eyes stay locked on hers. Dany crosses the floor to reach you, to grab hold of your hand. She loves the way your fingers curl around hers, the firmness of your grip and the way you can never seem to stop your thumb from trailing along her skin.
“I think it’s going to rain,” she says as she leads you to the balcony, missing your touch the second she drops your hand to lean out and look over her sitting.
“That’s very fitting for you, isn’t it?” You lean yourself next to her, close enough that she can practically feel your body humming besides her but too far for your shoulders to brush.
Dany turns away from her city to look at you, eyebrows raised in question.
“Daenerys Stormborn,” you clarify, and Dany can’t help but laugh even as a rush of heat completely unrelated to the weather overtakes her at the sound of your voice, curling around her name.
Dany loves the way you pronounce the vowels, your voice tilting and curving in the Westerosi tongue. She’s grown used to Dothraki, the once harsh sounding language as comforting to her now as a familiar lover. Ghiscari is still far too guttural to her ears, and while many around her can speak the Common Tongue, it’s been far too long since she heard the Westerosi accent that colors your words. It’s as gentle and soft as silk, as your touch.
“I should teach you Valaryian,” she declares, and your laughter dances through the stillness of the afternoon air.
“I already know all the important words,” you tease, before dramatically clearing your throat and saying, “Dracarys.”
Your pronunciation is all wrong, and Dany giggles, a smile splitting her face.
“No, like this,” she says even as her joy stains her voice, curves her letters, “Dracarys.”
You nod as if you can hear the difference, and then Dany settles her hand along the curve of your jaw, the top of your throat. She feels you swallow, feels your vocal cords moving beneath your skin as you try again.
“Dracarys,” and it’s closer, much better than your first attempt but still rough around the edges. You seem nervous, unused to the feeling of not succeeding at something on your first try. It makes Dany’s chest ache, a warmth spreading through her ribs as she feels your jaw shifting against her palm.
“Better,” she tells you, if only to see the way your eyes light up at her praise. She moves her hand, resting it along your cheek, and a thrill runs through her when you turn your face to nuzzle against her palm, pressing a kiss to the heel of her hand. You remind her of Viserion when you do this, the way he used to press his little face against the curve of her hand when he was small enough to perch on her shoulder, to be held. You’re desperate for her affection in the same way, and she has no issues supplying you with it, in endless amounts.
mae how have i just now realized u write for carmy?? actually, how is this the first time ive read bear fanfiction?
anyway, can you do something soft and sweet with him and a reader who is a little bit softer, quieter, sweeter? i think something about the rough and tumble and the easy and kind getting together trope speaks to me (has nothing to do with personal projection, pinky swear), and i know you would write the best grumpy x sunshine :)
Thank you for requesting angel <3 I hope your the bear fanfic discovery has been fun!
cw: mature themes
Carmy Berzatto x fem!reader ♡ 712 words
You’ve got Carmy sitting in the tub of his own shower. His bare ass is cold, and he’s thinking that the last time he cleaned it was probably when he moved in, though maybe that doesn’t matter if it’s only ever touched by soap and water.
The thing is, he sort of likes it.
He doesn’t particularly want to like it. His ass is cold. Your shampoo is way too nice for his hair. Usually, after sex (or after sex before you), Carmy just went to sleep or got on with whatever else he had to do, but you said you needed a shower like it was implied he’d take one with you, and it’s nicer than he thought it’d be.
“Tilt your head down?” you say, your voice hardly audible over the spray of water.
Carmy complies, and your sudsy fingers work their way down towards his neck.
“It’s gonna get in my eyes,” he mutters. Not even thinking you’ll really hear him, just complaining generally while watching your nice shampoo drip from the hair in front of his face. Mikey used to joke (meanly, Carmy thinks now) that Carmy got that from their mom.
There’s a smile in your voice, the soft kind, when you reply, “Then close them.”
Your fingers trace wide, spiraling circles, like you’re making art on Carmy’s scalp. He’s a little bit in love with you.
Carmy used to think that calm just wasn’t something meant for him. He could fake it, wear it for periods of time, but it didn’t become him. Tension, fear, anger, they felt like the only gravity he had sometimes, like they were all that held him together. If he relaxed for a second, that would be it. He’d fall to pieces, and the pieces would scatter on the wind, and whatever Carmy was wouldn’t be anything anymore.
But then there’s you. The first time Carmy caught himself relaxing with you, he waited to fall apart, and it didn’t happen. The pieces just…loosened, a little. Like Carmy’s gravity found something else to bind it. It’s good in a way he hasn’t figured out how to process yet.
It’s possible he’s a lot in love with you.
You make an amused hum, almost like a laugh, and Carmy realizes he’s tipped his head so far back you’re practically holding him up.
He tips forward again. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay,” you say, chasing him with your fingers. “We should get you a scalp massager. I think you’d like it.”
Carmy makes a noncommittal huffing sound. He will not be doing that. (It wouldn't be the same if it wasn’t you anyway.)
He’s sort of overwhelmed by the need to do something for you. To care for you similarly, maybe wash your body if his hands would be too clumsy in your hair or wrestle you down here with him and go back between your legs. He wants to kiss you behind the soft part of your knee and say C’mere, baby, even though he thinks he’s probably not the kind of guy who can pull off calling someone “baby.” He toys with “sweetheart,” then “honey,” the h a breath on his tongue.
“Hey,” he says, because he’s a chickenshit. Carmy turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. Not meaning to be sordid, but he doesn’t hate the startled-then-shy flicker across your expression when he does it. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you say back, playing along but with a question in your tone, while he squeezes at your calf, trying to summon language half worthy of you.
He swallows. “I love you. You know?”
Your cheek apples when you smile. Your cupid’s bow stretches out, and Carmy wishes for a second that he were an artist instead of a cook (which is its own art form, he knows, he can hear Sugar’s voice in his head now, but still) so that he could paint it. You have the sort of smile that deserves that sort of thing.
“I know,” you say, sweet as spun sugar. “I love you too, Carm.”
He tips his head back down so you won’t see the way his mouth tightens on something tender. You push your fingers back into his hair, and he knows you’ll coax it out eventually anyway.
