#sometimes i look at sprig and man i love him

[loulou-land]

"Mistle-Nope (But Maybe Yes)”

🎄 My bucktommy Christmas fic is here! Story time: I was bored last week at work and scrolling through insta when I came across this post. I immediately thought "Ah yes! that's Bucktommy and Eddie” lol. And so, this story was born 😂 I hope you all enjoy it! I loved writing it (even if I struggled with it at times). 🎄

Gen | 3.1K words | bucktommy | Post-Break Up, Getting Back Together, Crack Treated Seriously, Multi-POV, Mistletoe Shenanigans

read on ao3 or below the cut

This year’s Christmas party was taking place at Bobby and Athena’s new house. They’d wanted to celebrate the start of this new chapter in their lives, and inviting everyone over for Christmas dinner seemed like the perfect time. As a result, they went all out with the decorations. Warm lights draped across every available surface, and a tall tree, decked out in ornaments that looked like they came straight out of a catalog, took over a large part of the living room. A drink station in the room’s corner featured wine, warm apple cider, and hot chocolate. From the kitchen wafted the unmistakable scent of various baked goods–apple pie, red velvet cake, gingerbread and sugar cookies–completely overtaking the orange glazed ham that Bobby had prepared. And sprigs of mistletoe hung above all the doorways. 

The 118, along with their partners and children, spread out through the house, and while the general mood was festive, there was a particular sense of tension coming from two of their guests. 

Buck stood by the kitchen counter, focusing intently on finishing the decorative touches on the sugar cookies, glancing up now and then surreptitiously across the room. By the drinks station stood Tommy, swirling his wine and staring into his glass as if it held the answers to all his life’s problems.   

If anyone asked, Buck was fine. Totally fine. When Bobby had approached him about inviting Tommy to the Christmas party, he’d only hesitated for a moment. He could handle any awkwardness that might arise between them–after all, they’d already crossed paths during a few calls. And despite the hurt Buck sometimes still felt, he didn't want Tommy to spend Christmas alone. If he’d gone a little overboard with the baking at the thought of spending the holiday with the man who’d broken his heart– well that was entirely Buck’s business. Bobby and Athena had gotten a delicious spread of desserts, so they knew not to bring up the subject to him. Although they kept sending concerned glances his way when they thought he wasn't looking.  

There was one thing Buck hadn't counted on, however. That was, how overwhelmed he'd feel, suddenly being so much closer to Tommy than he'd had the chance to be in months. He thought he had finally made his peace with the breakup, had stopped wondering why, and had tried to move on. But being here together like this–it only reminded him that what they'd had between them still felt unfinished, lingering like an itch he couldn't scratch. 

Unfortunately for Buck, everyone else at the party had noticed too. 

———————————————————

“They’re killing me,” Hen muttered from her spot by the fireplace. 

“Excruciating,” Chimney agreed, reaching to steal a cookie off the dessert tray atop the coffee table. “Did you see that? Tommy glanced over at Buck four times in the last minute. And Buck’s looked back twice.” 

Hen snorted, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re counting their glances?” 

Chimney shrugged. “What? I’m a details guy. Also, it’s driving me crazy.” 

Hen raised her eyebrow. “You’re the one who absolutely insisted he needed to be invited. How’d you get Bobby to do it anyways?” 

“I have my ways,” he said, looking around shiftily. “And, I thought it’d help!” Chimney said defensively. “You know, finally getting them together in one place, no emergencies or other duties as an excuse. I thought they'd finally get to talking.” He shrugged, “Maybe spark some reconciliation. Come on! They belong together.” 

“Mhm. And how’s that working out for you?” 

Chimney groaned, rubbing his face. “It’s like watching the world’s most bizarre mating dance, they keep fluffing their feathers at each other and then running in the opposite direction” 

“You two are ridiculous,” Eddie muttered, finally joining the conversation. 

“Oh, we’re ridiculous?” Chimney scoffed. “Eddie, you’ve been staring at them like they’re the main couple in your favorite Telenovela.” 

Eddie didn't deny it. He had also noticed how Buck and Tommy’s eyes kept gravitating towards each other. How Buck would go over to refill his drink, brushing up against Tommy in the process. And how Tommy would look like he wanted to say something, but always stopped himself at the last second. Looking at them, it was obvious how much they still cared for one another, the problem was–neither of them would make the first move to fix it. 

“They’re idiots,” Eddie muttered. Buck was like a brother and Tommy was a really good friend, which is why it made this whole situation frustrating. The two of them needed to get their heads out of their asses and just talk to each other. Being apart clearly wasn't working for them. Buck still had his crazy baking binges whenever he particularly missed Tommy. And Tommy–well he kicked Eddie's ass onto the Muay Thai mats one too many times. They needed to mend this before his body was taken out of commission. Death by baked goods or combat sports, he shuddered at the thought. He was really starting to regret keeping Buck from texting Tommy a month ago. 

“Big, lovable idiots,” Hen agreed. “So what are we gonna do about it?” 

Chimney grinned, reaching into his pocket to reveal a small sprig of mistletoe. “I brought reinforcements.” 

Eddie frowned. “Seriously? How is that going to help” 

“Oh come on,” Chimney said, moving the mistletoe in his hand. “It’s Christmas. A little mistletoe magic never hurt anybody.”

Hen folded her arms. “I think your plan’s in trouble already. Buck’s been avoiding every doorway like it’s a hazard zone.” 

“And Tommy’s all but taken residence in front of that drink station. Plus I think he’d just leave if he figured out what we were up to.” Chimney sighed disappointingly.

Eddie groaned, watching as Buck and Tommy, still on opposite sides of the room, once again glanced at each other when they thought no one was looking. It was infuriating. 

“You know what?” Eddie said, standing up straighter. “Give me that thing.”

Chimney blinked in confusion. “What?” 

“The mistletoe.” Eddie snatched it from Chimney’s hand. 

Hen raised an eyebrow. “What’s your plan?” 

Eddie scowled. “I don’t have one. I’m improvising.”  ———————————————————

At the kitchen island, Buck was cutting the apple pie and setting the pieces onto plates when he sensed someone approaching. He glanced up–and there was Tommy, trying to stealthily grab a piece of cake. 

“Uh, hey,” Tommy said sheepishly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that special way of his.  

Buck froze in panic for half a second before schooling his expression into something neutral. “H–Hey”

The air between them was awkward–slightly charged with an undercurrent of tension and things left unsaid. Buck didn’t know how to shake the feeling. 

“You having fun?” Tommy asked. 

“Uh y–yeah, definitely,”Buck lied, nodding like a bobble head. Jeez, pull yourself together, he thought. “Great party, Lots of, uh, desserts!” 

Tommy gave him a look, and Buck hated that Tommy could still see through him so easily. 

“Good, I’m glad,” Tommy replied, voice a little tight. 

Before Buck could continue blabbing and making a fool of himself, Eddie appeared out of nowhere, looking far too determined for Buck’s comfort. 

“Alright,” Eddie said, interrupting whatever awkward moment the two were having. Eddie was happy they were finally talking, but he was on a mission now. 

Both Buck and Tommy blinked at him in confusion. 

“Eddie,” Buck  started, “what–”

Eddie raised his arm, holding up the sprig of mistletoe like it was a declaration of war. “You’re under it.” 

Tommy squinted, “What?” 

“You’re under the mistletoe," Eddie repeated, deadpan. 

“You’re holding it,” Tommy frowned. 

“It doesn't matter,” Eddie said stubbornly, slightly shaking the mistletoe over them. “Still counts.” 

Buck scoffed at him. “That’s not how mistletoe works, man. And you can’t just go holding it up above people's heads, it’s–”

“Shut up and kiss,” Eddie cut in, face blank and his voice completely flat. 

Tommy turned to Buck, his expression torn between amusement and disbelief. “Is he serious right now?” 

Eddie, once again wiggled the mistletoe above their heads. “Yes, now kiss.”  

For a moment, neither of them moved. The room had gone so quiet, you could hear a pin drop—Hen and Chimney watched with barely restrained glee, Athena peeked out from the hallway, Bobby pretended he wasn't paying attention and Maddie was trying to sneakily record the moment. 

Buck huffed a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You know what? Fine.”

Tommy looked at him surprised. “Fine?” 

“Yeah, fine,” Buck repeated, turning to face him. His voice was quieter, softer when he added, “It’s Christmas, right?” He hated how desperate he sounded, how much he actually wanted to feel Tommy’s lips on his. One more time, even if—he never recovered from this again. 

Tommy’s brow furrowed. He looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Buck’s eyes made him stop. Instead, he took a deep breath and exhaled a quiet laugh. The butterflies in Buck’s stomach multiplied at the sound of it; he had really missed Tommy’s laugh.  

“Alright,” Tommy said, stepping closer. 

And then it happened. 

The kiss started tentatively—hesitant, careful—but somewhere between the first touch and the way Tommy’s thumb brushed under his chin, so reminiscent of their first kiss forever ago, it deepened. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, but Buck and Tommy didn’t seem to notice. Now that they’d had a taste of each other again, they had no plans of stopping anytime soon.   

———————————————————

The cheers had grown louder—Chimney was whooping like he’d just won the lottery, Karen and Hen were clapping and murmuring to each other, Athena was just shaking her head at the theatrics while Bobby looked on proudly, and Maddie looked entirely too satisfied with her phone.  

Eddie, meanwhile, stood frozen in place, mistletoe still held awkwardly over Buck and Tommy, staring at the unfolding scene in front of him. 

“O…okay,” he muttered under his breath. “That worked a little too well” 

Eddie admitted he hadn't thought farther than getting these two to face their feelings for each other. At most, he was expecting an awkward peck and them finally talking things out. He should’ve known better–this was Buck and Tommy, the two had been notorious for never being able to keep their hands off one another. 

He stood regretting all his life choices and wondering why he was still watching his best friends make out in front of him when suddenly–he heard one of them moan and that was it. “Nope, nu-uh.” 

He chucked the mistletoe behind him, ignoring Chim’s oof and weak protest. 

“Alright, mistletoe’s gone. Please, for the love of god and everyone's eyes tonight—get a room” Eddie pleaded. 

“Not one of ours,” Athena interjected dryly. 

That seemed to finally snap the couple back to reality, Tommy and Buck ended the kiss–both blushing and breathless, but staring at each other like they’d just discovered the meaning of life. 

The look between them lingered, something unspoken but heavy passing in the air–a shared understanding and quite possibly a first step towards fixing what had once been broken between them. 

“Want to get some fresh air?” Tommy softly asked Buck. 

“Ye…Yeah,” Buck answered happily, ducking his head shyly. 

Buck and Tommy turned to Eddie. They both beamed at him and excused themselves–Tommy setting his hand on Buck’s lower back and leading him outside. Eddie shook his head fondly, finally happy his friends had come together. Though he couldn’t quite believe he had to be the catalyst for it. 

“Nice Work, Cupid,” Chimney said, elbowing him. 

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie muttered, glaring at the mistletoe clutched in Chim’s hand. “Also, different Holiday” 

“It looks like you solved the problem,” Hen added.

“I just gently pushed things along. And now, I need a drink for my troubles,” Eddie said, already looking towards the drink station like the world’s thirstiest man.

“Oh, come on man,” Chimney said excitedly. “You know what you’ve just done?” he asked dramatically, clapping Eddie on the shoulder. “You’ve given us a Christmas miracle!” 

Eddie just rolled his eyes and walked away to get his drink. 

As he walked away, Chimney turned to Hen smirking. “I give them two weeks before they’re back together officially.” 

Athena, from the kitchen yelled “One week!” 

“Three days,” Bobby called out casually as he walked by with a tray of cookies. 

Hen snorted, shaking her head. “You all know they’re getting back together by the end of the night. But I’m always happy to take your money.”

———————————————————

Outside, the night was cool—the kind of December night in California where a light jacket was all you needed. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the trees lining the back of Bobby and Athena’s yard. Twinkling Christmas lights wrapped around the patio’s gazebo casting a warm light over them. 

Tommy and Evan stood side by side, the sound of laughter and soft music occasionally filtering through the partially closed glass doors behind them. 

Tommy had his arms crossed, feeling like it was the only thing keeping him steady. At his side, Evan rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at his feet, scuffing marks onto the concrete floor beneath him. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the night filling the silence and space between them. 

Finally, Tommy broke that silence. “So…that just happened.” 

Evan let out a choked laugh, nodding. “Yeah. That definitely happened.” 

Tommy turned to him, his expression soft but hesitant. “I didn't think you’d actually do it.” 

Evan gave a small shrug, his voice quieter now. “Honestly, neither did I. But then Eddie started waving that stupid mistletoe, and I thought…why not? I mean, what’s one more heartbreak, right?” He tried to laugh it off, but it came out more bitter than he was expecting. 

Tommy’s face fell, and he took a small step closer. “Ev…Buck. Fuck, no—Evan,” he said imploringly. His stomach churned at the thought of Evan hurting, all because he had been a coward. 

“No, it’s fine,” Buck apologized quickly, shaking his head. “I’m okay. Really.” 

“Stop,” Tommy said, his voice firm but not harsh. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Evan.” 

Evan looked at him then, and the vulnerability in his eyes hit Tommy like a punch to the chest. “I don’t know how to do this, Tommy,” Evan admitted. “I don’t know how to stand here with you and act like everything’s okay when you were the one who left me. And yet, I still…” He swallowed hard, his voice trailing off一looking at Tommy slightly scared. 

Tommy felt like he couldn't breathe. He was terrified to ask, but he needed to know. “Yet you still what? He asked gently, stepping closer. 

“I still love you,” Evan finished, his voice barely audible. “And I don’t know how to stop. I’ve tried, Tommy. I promise, but…” 

Tommy’s heart twisted at the raw honesty in Evan’s voice. He reached out, tentatively, his hand hovering for a moment in the space between them, before resting it lightly on the side of Evan’s face. “You’re not the only one,” he said softly. 

Evan inhaled sharply and his eyes met Tommy’s, searching for any sign of deception, of hesitation. “What are you saying?” 

Tommy took a deep breath, his fingers twitching slightly on Evan’s face. “I’m saying I love you. I never stopped loving you. And I’ve spent every moment since I walked out of your loft that night trying to convince myself it was the right thing to do. That you’d be better off without me一”

“Tommy一, Evan tried to interrupt. 

Tommy kept talking, as though he didn't hear Evan. “But seeing you tonight…being near you again…”He shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s like I’ve been living without a heart all this time, and now, here with you一I can feel it beating again.” 

Evan stared at him, uncomprehendingly. “Then why did you leave, Tommy?” 

Tommy’s shoulders sagged under the weight of the question. “That night, when you asked me to move in, I was terrified. I felt like I’d fooled you into thinking I was this amazing guy, and if I let it go on…I’d keep trying to be someone I wasn’t. Or you’d eventually see the real me一a broken and lonely man with a lot of baggage—and eventually you’d realize you’d made a mistake. I didn’t know which one would be worse. I had been hurt so many times before, I couldn't let you break my heart. So I panicked and ran. And broke my own heart in the process.”  

For a moment, Evan didn't say anything, his eyes searching Tommy’s face. Tommy felt his heart clenching in fear at Evan deciding to leave. Then, slowly, Evan reached up and covered Tommy's hand with his own. “I’m sorry, I realized afterwards that I really blindsided you. I should've just told you what I really meant, that I love you and wanted you around as much as possible. I understand being afraid. But Tommy, It wasn't fair of you to make that decision for us. For me. I've been in relationships before, I know when I want something.”

“I know,” Tommy said quietly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have said it like that. Shouldn't have said it at all.”

“Good,” Evan said, squeezing Tommy’s hand. “And, I get scared too,” he admitted. “But maybe this time around we can really talk and get to know each other better and figure it all out, together.” 

Tommy felt his lips twisting into a smile. “I’d like that. And maybe next time you can remember I own a house, Evan.” Tommy said, using his other hand to poke him on the side. 

Evan’s face exploded into a blinding smile, squirming slightly at Tommy touching his side. “Right, see we’re already discussing the important details!”  

Tommy shook his head fondly, and finally let himself lean forward softly putting his lips to the pink mark above Evan’s eyebrow. Evan sighed happily. 

They stood there for a moment, looking into one another 's eyes, neither quite believing the other was real. Feeling infinitely grateful to their friend who had given them the push they needed to get here. The glow from the Christmas lights reflected in Evan’s beautiful shining blue eyes, as Tommy traced his thumb over his lips. 

“Merry Christmas, Evan,” Tommy said gently, his voice carrying a note of something vulnerable but undeniably hopeful. 

“Merry Christmas, Tommy,” Evan replied, pulling him towards him and into a soft kiss. 

And for the first time in months, the space between them didn't feel unbridgeable. It felt like the start of something new. Something stronger. Unshakeable. 

[sidetongue]

covered in mud

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆) Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮

You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.

Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.

“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.

There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”

Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.

He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.

You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.

Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.

He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.

The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.

Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”

“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”

“Good for you?”

“From scratch.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

“Want to join me?”

There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.

Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”

“Why not?”

This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.

It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.

“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”

“Everyone likes Italian food.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.  

You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.

“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.

Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.

You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).

You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.

You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.

“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.

“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.

“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.

He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.

“Thanks.”

You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”

You have no idea he’s being literal.

You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.

“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.

You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.

As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.

You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.

Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?

And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.

Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.

Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.

When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.

You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”

Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”

“Is this why you invited me over?”

“Sort of?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.

“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.

However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.

“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”

Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.

The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.

Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.

You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.

“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.

“Up to you.”

You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.

Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.

“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.

You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.

“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”

He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.

There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.

It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.

“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.

“God, you feel good.”

This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”

Your laugh is half moan. 

“What, are you on a first name basis?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.

He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.

Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble. 

Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.

Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.

In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?

Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.

You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.

In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.

You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you. 

“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home. 

Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window. 

You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out. 

“I have to go, honey.” 

“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.

“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”

“Okay.”

Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.

My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.

“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round. 

“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”

“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.” 

You look him over appraisingly.

“Doubt it.” 

He huffs with laughter, shaking his head. 

“Bye, y/n.”

You sigh. 

“Bye, John.”

With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.

***

Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.

But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.

He wasn’t a total sap.

But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.

That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.

If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.

It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?

Fucking diabolical—and just their style.

Goddamn vampires.

Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.  

[dark-type-appreciator]

Intro post! :3

Hello! Like my description says, I'm Liam! I'm 16 and I found this website a while back and decided to finally make an account!!! I really like dark type pokemon (bet you could guess that XD), and I'm always open to talk about them! I also really like other catmons ^w^ curse of being a warrior skitties fan I guess...

I also like drawing, warrior skitties, and roleplaying! I have other interests but those are my main ones! I play games sometimes, but I'm not very good at them x_x

I'm not really a pokemon trainer… I only have one pokemon haha! His name is Goldie, and he's a purrloin! He's kind of a cranky old man but he loves me!

umm, what else? I get confused sometimes, please be patient, I'm autistic (and other things). Same goes the other way around!! If u need me to rephrase something, please tell me! Also i misspell things a lot, auto correct is my best friend. Hopefully its not too bad!

Oh! Also I am a furry! :3 I almost forgot to mention that asjhdjahs

Here's my pokesona!

not the best reference, it's kinda old... Maybe I'll redo it someday!

Also- if we're friends, pls tag any bug types!… I have a really bad phobia of them, and I don't wanna see them at all. Thank you!!!

also- look look look!!

They're friends.. :3

[OOC under the cut]

Actias (@act11as) back at it again... Oh boy! OOC posts will be tagged as #ooc and #moth's yapping to avoid confusion.

All triggering content will be tagged as "#[word] tw" for better blacklisting. Please contact me if I miss something or you need something tagged.

‼ This blog will have heavy themes! including mental illness, gaslighting, (witnessed) domestic abuse, emotional abuse, child neglect, Past physical abuse, and generally dysfunctional and unhealthy family and friend dynamics ‼ [This blog is heavily connected to @sound-type-advocate, highly recommend following if you want the full story.]

Boundaries

Self-insert Fallers, do not interact. There is a certain level of unreality I can handle and self-insert fallers cross that threshold. I will block over this, be warned. Everyone else is fine to interact!

NSFW COMMENTS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. Mod is a minor, even if muse is an adult!

IN CHARACTER anon hate is okay! I have the right to not answer anything, and if you're ever unsure, feel free to ask.

Extra:

Pelipper Mail, un-mail, and Malice are off currently! You may be able to convince him to turn it on!

Mystery Gifts are closed! Though if this and Pelipper mail were to open, this one is preferred!

Musharna mail, and Musharna malice are always on! Magic anons are off.

Organizational Tags!

Liam Chatters - General post tag! As long as he's saying something in the text portion, it'll be tagged. Reblog! ^w^ - Reblog tag. Pretty self explanatory Future Sight (queue) - Queued posts tag! Again pretty self explanatory. Liam used Doodle! - Art tag! Liam's art will be tagged as this, for those who want to see it. Foresight - Out of character tag. It marks posts that will potentially be important in the future. This can range from his opinions on things to heavy lore posts! Good tag to read through if you think you're missing something!

Friend Tags! (Tags for friends!)

#Tari mention - tag for Tari from @/pokemoncryptids #faith is friending - tag for Faith from @/faithispokemoning #rare sprig appearance - Tag for Sprig... Who does not have a public account! they're Liam's friend however.

ONGOING ARCS:

Nothing named!

PAST ARCS/EVENTS:

#Lucy Strikes! - One of Liam's friends stole his phone while they were supposed to be visiting. General warnings for bullying. #Mask Off Arc - Shorter arc involving the aftermath of the previous event. Liam started to open up a little more, and hey! Mask reveal! (subject to be renamed, could be used for something more important currently)

Blocklist:

These are blogs Liam has blocked in-character! usually for lore reasons! these are not blogs that have personally been blocked, feel free to interact on anon if you're on this list!

@/tinkatinktrain

@/sound-type-advocate

[foursaints]

ive been thinking about domestic rosekiller lately and omg im gonna go feral.

scientist!ev coming home from work to see barty passed out on the couch, a sandwich in the fridge for when ev got home 😭 little shit like that makes me want to cry

call me basic but the thought of house husband barty legit makes me want to start eating drywall (in a positive sense)…. i KNOW that man can michelin-level cook when he wants to…

the sandwich he leaves in the fridge for evan is casually garnished with a single tasteful sprig of fresh dill. it features a homemade aioli. and sometimes evan looks between the effortlessly fancy sandwich in his fridge & the messy man passed out on the couch in his ratty misfits t-shirt that has gaping holes in it with his laptop still propped open on his stomach playing like Eraserhead Baby 24Hr ASMR. and evan feels a wave of love so powerful he wants to collapse but instead he just nudges barty’s nasty boot off his nice coffee table and sits down to quietly munch on his sandwich beside him

[ghostwise]

“seeing an object and thinking of them” for hamal & zev pleeeaaase 🫶🏽

They live out of their packs, carrying only what they need to survive: rations, basic supplies, weapons, and precious few comforts. Of these, there is the boar bristle hairbrush Zevran has allowed himself to keep. The oils Hamal uses for his skin. Sunscreen and elfroot extract. Zevran's boots, which he imagines they rescued from their cold exile in Haven. Keeper Mahariel's necklace. Their wedding rings.

Eventually, however, they need to go shopping.

And as Hamal finds himself ill-suited to the bustle of a typical Antivan marketplace, Zevran is happy for the chance to wander alone and stock up on sweet smelling soap, coffee, beeswax, spices...

There is one other thing he has in mind.

Hamal's shirt is long past mending. It is patched and thinning in several places, though the man would never admit this; after all, he'd spent the last month of the Blight wearing a shirt that was more repair than fabric.

Which is precisely why Zevran has taken the decision into his own hands.

Hamal deserves something fresh and comfortable, not the worn tunic he's carried for years. Zevran rather suspects it's a bit small in the shoulders for him as well. He's filled out a bit, now that he's on a proper sleep schedule and enjoying the far superior food Antiva has to offer. Health and happiness look lovely on him.

So, it is time for a change. This is not a whim, it's a necessity. Zevran ventures to several clothing shops, seeking the right shirt for his husband.

It should be linen, or percale… something apt for the heat. It should be slim in the arms--billowing sleeves, while quite fetching on Hamal, would get in the way of his bow. Definitely no buttons… they'd gape. Actually, that might be a plus. Perhaps something with laces?

When Zevran finally makes his way back to camp, his pack is cheerfully filled with all his day's purchases. He walks right up to Hamal, trades his welcome back vhenan with a kiss, and immediately tugs at his shirt.

"Take it off," he says.

He need not say it twice. Hamal laughs and tugs the garment over his head.

"Alright, now, put this on!"

Zevran takes the old shirt, shoving the new into his arms.

Hamal blinks at him. His eyes trail down to the shirt, a snow-white percale cotton with dainty sprigs of lavender embroidered on the fabric.

"You tricked me," he says lightly.

"Do you like it?"

Hamal hums thoughtfully as he puts the shirt on. Zevran notes with some relief that it fits him well, and the low neckline is suitable, too.

"These little leaves are pretty," Hamal says, tracing the embroidery along the collar and sleeves.

"It reminded me of you," Zevran said softly, hoping to convince him. "And the color matches your eyes. I bought ribbons for your hair, too. A few different colors to match."

Hamal laughs at that. "Ribbons! I love you, truly!" he says. "Ma serannas. I do like it."

"Thank the Maker," Zevran sighs.

Not that he was worried, but Hamal is slow to such changes sometimes. No doubt he'll want to keep the old one.

It's like clockwork.

"The old one isn't that bad!"

"It's bad," Zevran says with a smile, and he smooths a hand over his shoulder, picking lint off the fabric. "Amor, it's practically falling apart."

"Not at all. It has a few years left!"

"As my pillowcase," Zevran agrees with a laugh.

Hamal considers it. "Alright," he says, charmed by the idea. "Deal."

[thescarletfang]

The Sweetest Kind of Trouble

Well, here it is! My fluffier-than-fluff Tommy Miller fic. Seriously, this is so soft, y’all. I just didn’t have the mental capacity to go dark for this one. Sometimes it be like that! I just really wanted to write a very tender Tommy Miller fic without the looming threat of the end of the world. 

Word count: ~8.3k (my longest fic lol who am I what is happening)

Summary: You meet Tommy when he comes in looking for flowers for a first date. He’s trouble from the start.

Tommy Miller x f!reader, AU, no outbreak. 

Warnings: Some spice at the end! I think that’s it?? Let me know if I missed anything but I mean...this is SO FLUFFY. 

I hope you enjoy. I just want to give Tommy Miller all of the love he deserves!!

He came in looking for flowers. 

You noticed him immediately - his tall, broad frame adorned in faded Levi’s, his gray, collared shirt open and unbuttoned with a white tank top underneath, a cowboy hat on his head and dark shades hiding his eyes. You could tell he was beautiful immediately, even with his sunglasses on. The way his black locks curled under the hat made your fingers itch, the desire to run your hands through them a little shocking since you’d only laid eyes on him thirty seconds ago. His boots were as study as his large hands that ran along the cracked, wooden gate that led into where you stood behind the register. 

You liked working at Daisywood Farms, especially in the springtime. The Texas sky was usually a vibrant shade of blue, the steady buzz and hum of insects the perfect background melody. You liked the way the heat made you sweat. You were a summer baby after all, coming alive in the warmer weather, so it never bothered you none when Austin got real warm. You felt yourself bloom under the sun. 

You really liked working in the marketplace at Daisywood Farms. It was open and bustling and there was everything from blackberry jam to mason jars of moonshine to apple and rhubarb pie - and flowers. So many flowers, black-and-yellow bees dancing through the outdoor marketplace, floating from daisies to sunflowers to carnations and sprigs of baby’s breath. You reveled in the different scents; rejoiced in the way your sundress moved with the humid breeze and your hair frizzed around the crown of your head. 

You’d decided at thirty to go back to school and earn your master’s degree in English Literature, and working at Daisywood Farms from the springtime through autumn was a nice respite amidst your studies. You worked part-time, it paid for your apartment and books, and it allowed you to get out of your head. You found yourself content for the first time in a long time - you had a routine. You had friends - good ones, too. You had your own place, a little two bedroom with hardwood floors and natural light and a windowsill for your flowers and space for all of your books. You were - for all intents and purposes - happy. 

You did not expect Tommy Miller. 

After you initially noticed him, you went back to work, ringing up an older woman for an entire case of moonshine, having to bite your lip from laughing when she told you it was because her husband was getting on her last nerve. You packed away her jars and sent her on her way, and your eyes crinkled from smiling as you watched her leave. 

A few minutes later, you looked up from wiping down the counter when you heard a throat clear. It was the guy with the hat and the boots and the hair and the–

“Um, miss, I don’t wanna be a bother, but I could sure use your help.”

You immediately thought that his voice didn’t have to be that deep and that raspy. Did this man walk out of one of those trashy romance novels you’d read on the beach last summer? You felt flustered as he took off his sunglasses and you were met with puppy-dog brown eyes. At the distance he stood from you now, you could see a smattering of freckles along his cheeks, and he was grinning. You’d never been smitten with a stranger this quickly before, but this man was simply beautiful. You couldn’t stop yourself from admiring him. Your eyes flickered over his face despite your best attempts to remain unafflicted. 

He looked at you expectantly, and you came back to your senses. You cleared your throat. Your face was hot. 

You found your voice. “What can I help you with?”

His grin was very distracting, you noted. He tapped his fingertips on the counter and you felt your lips quirking up in the corner, despite yourself. Whoever this man was, he made you want to smile, and that was alright by you.

“Got me a first date tonight,” he said. “And my niece says bums like me should bring flowers to a first date.”

You laughed, despite the twinge of disappointment at the fact that this man had a date lined up. That’s what you get for being flustered with a stranger. 

“Your niece sounds very smart.”

His eyes glittered as he nodded, hanging his sunglasses on the collar of his white undershirt. He rapped his knuckles twice on the counter. 

“Smartest person I know, that’s for damn sure,” he said. You nodded, pulling up the wooden barrier on the side of the cash register counter, coming out from around the corner to stand in this man’s space. You thought for a second his eyes flicked over your body, taking you in, but you were sure you’d imagined it. 

“Well, we have lots of options for a first date,” you told him, the two of you walking toward the rows and rows of flowers that Daisywood Farms was known for. “What’s this girl like?”

The man chuckled lowly, reaching up and taking the cowboy hat off his head, holding it close to his chest. You tried not to stare at the disheveled curls, tried to not to marvel at how beautiful his head of hair was.

Dear god, woman. Get it together!

“I don’t really know,” the man admitted. “I asked for her number at the bar the other night and well, now here we are.”

You paused in front of a sprig of lavender and pulled it out of its place, holding it up to your nose. You breathed in deeply, the familiar scent warming you down to your toes. You looked up to find the man staring at you. 

“Hmm.” Your fingers traced against the sprigs in your hand. “You honestly can’t go wrong with lavender, maybe mixed with a few wildflowers in there.” 

He kept looking at you and you felt rooted to the spot. “That your favorite? Lavender?”

You nodded. “I’d say so. I like to always have some on my breakfast table. Brightens up my morning while I have my coffee and do some reading.” Am I talking too much? It felt like you were talking too much. 

He watched you for a moment, not saying anything. It almost felt as if he was studying you. And then he reached over, picking up a bunch of daffodils.

“I think these’ll do.” His eyes flickered back to you. “She don’t seem like a lavender girl.” 

You pursed your lips, putting back your lavender bunch, trying to decide if that stung or not. She must be really different than me. 

“I don’t think you needed much of my help.” You led him away from the flowers and he put his hat back on. As you lifted the wooden barrier to situate yourself behind the register, you heard him chuckle. When you turned around to face him, hand outstretched for the daffodils, he was grinning.

“Sure I did. How else I’d know that lavender brighten up a morning while you do some reading?”

You bit your lip, trying to put a clamp on your smile but it felt a little futile. You thought maybe he picked up on it because as you rang up his total, his eyes sparkled with something like mischief. 

“I’m Tommy Miller.” Your eyes shot up to meet his, momentarily pausing in punching in the price in the ancient register. You liked the way he said his full, government name to you. It made you want to laugh. He’s so damn cute.

“Are you, now?” You couldn’t help but tease him a little and he breathed out a chuckle, the sound low and rich, like a dark roast coffee. You smirked as he looked away for a minute, his smile crooked. When his eyes flicked back to you, you couldn’t help but suck in a breath. 

Ugh. What is wrong with me? He’s just a guy, getting some flowers for his girl. 

Maybe you were lonelier than you thought you were. Maybe it was time to take up Vanessa - your best friend - on her offer to set you up with one of her coworkers. She had mentioned a guy named Jake had thought you were cute when you’d joined them for happy hour drinks a few weeks back. You can barely remember what he looked like, but a vague picture of a dude floated in your head. You remember thinking he was nice.

“Can I ask your name?” You were brought back to the present and to the man - Tommy - in front of you. He sounded hopeful and friendly and not at all like some of the more aggressive men you’d encountered out in Texas nightlife. This Tommy Miller - he felt open. He felt safe. 

Maybe you were an idiot for thinking that after a few minutes of interaction, but you prided yourself on your instincts. 

Which was why you told him your name. He repeated it back to you, the grin permanent on his face. You had to look down or else you were worried you’d completely melt. You wrapped his flowers up as you told him the total. As he fished his wallet out of his back pocket, you cut a piece of twine, wrapping it around the bundle of daffodils. 

You gave him the flowers as he handed you cash. He held them up to his nose, smelling for a moment, before looking at you. He was looking at you through his dark, too-long-to-be-good-for-him lashes, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. 

You gestured with your hand toward the bouquet.“She’s gonna love them. Daffodils are a perfect first-date flower.”

“Alright then.” He nodded. “Now if this date goes badly and she hates them, I may have you to blame, yeah?”

You laughed. “Well I did suggest lavendar, so…”

Tommy stood there and you thought for a moment maybe he wanted to say something. But he didn’t and you filled the silence for him.

“Well…enjoy your date, Tommy.” 

“You work here often?” The words tumbled out of his mouth quickly, as if he couldn’t contain them much longer. Your eyebrows rose almost to your hairline. 

“I do. Part-time.” He looked at you and his expression was so open that you felt yourself offering more. “I’m back in school, getting my master’s degree, so I work here through autumn when I don’t have class.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, his eyes widening. He looked impressed and you tried not to preen. 

“So you one a’ those smart ones?” 

You titled your head at him, pursing your lips playfully. “You one a’ those dumb ones?” 

Tommy’s eyes lit up and you felt little butterflies in your belly. His eyes glittered in the afternoon sun, and you felt like everyone else milling about the Daisywood marketplace faded into the background, blurred and frayed around the edges. As if there was a glow on just the two of you, the warmth radiating into your pulse, down into your very bones. 

“You’re trouble,” he told you, motioning with the bouquet in your direction. You felt like you’d just won something, but you weren’t sure what it was. 

“It was nice to meet you, Tommy Miller,” you told him and he grinned again, one of those wide ones that crinkled the edges of his eyes. 

“You too.” 

* * * 

Tommy had wanted to ask for your number, but he had enough sense in his head that he realized asking a woman for her number while buying flowers for another woman was not the right move. He was an idiot about most things, but he knew that much.

But damn, you’d been a fiery thing. And as he stood in the parking lot of the restaurant, his hands in his pockets, watching his date walk back to her car, he cursed himself. Because the girl he’d taken out tonight - she’d been sweet, but clearly the sparks had peaked under the dim light of a bar and the fuel of alcohol. When she said tonight had been fun but maybe that’s where it stopped - a friendly, platonic smile on her face - he couldn’t have agreed faster. He only realized as she walked away that she’d left her flowers in the restaurant. 

He kicked a rock in the parking lot, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He lit one as he walked to his truck, the nicotine immediately calming him. He exhaled through his nose as he climbed into the driver’s seat. 

Tommy knew his history with women. He knew he’d never been the serious type, much more interested in hook-ups and and flirtations than actual relationships. But he’d be lying if he said that now -  in the latter half of his thirties - the uncertainty felt a little tired. It’s not like he was ready to settle down, get married and pop out some kids - hell no. Sarah was enough for him and he loved being her uncle more than almost anything in the world.

Naw, he wasn’t trying to skip all the steps and get tied down right away. But…it would be kind of nice to come home to someone after a long day of working in the sun, blistered hands and aching bones. Would be nice to not have to try with anyone, to just have someone who knew him. Someone he could wrap up in his arms, that he could feel like himself with. Someone to bring over to Joel and Sarah’s for Sunday night dinner. ‘Cuz that drive home is starting to feel a little lonely. And so is my house. 

He took another puff from his cigarette as he passed the local grocery store. He realized he was out of coffee and tomorrow was a big job with Joel - he knew he’d need the fuel in the morning. Pulling into the nearly-empty parking lot at this hour, Tommy flicked his cigarette out of the driver’s window as he pulled into an empty spot. 

As he walked into the grocery store, he stuck his hands in his faded jean jacket and headed straight for the coffee aisle. He could feel the long day settle into his bones and he was looking forward to flopping face-first down into his bed the second he got home. 

He found the dark roast he liked and snatched it from the shelf before he turned toward the end of the aisle, where he promptly found himself rooted to the spot.

Because there you were. Pretty little thing from the farm, your name floating into his brain as he looked at you for a moment as you held a basket in your arm, examining a bag of sugar. Your hair was pulled out of your face, different than how you’d worn it this afternoon, and you looked a little tired. 

But still as cute as ever.

“Hey, Trouble.”

You looked up at his voice and it took a moment, but when you recognized him your face broke into the brightest smile he’d seen all day. It made his stomach swoop a little and he walked toward you, returning your grin. 

“Tommy Miller.” You put the bag of sugar in your already-full basket, shifting your weight to accommodate the bulkiness. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He said your name then and you laughed. And then he stupidly asked, “What are you doin’ here?”

He felt himself flush as you got a teasing look in your eye, seemingly delighted that he would ask such an obvious question. Your eyes flicked down to your basket, then back up to his gaze.

“Why, believe it or not, I’m grocery shopping.”

He chuckled, a little embarrassed, the hand not holding his coffee coming up to rub at the back of his neck. You seemed to take pity on him because you looked up at him with a friendly wink, letting him know you were just messing with him. 

Tommy nodded. “Ain’t that somethin’.” 

Suddenly, your eyes went wide, as if you’d only just remembered something. “How’d your date go?!” 

You seemed genuinely excited for him, like you really cared about his answer to the question.  

“It was fine.” He watched as your eyebrows rose. You looked - well - if Tommy didn’t know any better, he’d say you looked a little relieved at his lackluster response but maybe that was just him being hopeful. 

“Oh no.” You once again shifted the heavy basket and Tommy had an itch to reach out and take it for you. Would that be too forward? I don’t wanna come on too strong. “‘Fine’ is not how you want to describe a first date.” A pause, and then, “It was the daffodils, wasn’t it?”

Tommy barked out a laugh and you grinned playfully at him. “I think it was more to do with our personalities not bein’ compatible, but I will tell you - she left the daffodils in the restaurant.”

You clutched a dramatic hand to your heart, scrunching your eyes up in mock pain. “Noooooo!” 

“It’s true. Right there on the table between our empty plates.”

You groaned, the sound turning into a laugh when your eyes landed back on his. “That’s so brutal, I’m sorry. For the record - those were really nice flowers! Her loss.”

Tommy stuck his free hand into his pocket to keep from just taking that damn heavy basket out of your arms. “They were nice flowers. As pretty and as nice as the gal who sold them to me.”

You squinted your eyes at him, pursing your lips - it looked like you were trying to hide a smile.

“You using a line on me after your failed date?” Damn, you liked calling him out, didn’t you?

“It ain’t a line!” He watched as you turned on your heel, scoffing. He thought for a moment he’d blown it, that you really did think he was a dog, but when you realized he wasn’t next to you, you looked over your shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You just gonna stand there or you gonna walk with me?” 

She–oh…damn.

“Yes ma’am.” Tommy’s long legs got him to where you stood in just a few strides, and the two of you meandered down the aisle, toward the front of the store. 

“I really am sorry your date didn’t go as well as you’d hoped.” He looked to his left, down at you. Your gaze was focused ahead of you, your arms gripping the basket. 

Fuck it. 

“Here, gimme that.” He motioned to your basket and you looked up at him, your face full of surprise. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, Tommy–”

“I know that, but I want to.”

You hesitated for another moment before you let him take the basket out of your arms. He held it in his right hand, his left hand clutching his coffee. He glanced at your ingredients, noticed a few common threads. Made him think of the time he took Sarah to get things to surprise Joel on a Christmas morning a few years ago. They’d made cinnamon buns together, Sarah bossing him around while Joel slept in. That was a good day. 

“You into baking?” You looked up at his question. 

“It’s my best friend’s birthday next weekend. Gonna make her a cake. Icing and all.”

He let you walk in front of him as you both reached the checkout line and he resisted the urge to put his hand on your lower back. You turned to him and he held out your basket as you started to put your items onto the conveyor built. 

He caught your eye as you set down a container of sprinkles. “Lucky best friend.” 

The two of you didn’t talk much as you both checked out, but you did reward him with another bright smile as he effortlessly took hold of your bagged groceries, insisting he help carry them to your car.

You led him over to where you were parked and opened the passenger door for him to set your bag down. When you nudged the door closed with your hip, you turned to face him. He held his single bag of coffee in his hand, looking at you. 

“Thanks for the totally unnecessary chivalry.” You played with the strap of your purse, one foot kicked behind you, resting on your car door. “I really do appreciate it, Tommy.”

“I was raised right.” Tommy didn’t want to stop talking to you, but it was getting late and he had to be up early - and he could see the tiredness in your shoulders, the way sleep was probably beckoning you too. 

He rubbed the back of his neck again. If Joel had been there, he’d tease him for it, Tommy’s consistent tell that he was nervous. He’d done it since he was a little kid - before he was up to bat at a baseball game, before a doctor’s appointment, the day Joel told him he was going to be an uncle. 

“It was real nice runnin’ into you, Trouble, and I’d very much like to do it again.” He heard your small intake of breath, the surprised little gasp as your eyes widened just a bit. 

“You would?” There was no teasing in your question and Tommy was taken aback by the earnestness of it. Like you actually couldn’t believe he’d want to see you again, like you weren’t lovely and kind. He’d be an idiot to not at least try.

“Yes ma’am. You got a number you’d feel okay giving me?” 

Your initial reaction was to smile, and he marveled at how it took up your whole face. Then a second later you sighed, biting your lip, your eyes flitting away from him and he started to feel a little nervous. Maybe he was being too forward. He’d only just met you this morning. You might have a boyfriend or a husband or a girlfriend for all he knew–

“I’ll be honest, Tommy.” You were back to playing with the strap of your purse, and Tommy clocked it as a nervous tick. “I’m not much in the habit of giving strangers - especially men - my number.” 

He studied you for a moment, your hesitation. Did some idiot burn you before? Some creep abuse the privilege of having your number in his possession? He wanted to say he wouldn’t be like that, that he was different -  but currently the odds were stacked against him. He’d just been at dinner with a different woman an hour ago. Maybe you thought he was a creep. 

“How ‘bout this? I give you my number, so if you never wanna see me again, you don’t have to.” Your eyes lit up at his suggestion, your shoulders relaxing. “And I ain’t askin’ for anything. Just would like to talk to you some more.” 

You studied him for a long beat, debating something in that pretty head of yours. “How about as friends? You’d..be okay with that?”

The Tommy Miller from a few years ago - hell, even last year - would’ve honestly deflated at that, said sure and then put you out of his mind, moving on to someone who’d likely sleep with him. He wasn’t always proud of his history with women, and while he never meant to mistreat anyone, he had certainly ghosted a girl or two. Or three or four. 

But you’d been kind to him this morning and you were being kind to him now. He felt comfortable in your presence. And truthfully? He’d be lying if he said he had a lot of friends. Besides Joel and a few veteran buddies, he didn’t have time for a lot of friends. And if he was being brutally, terribly honest with himself?

Fuck, Tommy Miller was a little lonely.

Which is why he nodded, giving you a genuine grin. “Friends sounds pretty damn great to me.”

* * * 

You waited two days to reach out to Tommy. 

You had been a little surprised at your reaction to him asking for your number. You’d mooned over him that morning, your stomach had swooped when you’d ran into him again later that night at the grocery store, and yet when he actually asked for your number, you’d balked. 

Because you’d seen it clearly then. A man as gorgeous as Tommy could not possibly be looking for something more than just physical. And certainly not with you. It just…it didn’t track, based on your history with men like him. And you didn’t think that way to talk down on yourself - in fact, you were very happy with yourself. You knew your worth, knew that you would be a good partner to whoever would want to give that a go with you. 

But Tommy was absurdly handsome. Flirtatious. Easy to joke with and talk to and you saw, in that second when he’d asked for your number, exactly how this would all play out. He’d take you out, you’d get swept up in that smile, you’d find yourself in bed with him because duh, and then you’d never hear from him again. 

It was a tale as old as time. It’d happened to you plenty. 

And maybe that was a little unfair of you, judging him before really knowing him. Your therapist did say you had a habit of self-sabotage when it came to dating. But you couldn’t help it; you were not up to getting hurt at this point in your life. And you knew yourself: you knew if you slept with this man, you’d get attached. You just knew it, a few minutes into conversation with him. 

So you’d been taken aback when he’d agreed to a friendship. You were sure he’d blow you off at your suggestion, or a least pretend to entertain it and then never hear from him again. And you certainly didn’t expect him to answer the text you sent him.

You sent a pretty standard message -  telling him just who was texting him and asking how his day was going. Then you’d thrown your phone on the other end of your couch, snuggling under the throw blanket around your shoulders, trying to put Tommy out of your mind and calm your racing heart because it’s not like he was going to text back anyway. 

Your phone started buzzing and you glanced over, mouth dropping open because Tommy was calling you. Your stomach immediately tied together in nerves and you leaned over, grabbing for your phone and just staring at his name as it continued to ring.

Fuck it.

“Hello?”

“Hi you.” His voice on the other end sounded deeper than in person and you snuggled further into your couch, trying not to physically squeal like you were fifteen-years-old, sneaking on the landline late at night to talk to the boy from school you had a crush on. 

“Hope it’s alright m’calling you.” He sounded soft on the other end. “I’ll admit I’m not much of a texting guy.”

Your smile stretched ear-to-ear because that made perfect sense. He didn’t seem like a texting guy, and hearing his voice over the phone was better than reading a few sentences over a message.

“It’s very alright,” you replied. “I hope it’s alright I texted. I didn’t know if you were working or something–”

“Got home a little bit ago.” Talking with Tommy felt light. You immediately relaxed, imagining him on the other end, wherever he was in his home.

He cleared his throat, asked, “What you up to?” and you fell into an easy conversation. He told you about his day - he worked construction jobs with his older brother named Joel, his only sibling and the father of his niece. You could hear the affection in Tommy’s voice that the man had for his older brother, and it delighted you. He told you about a funny thing his niece - Sarah - had said that morning as Tommy had picked up his brother from his house, on the way to the job. You laughed until your cheeks hurt and realized Tommy had a gift for storytelling.

He asked you about your class that day and seemed genuinely interested in your thesis. He asked what your favorite books were, admitted he hadn’t read one in god knows how long, and asked about your family. You talked and talked and talked, and it wasn’t until you yawned that you glanced over at your end table, eyes widening when you realized it was after midnight. 

You bid each other goodnight and he asked if he could call you tomorrow. You were grateful he couldn’t see your dorky, giant grin on your face when you replied yes. 

That night you dreamt of black curls and freckles and a grin as warm as the Texas sun.

* * * 

Within several weeks, Tommy Miller became your friend. 

You talked to him on the phone whenever you could at night, when your work and research was completed or he wasn’t too passed-out exhausted from work. You even got to see his house - a modest, two-bedroom rancher, with typical Ikea furniture and Texas sports team paraphernalia. The natural light was lovely and his hardwood floors looked beautiful. When you commented on them, he had beamed - and told you that he and Joel had installed the floor themselves. You were sufficiently impressed.

It was lovely and painfully obvious a man lived there alone, especially when you realized the most expensive thing in the entire place was his grill on the back deck. You’d teased him, but the steak he’d made you on it was so good that it’d effectively shut you up. 

And that was how you started to spend time with Tommy Miller. Movie nights at his house, phone calls in the evening, showing him your book collection and grabbing a late night burger after he got off a job. Vanessa even met him once, the man meeting you for a happy hour drink. She didn’t stop teasing you about him for a week after that, calling him your “non-boyfriend boyfriend” and telling you you were an idiot. You brushed her off, told her that right now, you were just friends and that was good enough.

“So let me give my coworker Jake your number,” she’d said, her eyes bright, teasing you. You’d pursed your lips, shrugging.

“Fine.” Your voice sounded unconvincing even to your own ears and Vanessa had scoffed at you. She’d shook her head, taking a sip of her wine. 

“You’re unbelievable,” she’d said and you’d rolled your eyes at her. 

Your newfound friendship with Tommy was nice. He was nice. You didn’t need to complicate it and get your hopes up, thinking that the man wanted more than he was giving. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d made a new friend - you’d been so settled into your life and your routine, you hadn’t had much of change in a little bit. 

Tommy was something new. Something special and sweet and you didn’t really want to complicate it very much. He was probably dating anyway - it wasn’t like you knew every single thing the man did. He owed you nothing, so if he was going out with women on the days you didn’t see him, that was fine by you. 

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

And you were in complete and utter denial the more time you spent with him.

* * *

“What’s so funny?”

Tommy looked up from his phone to find Joel staring at him with narrowed eyes, his beer bottle paused before his lips. Sarah snorted as she took a bite of her burger, a knowing look in her eye. 

Tommy set his phone down on Joel’s kitchen table, leaning back in his seat. “Huh?” 

Joel took a swig of beer and looked at Tommy suspiciously. “You got the biggest dumbass grin on your face as you looked at your phone. What is it?”

Tommy tried to not give himself away and took a drink from his own beer. Because the truth was he’d been laughing at a meme you’d sent him, something stupid in response to a debate about the greatest action movie franchise. You were arguing that Aliens was better than Terminator 2, and Tommy had pointed out it was the same director, then you’d teased him for “mansplaining” and it’d gone back and forth until you’d sent some ridiculous reaction picture. 

“Dad, he’s obviously texting a girl.”

Tommy flicked a homemade french fry at Sarah’s face and she batted it away, snickering. 

“You mind your business,” he told his niece, trying to play it cool. But Joel - the son of a bitch - looked way too interested to let it slide. 

“Who is it? Do I know her? You datin’ her or just textin’?” Joel’s rapid fire questions made Tommy roll his eyes at his big brother. 

“She’s my friend, dipshit.”

Joel snorted and then it was Sarah’s turn to flick a fry, but this time she aimed it at her dad’s head. The fry hit him directly in the center of the forehead, and Tommy and Sarah burst into laughter.

“Hey!” Joel swiped his napkin over his forehead, glaring at Sarah playfully. 

“Uncle Tommy can have friends that are girls.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Oh, can he now?” He leveled a look at his little brother. “You just friends with this girl?”

“Don’t be a dick.” Tommy shoved the last bit of his burger into his mouth. “And yeah, I am, and I really dig her, man. She’s cool. And smart. And funny.”

Joel grinned genuinely at his little brother and Tommy felt the tops of his ears get hot. He knew that look that Joel was giving him. He knew he sounded like a complete dork but he didn’t care. He was grateful for you. For your ridiculous memes and your conversations and for letting him into your life, even if it never got further than what it was. 

Which he was absolutely fine with. Really. 

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Bring her to my soccer game on Saturday! I wanna meet her!”

“Yeah, Tommy!” Joel’s such a little shit. “Bring her, we wanna meet her.”

Tommy shook his head, looking between his older brother and his niece. They looked at him with expectant expressions, and Tommy finally relented. He knew he wouldn’t win this argument and a part of him didn’t want to. The thought of you joining them for one of Sarah’s games - the thought of introducing you to his people - made his stomach swoop in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

Tommy’s phone buzzed and your name came up with a text that said, Anyway, hope you’re having a nice night. :) 

He didn’t try to hide the smile that time. 

“Yeah, maybe I will bring ‘er.” 

* * * 

The sun beat down on the back of your neck and you were grateful for your choice to wear your hair pulled up and out of your face. The Texas almost-summer-but-still-technically-spring weather was brutal, and it was hot on the soccer field today as you sat beside Tommy and his brother, watching tweens run around and play like their life depended on it. 

When Tommy had invited you to his niece’s soccer game, you had been floored. You’d heard a lot about Joel and Sarah, and you didn’t admit it to him, but you’d been wanting to meet them for awhile. Once you immediately said absolutely to attending the game, your nerves set in. Would Joel grill you about your relationship to his brother? Would he question why you weren’t dating? Would you have to deflect questions in order to stay away from the true reason why you were afraid to admit to your feelings: you didn’t want to get hurt.

But the second Tommy picked you up in his truck with a big smile on his face, the second you both walked across the parking lot and to the field, the second you met Joel Miller and his sweet, bright-eyed daughter, all of those nerves and that fear melted away. You were shocked at how right it all felt. You wished Sarah good luck before she jogged onto the field, and the smile she gave you immediately made you feel welcome. 

You scrunched your nose, too-big sunglasses sliding down your face. Tommy’d given you his to wear, noticing you squinting in the harsh sun. He looked over at you now, smirking. 

“Don’t you dare make fun of me,” you said to him, pushing the sunglasses up your nose. He barked out a laugh and put his hands up in mock defense. 

“I ain’t sayin’ a word.” 

Joel - who was sitting on the other side of Tommy - held his water bottle up to his lips. “If my little brother makes fun of you, he’s walking home.”

“I drove her here!” Tommy’s indignant pout made him sound like he was twelve. Your smile was embarrassingly big. 

“Doesn’t mean she can’t drive your truck without you in it.” Joel threw you a smirk, conspiratory in nature, like the both of you were in on a joke together. It made you feel included and you were grateful for it, lodging the feeling away beneath your ribcage. 

“You know, that’s a good idea, Joel.” You turned to to angle your body toward Tommy, your hands resting on the arms of the fold-out chair he’d brought for you. You reached up, lowering the sunglasses and peered at him dramatically, over the lenses. “I always wanted a truck of my own. Yours will do nicely.”

Tommy’s eyes fixed on you, his gaze warmer than the sunshine. 

“I wasn’t gonna make fun’a you.” He cleared his throat, his eyes traveling over your face. His voice was low, so only you could hear. “Was just gonna say you look good in my stuff.” 

Your mouth dropped open and you found no words came to you. Tommy had a self-satisfied smirk on his face, before he stood up, declaring he needed another water bottle and sauntered away toward the snack bar, a hand in his jeans pocket. The very way he carried himself told you he knew exactly how hard you heart was beating. 

You were flustered, but you managed to get it together when Joel said your name. Your attention flicked over to him. 

“It’s nice to finally meet the girl that’s been the reason for my brother’s good mood for the last few months.”

Your face heated and you smiled. “I don’t know about all that. Tommy’s always in a good mood.”

Joel studied you for a moment, an almost imperceptible shake of his head. “Yeah, but it’s been different. He likes you. A lot.”

Your fingers played with the hem of your sundress, falling to the middle of your thigh. “Well now you’re just getting my hopes up, Joel. He likes me as good as he likes any of his friends.”

Joel deadpanned a knowing look at you and then took a breath. His eyes traveled back to the field, watching as Sarah joined her team for a time-out huddle. When he spoke, his eyes remained on the field, but you felt like his entire attention was on you.

“My brother’s spent his entire life tryin’ to prove he’s good enough. Good enough for our parents, good enough for me, good enough for the fuckin’ United States army.” Joel took a breath, and you got the sense that what he was saying to you was really important. “I would put money on the fact that he sure as hell don’t feel good enough for you.”

You swallowed, your stomach full of butterflies. “I–I don’t–”

Finally, Joel looked at you, and his gaze was as warm as Tommy’s. You could see the similarity in their faces, their brown puppy-dog eyes and their uncanny ability to make you feel like you were the only person in the entire place. 

“I’m tellin’ you this because I can see how y’all are around each other and I’ve spent - what - an hour around you two?” He shook his head. “And I would fuckin’ hate for you to walk away from this because my brother is too up his own damn ass to realize he does deserve the best. And I think I’m right in assuming he makes you happy.” 

You couldn’t deny it even if you wanted to. “He makes me so happy.”

Joel gave you a genuine smile. He nodded. “He’s the best man I know.”

Your heart beat a tender rhythm, the love radiating off of Joel. You were amazed by it, nearly consumed by it. These Miller brothers are good men. I know that. I can feel it. 

Your conversation didn’t continue because Tommy was back, plopping down in his seat between you and Joel. He handed you a water. 

“Figured you could use one too,” he told you. Over his shoulder, your saw Joel’s knowing look, his eyebrows raised,  and you tried not to blush. 

You took the water bottle from his hand, your smile stretching across your face. “Thanks, Tommy.” He grinned at you, his bronzed skin glistening in the sunshine, his freckles scattered across his nose like tiny constellations. I’m down bad for this man. 

The rest of the game passed in a pleasant hour. You made easy conversation with Joel and Tommy, and when Sarah’s team brought home the victory, you were on your feet with the rest of the parents and families, cheering and yelling through cupped hands. 

Joel explained it was tradition to get ice cream after the games - win or lose. Sarah - with her big, Miller eyes - told you matter-of-factly you simply had to join for this post-game tradition. You told her you’ve never turned down an opportunity for ice cream once in your life.

As you sat at an outdoor table at the ice-cream parlor, licking the strawberry cone Tommy insisted on buying for you, you realized you were happier than you ever remembered being. The sun was starting to settle low in the sky, and the soundtrack of Joel and Tommy’s laughter, of Sarah’s snarky comments - it all created a calmness in you. 

I could get used to this. Tommy caught your eye, mid-conversation with Joel. He grinned at you without ever breaking conversation, a silent communication to you saying I’m glad you’re here.

You smiled down into your ice cream.

I’m glad I am too, Tommy. I’m right where I’m meant to be.

* * * 

It happened on a random Tuesday in late May. 

Tommy knew you’d been having a shitty day. You’d overslept for your meeting with your advisor,  a citation source for your thesis hadn’t worked out, and you’d gotten a flat tire on your way home. When you had texted Tommy a picture of the flat with an angry face, he immediately asked if he needed to pick you up. You told him Triple A was on their way, then made a joke about how you’d run over the nail just a few minutes from his house. He said it was fate then, since he was planning on asking you to come over and have dinner with him.

You’d agreed to head to his house after Triple A replaced your wheel. After double checking that you were safe, off the road, and okay to wait for them, Tommy had started on dinner. 

It was golden hour when you arrived to his house, bursting through his front door like a shot of espresso. 

“Honey, I’m hooooooome!” You bellowed the cheesy line, throwing your bag on the couch. Tommy laughed and paused in his work - chopping a red bell pepper for the skewers he was going to toss on the grill. He looked over his shoulder at you, a giant smile on his face, and his heart thudded as it always did when you were around.

You just looked so perfect with your messy hair from a long day, your sparkling eyes, standing in his doorway, lighting up like a Texas firefly. 

I want this. I want this with you. Forever.

You started to make your way into the kitchen, but your eyes flickered over to his dining table. He followed your eye-line and where it came to rest: on the vase of lavender in the center. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the flowers. You got a soft look in your eye as you walked toward the table, and when you reached it, your fingers reached out to graze the petals.

“Lavendar?”

Tommy cleared his throat, turning around so he could lean against the counter. He took the dish towel from where it rested on his shoulder and wiped his hands. He felt nervous, suddenly. Like you’d opened up his heart, looked right in and saw it all. 

“I hear they’re good for when you’re havin’ your mornin’ coffee. Brightens things up.” 

You met his gaze, a smile taking over your face as you took him in. “When’d you get these?”

Tommy put the towel down on the counter, resting his hands behind him on either side, the cool surface grounding him. 

“The other day.” Fuck it. “I saw them and I wanted them. They always remind me of you.”

He could hear the audible gasp you made, the sharp intake of breath. Your eyes were wet but you didn’t look sad - you looked amazed. Tommy felt himself teetering on the edge and he made a decision then. A decision that was months in the making, a decision that honestly had been in motion since the first time he’d laid eyes on you. 

He pushed off the counter, standing to his full height. Because when a man bared his soul, he did it with dignity.

“I love you.” The words fell out of his mouth effortlessly, danced between the two of you. “I’m in love with you, and – and if all you want with me is friendship, I respect that but I just–I had to tell you, ‘cuz–”

“Tommy.” 

“Cuz I can’t keep it in anymore–”

“Tommy.”

He stopped his rambling and he realized his chest was rising and falling faster than it was a minute ago. You were smiling at him, a tear traveling lazily down your cheek. 

You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.

You took a breath, your hands skating down the front of your dress. 

“I need you to come over here, put your hands on my hips, and kiss me.” 

He felt a flame lick up his spine. Your stare was heavy, and the way you licked your lips made him want to groan. 

And then when you suddenly got bashful, tacking on a, “If you want” — he broke. 

His legs carried him over to you in a few strides. His left hand landed on your hip, his right hand went into your hair, and right before his lips met yours, he rasped, “I want.”

Tommy bent down as you lifted up and when your lips finally connected, he felt like it’d taken forever and no time at all to get here. His hand flexed against your hip and you made a little whimpering noise as you parted your lips. He didn’t waste any second - his tongue tracing your bottom lip before he licked into your mouth. Your hands made their way to his curls and you pulled, causing Tommy to moan deep in his throat.

You pulled away and he chased your lips and you were panting, gasping for air. 

“I love you, Tommy Miller,” you breathed in the space between your mouths. “I love you so much.” 

Tommy couldn’t stop himself from grinning - it spread wide across his face, his hand in your hair moving to cup your jaw. His thumb grazed against your cheek. 

“That makes me a very lucky man,” he told you. You pressed yourself against him, your hands sliding down around his neck. You pulled him by his flannel, connecting your mouths again and if Tommy thought the first kiss with you was good, this was something else. 

You kissed with your entire body. He could feel your curves against him, and his hand on your hip moved to your ass. He grabbed a handful and you moaned, spreading your pretty legs. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and Tommy looked down between you, his forehead resting against yours. He moved his knee in between your legs, pressing it against your core and you gasped. 

“Oh,” you breathed, grinding against his denim-covered knee. The sounds you were making were enough to make him come, make him pant, make him beg. He’d allowed his mind to go here before, imagine what it’d be like to make you come apart with his fingers and his tongue, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to experience the real thing. It was worth the wait.

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he rasped as you leaned your head back, breath coming quickly from your mouth. His lips found the pulse point at your neck and your breathless yes, like that made him strain against his jeans.

I want you I want you I want you.

He moved his hands under your ass, lifting and placing you on the edge of the table. You wasted no time wrapping your legs around his hips, drawing him even closer. He leaned his right palm flat on the table behind you, crowding you, his left hand coming up cradle your jaw. You opened your eyes and the love and tenderness in them almost made him buckle. 

“I’m so glad you came in to get flowers that day,” you told him, your eyes wet again. Tommy lost his breath for a moment and then leaned down, pressing his lips against yours before pulling back. 

“Does that mean you’ll be my girl?”

Your legs squeezed around him and Tommy grunted, his hands landing on your thighs, pushing your dress up around your waist. 

You’re everything. How’d I fuckin’ get so lucky?

You looked up at him through your lashes, your hands coming up to hold his face in your hands. 

“I already am.”

* * * 

[raging-violets]

I don’t know if you rb’d it caus it was funny or for prompts, but i would be interested in seeing what you do with Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating + dealers choice if you want!

A/N: My first thought was to do this Reverse Trope Writing Prompt for Cisco and Averey, but I felt like everyone thought it made sense that they were dating. So, I decided to go with The Artful Dodger. This was a plot point I had thinking for season 2, should it ever be made – or if I have to make it up myself. So, we’ll see how this idea goes!

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The Artful Dodger: Just Don't Tell Me That | SneedxOC 

Authored by: Rhuben

Original Character: Molly Atwood

-

“You and Rainsford?”

Both Fanny and Belle asked the same question in response to Molly’s subtle announcement: Fanny with a high squeak of excitement that cut over Belle’s flat, disbelieving tone, which was just heard over the snap of the carrot she was snacking on.

Molly laughed quietly to herself.

Sometimes it was funny just how different the Fox sisters were. One who accepted her role in Port Victory’s society wholeheartedly, and the other whose wanted out since before she’s left the shores of London. One who loved love and one who didn’t understand it. At least for a while, she didn’t.

“No,” Belle said, emphasizing her word with another loud crunch-bite of a carrot. “No. I scarce believe what I am hearing. No. No!”

“Well, I suppose if it couldn’t be me,” Fanny commented, (ignoring Belle’s “Or me, thankfully”) clasping her fingers together, a broad grin crossing her face, “there’s no better choice. This is so exciting, isn’t it, Belle?”

“Bizarre,” Belle said over top her sister. “This is not exciting. This is…this is absurd is what it is.” She shook her head back and forth, sprigs of her honey-blonde hair swinging from side to side. “You’ve not actually fallen for Rainsford Sneed. There’s no way. No way.” Her eyebrows lifted when Molly merely pressed her lips together. “Molly?”

“Lady Belle you are quite intelligent,” Molly commented, removing flour from her fingers with a damp rag. She rest her palms on the table, leaning towards her friend. “You understand those medical texts. I don’t suppose those are easier to understand than this?” Belle sniffed. “Yes, I have, indeed fallen for Rainsford Sneed.”

Fanny twisted her mouth to the side, a sparkle coming to her eye. “I think our Molly may have fancied him for a while, Belle,” she said. “And I suppose not just the idea of him.”

“Of course not just the idea of him,” Molly replied, returning Fanny’s smile with one of her own.

“I think the heat in here may have done something you, Molly,” Belle said, dotting the air with her fingertip. “Because I can’t believe…Rainsford of all people.” She sighed. “Well, you’ve at least managed to say more to the man than announcing your love of soup. I suppose that’s a small point in your favor for the type of woman Sneed would want.”

Fanny’s lips made a buzzing sound as she let out a loud, long, sigh.

“Don’t listen to her,” Molly said, giving Belle an annoyed look. Molly had become friends with the Fox sisters since her employment in the Governor’s House upon her arrival in Port Victory. She and Belle were the same; wanting more from their lives than what society deemed to be the only acceptable roles for them.  And why not?”

“Because he’s arrogant—"

“Intelligent.”

“Old fashioned with medicine—"

“A skilled surgeon.”

“And only wants to advance in life.”

“Don’t we all?” Molly asked dryly. Belle opened and closed her mouth before falling silent, alternating between blinking rapidly and scoffing. “Fanny, you understand this, yes?”

“Oh, don’t ask her,” Belle said before Fanny could say a word. “He nearly had me killed!”

“And equally recognized that Jack Dawkins did, in fact, save your life and is the best surgeon in the colony,” Molly explained. “Which, might I add, won him over to the Governor and Lady Jane.”

“You do not want to be part of this,” Lady Belle said with a shake of her head, “these dinners where the men pat themselves on the back for existing, where we have no voice, where…where…”

“Where I get to spend time with my best friends on even footing for once?” Molly asked, looking around the kitchen. “Instead of being reminded how I’m only a house maid? And being treated as thus?” She knew Lady Jane wouldn’t be happy with either of her daughters interacting with the house servant. Molly’s job was to tend to the family and not be seen as much as possible. “Believe me, I am aware just how this would look to the colony. Which is why we haven’t told anyone.” She lifted a carrot and pointed it in Belle’s direction. “You, Lady Belle, are not the only woman in the colony that wants more in her life.” She emphasized her point with a loud snap of her own.

Belle gave Molly a smile that was half a smirk. A silent “Ok, I see your point.”

“Has he given you a ring?” Fanny asked, ignoring her sister.

“I suppose if he’s suddenly performed alchemy?” Belle asked with a laugh. “Has he learned how to turn nutmeg into gold?”

“Some of us like the smell of nutmeg, m’lady,” Molly said with a laugh of her own.

“Are you using nutmeg?” Jack walked into the Governor’s home, sniffing the air. He frowned. “I don’t smell any. Are you making your soup? You always use nutmeg in your soups.” He pointed a finger at the mound of dough before taking a carrot for himself. “Bread for the soup?”

Molly shook her head. All these people in her kitchen. How was she going to get anything done? “There will be no soup if you keep eating all my carrots,” she said, planting her hands on her hips.

“I don’t suppose you have any extra nutmeg seeds?” Jack asked. “I could use them.”

“You would have to ask Rainsford, I suppose,” Belle said.

Jack snorted. “Why would I ask Sneed for nutmeg?”

“Because his brother has given him 10% of his nutmeg trade.”

“So?” Jack crunched on another piece of carrot.

“So Rainsford and Molly are in a courtship,” Fanny said with an excited squeal, lifting up onto the balls of her feet.

“You and Rainsford,” Jack said around his loud crunching, and a laugh. “That’s funny.”

“Oh, no,” Belle contradicted him, “no, she’s being serious.”

“Oh.” Jack’s eyebrows lifted upwards, the corners of his lips turning downwards as he contemplated Belle’s words. “Oh well, that’s—” He looked over his shoulder at Belle who silently stared back at him. He faced forward again. “That’s interesting news.” He then squinted at Molly, tilting his head to the side. “You are aware that he thinks very highly of himself?”

“Yes, a trait most men in the colony share I’ve come to find,” Molly replied with a charming smile.

Jack made a humming sound of surprise, turning to look at Belle again, this time in amusement. “Maybe this will be of some interest to me,” he said with some finality. Turning back towards Molly he started to laugh. “Something to brighten the day a bit from time to time. After all, I have been known to enjoy a match of wits time and again. Though, I suppose, speaking with Sneed that would be easy for any man here.”

Molly lifted an eyebrow.

“Or woman.” Belle made a noise in the back of her throat. “Yes, definitely a woman.” He sucked in a breath of air, looking around. Trying to find something he could change the subject to. “So…are you going to be making any soup?” His eyes widened when he realized all the women were staring at him. “It’s…good soup.”

Silence filled the kitchen until Fanny took in a breath and asked, "What did you think of kissing a man with a mustache?"

Molly blinked rapidly at her question. "I'm sorry?" she asked over Jack's loud groan of disgust.

"Well, I've only done it the once, and it kind of felt like a fuzzy caterpillar on my lips, but I suppose after some time, I'd come to enjoy it."

"Don't answer that," Belle said, her upper lip curling.

[nobilisseoblige]

🎄(if it isn't too late)

Yarne wanders the celebratory hall with a small pep in his step, even with the loud atmosphere of it all… he's alive. And safe, above all else. An event like this? No one would (probably) go for him here. No, for once, Yarne could… enjoy himself.

So, of course, Yarne still finds a way to be awkward.

"Oh, uhm, hi… sorry!"

Yarne rubs his head, wincing as he bumps into the loud one - for as large as he was, he still sometimes struggled to pay attention. And here he was, bumping into… a carrot? Wait, no, check again, Yarne.

Not a carrot… but very carrot-colored.

"…I like your hair?"

He awkwardly chuckles, moving to go, before he spies that ever-inedible plant above his head. Crap.

there were certain figures in the crowd that happened to catch his eyes, as they swam about in the sea of students that ebbed and flowed through open hallways.  it became more evident in the snow, as the fellow’s long, manelike hair and tufts of fur seemed to suit the holidays with ease. he hadn’t managed to strike up a conversation, not for lack of trying but for lack of opportunity… but it was only a matter of time before Ferdinand had his foot in the door, as he was determined to introduce himself before the year’s end. 

Ferdinand had been made keenly aware that he knew fairly little of the world at large. (and the urge to know more, see more, understand more, made him want to bridge the difference.) nowhere in Adrestia did they have beastfolk. the only beasts were those whose blood no longer favored humanity. but there were many cultures unheard of in these parts of Fodlan, graced with just as much good as any other. 

“Excuse me!”

he had no intention of making a spectacle of the young man, but everytime he saw his tall cut and downturned ears, Ferdinand wished to ask after him. (is it hard being far away from home? does your culture go about life differently than ours? is it rude to ask? have you been enjoying your life at the academy?) it’s colder now, but he hadn’t noticed, as he was enveloped in the delightful warmth of the academy kitchen, having baked for a number of hours just for the occasion.

”I am Ferdinand Von Aegir, eldest son of the noble Aegir household. I’ve been looking all over for you!” 

giving pause, he could have sworn the young fellow had said something about his hair...? he always loved complements, however. "Why thank you. I like your hair as well. I try to keep myself well-groomed, haha."

there is no coincidence that they are alone, nor was it just by chance that Ferdinand had caught him under the mistletoe. it seemed like the little sprigs were planted everywhere, so Ferdinand decided to embrace their presence with new design. pressing his hand to his chest, he proudly presented his fellow colleague with a wrapped bag of cookies—sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar, and a dollop of chocolate in the center. they were assorted by vanilla or carrot batter, as he had been a little too excited about making a good impression. 

“I’d… very much like to get to know you.” without an ounce of shame, he spoke his truth. “so I thought long and hard about how I’d begin to bridge that gap, and it lead me to this.”

”enjoy your yuletide!”

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #280

Brain Curds are lightly edited daily writing - usually flash fiction and sometimes terrible on purpose.

The following material is classified - unless you've read the rest of Government Man here on Tumblr!

The CIA food court was decorated corner to corner with festive adornment, and tables were pushed together into buffet lines with ham, turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, casseroles, cider, and (Government Man’s favorite) heavily spiked eggnog.

He poured another tiny glass of it from the oversized ladle, spilling some on the side that he gleefully licked up. Government Woman came to his side and squeezed his arm.

“Hello, Government Man.”

“Hello, Government Woman.”

“Do you know what I would like for Christmas?”

“I do not.”

She motioned up to the ceiling, where a sprig of mistletoe hung, swaying slightly with the breeze of the climate control system. Government Man looked at it, then at her, then at it, then at her again, then at the mistletoe a final time. He reached up and snapped it off the bit of thread which attached it to the rafters.

“Here you go, Government Woman. I am always happy to help you reach things that are too high up.”

He then walked away, leaving Government Woman perplexed and (besides the bit of plant) empty-handed.

~

Boss Man sat in his office in the dark with a bottle of whiskey. This Christmas was not his idea of a holiday. There was nobody waiting for him at home, or at the office, or at that pizza place he liked so much. He was alone.

A knock came to the door. “Come in,” Boss Man slurred, but in the drunk way and not the offensive way.

Government Boy poked his head in. “Why are you not celebrating at the Christmas party, Boss Man?”

Boss Man sighed. “You would not understand, Government Boy.”

The boy closed the door behind him and plopped himself into the seat on the other side of the desk. “Try me.”

Boss Man looked at the photo of Government Woman on his desk. “Have you ever had a crush, Government Boy?”

“Not really. There is nobody around who is my age.”

“Ah. Perhaps we should do something about that. Anyway… the heart is a fragile thing, soothed by the contents of a bottle.”

“Boss Man, if that is true… you should really be drinking water.”

~

Government Man Alpha was enthralled by the moving pictures on Postal Fred’s television.

“So this, you say, is a ‘cartoon’?”

“Yep,” Postal Fred replied. “It’s called Frosty the Snowman. They made it in the sixties.”

“You mean during the time of The Bay of Pigs?”

“Uh… No, I think it was a little later than that.”

“And how did they make this snow person move around?”

“They just drew a lot of different drawings, I guess. Probably sent ‘em through the good ol’ United States Postal Service, too.” Fred looked at his USPS flag on the wall with great pride. “That was our golden age, before the advent of email.”

“Hm…” Alpha admired the artistry. “Are there more of these ‘cartoons’ in existence?”

“Oh, boy, you bet! There’s like a hundred different ones! Or at least a dozen. Maybe a score. That’s twenty, right?”

Alpha smiled. “Will you show me?”

Please comment, reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed - I'd love to know what you think! See you again tomorrow.

[fateandfragments-fanfiction]

Christmas in July - F!Reader x Wyll Ravenguard

Baldurs Gate 3

[Name] is not one to indulge in frivolities, let alone holiday cheer—but when Wyll convinces her to partake in Christmas in July, she finds herself swept up in the chaos.

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

[Name] squinted up at the garish string of lights Wyll was attempting to hang between two crooked branches. The bright, twinkling bulbs were an offense to the quiet serenity of the forest, their wires draped haphazardly like some strange modern art installation.

“Explain this to me again,” she said, arms crossed.

Wyll grinned, his crimson eye sparkling as he carefully secured the final strand. “It’s simple. If Christmas is the best holiday of the year, why limit it to just one season?”

“Because it’s July,” she deadpanned, gesturing to the sweltering sun blazing overhead. “Christmas doesn’t belong in the middle of a heatwave.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said, hopping down from the makeshift ladder he’d cobbled together. “Christmas is a state of mind—a celebration of joy, generosity, and goodwill. And frankly, [Surname], you could use a little of all three.”

She glared at him, but he was already rummaging through a sack of decorations he’d brought along.

“Snowflakes,” she muttered as he began hanging paper cutouts from nearby branches. “In July. In a forest.”

“Exactly,” he replied cheerfully, unfazed by her tone.

-----

By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, Wyll had transformed their campsite into a bizarre fusion of holiday cheer and midsummer chaos. Strings of lights crisscrossed the clearing, ornaments dangled from branches, and an impressively ugly wreath adorned the front of their tent.

[Name] sat near the fire, poking halfheartedly at a roasting marshmallow. “I still don’t see the point.”

“The point,” Wyll said, sitting down beside her with an exaggerated sigh, “is to let go of all that cynicism you carry around like a second cloak.”

“I’m not cynical,” she retorted.

“Oh no?” He arched an eyebrow. “You’ve done nothing but complain since we started. No wonder you’re on your patrons naughty list.”

“That’s not even—” She stopped, narrowing her eyes. “Are you baiting me?”

“Maybe,” he said, his grin infuriatingly smug.

She huffed, turning back to her marshmallow.

-----

Later that evening, as the fire crackled and the forest buzzed with the sounds of night, Wyll brought out his pièce de résistance: a bottle of mulled wine.

“Where did you even get this?” [Name] asked, eyeing the bottle suspiciously.

“Trade secret,” he replied, pouring two cups.

She sniffed the drink cautiously before taking a sip. The spices were warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the day.

“Okay,” she admitted grudgingly. “This is decent.”

“High praise,” he said, raising his cup in a mock toast. “To Christmas in July.”

She rolled her eyes but clinked her cup against his.

-----

As the night wore on, [Name] found herself relaxing despite her best efforts. The lights cast a soft, colorful glow over the clearing, and the wine had loosened the sharp edges of her mood.

Wyll leaned back on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the sky. “See? This isn’t so bad.”

“It’s ridiculous,” she replied, though there was no bite to her words.

“Maybe. But sometimes ridiculous is exactly what we need.”

She glanced at him, his face bathed in the warm light of the fire. There was something disarming about his earnestness, something she couldn’t quite bring herself to dismiss.

“You really love this stuff, don’t you?” she asked.

He turned to her, his smile softening. “I do. And I think, deep down, you might love it too.”

She snorted. “Don’t count on it.”

But as she looked around at the twinkling lights, the whimsical decorations, and the man who’d gone out of his way to make her part of something so utterly ridiculous, she felt a warmth she couldn’t entirely blame on the wine.

-----

When Wyll produced a sprig of mistletoe from his sack of tricks, [Name] groaned.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “It’s tradition.”

“It’s summer!”

“All the more reason to improvise,” he said, dangling the mistletoe between them.

She glared at him, but he held his ground, his grin equal parts challenging and hopeful.

“Fine,” she said, leaning in to press a quick, chastely awkward kiss to his cheek. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he replied, though the faint flush in his face suggested otherwise.

As the night stretched on and the lights flickered against the backdrop of a summer sky, [Name] couldn’t help but admit—if only to herself—that maybe Christmas in July wasn’t the worst idea Wyll had ever had.

~Fin~

✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦✦

Don't mind me just in a bit of a BG3 kick lol--but also inspired by my Memere who finished decorating 3 weeks ago. Can't judge cause same. So yes, this is a crack fic lowkey.

I have a few finished bg3 drafts I'll be spreading out the next few days while I work on a recent FE request!

[blushblush-readerinsertsnthings]

Can we get Nimh aka rabbit softie x reader who gardens?👀

YESSSS SOFT BOI SUPREME!!!!

ahem that is to say... you sure can! I did some headcanons to kick things off!

definitely send in more requests, I loooove <3 <3 <3

NIMH

Oh!! Oh, he does that, too! He has a whole garden at home. It’s mainly butterfly-attracting flowers with a few vegetables, it isn’t very big… but it’s definitely something he enjoys having. It makes him happy to take care of. (He’s still quite pouty that his bunny instincts drove him to dig it up before he got changed back. As much as he likes gardening, it’s always discouraging to have to replant and regrow things that were just fine before they got dug up, thank you!!!)

Oh, man. The way he asks, “So… do you… do you maybe want to, um… g-get plants together?!”, you might mistake the question for something much more serious. To him it’s the equivalent of getting a pet together or moving in. Even if you’re already living together or have a pet together… he gets a little nervous about asking. Hobbies like this can be intensely personal, and what if your gardening is your ‘alone time’? He doesn’t want to intrude on that, of course. So if you want to keep your gardens separate, he totally understands.

However… if you do want to have a little garden that both of you are growing together, he’ll be over the moon. More so if you decide you want to combine gardens and either replant your plants in his yard or have him replant his in yours! It’s like a symbolic gesture that you do want to be with him for the long haul. Particularly if either of you have plants that take a while to grow or that return every year, he looks at it with the mindset of, You… really want to be with me long enough to see this bloom or come back? Wow…

… No lilies near him, if you can handle that? That’s one of the few flowers he’s super allergic to. Honestly, if it weren’t for his heart condition, he might brave the discomfort! But, well… that condition of his means that he could potentially run into problems if he sneezes too many times in a row. Annnnd with lilies, sneezing fits like that aren’t so much an ‘if’ as a ‘when’. Still, just like with roller coaster rides, he doesn’t want to disappoint you… if you’ve got your heart set on it, he could maybe handle one or two lilies (one of the lower-pollen varieties) in a shared garden!

If you don’t live together, when he visits you, he loves lying in your garden. Is that okay with you?? Is that weird? Does he care??? Especially if you’re doing it with him, there’s a not-zero chance he’ll fall asleep among the grass and flowers. Brace yourself when he wakes up; you might mistake him for a Disney princess.

Flower crowns? Oh, yes, flower crowns! As many as you’d like to give him, please! And, of course, he’ll make them for you too. His hands just keep weaving as the two of you are talking whilst sitting in the garden. Something about it relaxes him, and it’s nice to have something to do with his hands other than fidget with anxiety or just not know where to put his hands sometimes. The bonus is now he has something cute to put on your head! (Even though he thinks you’re perfect anyway.)

Is forever trading gardening tips with you. He’ll come to you for advice if a certain plant of his is not doing well, and he’ll provide advice for the same. If he sees you doing something he’s found a more efficient way to do, he’ll offer it as a suggestion. Though, he always delivers it in a way that makes it very clear that how you do things is how you do, and you’re welcome to disregard what he says; he knows you always take it into consideration even if you don’t end up using it! And he’s always incredibly grateful if some piece of advice you give him works. Kisses and nuzzles all around!

… Does he cook for you? Absolutely. Does he use ingredients from your and his gardens? Also yes! He thinks things taste a lot better when he uses something one of you grew yourselves, even if it’s something as small as a sprig of mint on dessert.

[enarmor]

Doorways: Decorating each doorway is a sprig of fresh mistletoe. Rumor has it that it's a Chalphy tradition for two people to share a kiss if they are caught under it together. You wouldn't deny the tradition of your hosts, would you?

"Are you aware mistletoe is poisonous?" It was an honest question, their voice lacking the sardonic bite that would edge their words if they were any less than earnest. "I am going to assume you either do not, or attempting to play that rumour into your favour is worth the risk."

They stood a few paces from the doorway, out of the sprig's reach and the behaviour that was invited by it's mere presence.

"Though there is no need to concern. As long as you don't go digesting it." Really, he had no reason to do such a thing so this was little more than an amusing little exchange. At least for Arval it was.

The tradition for the plant was not quite a situation they had much understanding and consequently little desire for, but they saw no reason why they couldn't twist the tradition to suit the pairs more usual topic of botany.

"Mistletoe is parasitic, you know. As well the infestation can trigger Witches Broom in their unfortunate hosts. Nasty little plant when it is not decorating the doorways." Their lips curled, amusement found blatant in the nature of the plant. "I am unsure where the tradition started exactly, but a little ironic the plant that, heh, brings people together is a parasite."

"Then it is just like love, my dear Arval. Just like love."

Sain snaps back with gusto abound, confident he knows his way around this doorway. And you'd think he would, by how much time he's spent by it tonight. He tries to play things off as having an unbroken spirit in the face of so many rejections,

But really, he's just glad to see Arval.

"Does a rose not have its thorn? Does the dazzling daffodil not scorn the hand at its bulb?" His lips spin in turn, corkscrewing in a grin he'd find uncontrollable until it matches that of the Lily's. A symbiotic gesture, it proudly displays how fond he is of their flowery discussions.

"Poison is a vital part of love," he is all too ready to point out, "it comes with all the slaps and rejections a knight must endure!" Of which he has endured many. To say they haven't made him the man he is today would be to deny that the sea does not shape the land around it.

"You say the mistletoe is parasitic? Then let it be a reminder: our affections, too, are parasites. When we are cursed to loneliness, we don't just want another... We need them. Sometimes that need drives us to madness." His voice rings with a vast wealth of experience, again in being both lonely and too engorged for his own good. Sain has had his ups and downs. He's experienced flings, let his heart soar above the clouds, said things he never meant. He knows both the good and the bad of the heart, in spite of his recent inability to attract the pulse of someone else's.

He holds the spring beneath his fingers, allowing torchlight to glisten against the skin of its berries. They look like red gems--each worth more than their weight in gold--but his friend's knowledge hasn't been lost on him. They are a plague to humankind, like beauty as human sin.

"But still... Love finds a way. Just you wait, my friend! I'll be licking the venom from a lady's lips by the end of the night! And if I'm not, I'll have you to speak with, right? Right?"

[parfumieren]

Aria di Capri (Carthusia)

Years ago, when Facebook still had me in its sinister clutches (I have long since banished it to the shadow whence it came), a friend DM'ed me a tale of grief over a long-lost love. A relative of hers had visited Italy and brought back a bottle of perfume-- an extravagant floral, pure springtime in a bottle, the most beautiful thing she'd ever smelled. Its name was... Flora Capria? Flowers di Capri? She despaired of ever finding this mystery scent again...

A quick search of Perfumed Court's database turned up a "Fiori di Capri" by Carthusia-- a name familiar to me from Perfumes: The A-Z Guide. Therein, Luca Turin waxes eloquent about another Carthusia fragrance called Aria di Capri. He described it as an astringent "iced amaro" scent suggestive of "a delicious drink of Italian bitters called a lavorato, which I had over ice with a view of the Duomo in Milan", and spoke of its ability to bestow the "invigorating sensation of increased clarity". Worded thus, how could it not appeal? Onto the wishlist it went, to remain forgotten until my pal told her sad story.

I found and emailed an image of the Carthusia label to her. Did it look at all familiar? She replied almost instantly with palpable excitement: It did! Now we had a dual mission: to reunite this lady with her long-lost favorite perfume and (I hoped) to gain a new favorite of my own. I duly ordered decants-- Aria for myself, a small sample; for her, a larger-sized spray bottle of Fiori. Done and done.

While waiting for our scent-soulmates to arrive, I read up on Carthusia's history. It was founded within a religious cloister (the Monastery of San Giacomo) on Capri a full two hundred years before Florence's Santa Maria Novella. Its exclusive line of perfumes incorporated essences derived from island-grown rosemary and carnations, resulting in a true local product. According to official apocrypha, production had slacked off over time until even the original formulas were misplaced. After World War II, the monks "rediscovered" the formulas and applied for a papal dispensation to have them analyzed by a chemist. Their cooperative efforts resulted in the relaunch of the Carthusia fragrance line-- five hundred years after its inception.

Alas, sometimes things die for a reason.

Aria di Capri started off crisp, clear, and cool, a benevolent floral-creamsicle accord that turned warm and vanillic as it developed on my skin. I could have forgiven it for being nothing like the promised licorice-bitters accord if only it had stopped there-- but no. Odd things started to occur, the first being a sudden twitch of the steering wheel that sent Aria di Capri into braunschweiger territory.

You heard me: my wrists suddenly smelled like liverwurst.

Lest I be accused of making this up, please know that my husband was offered a sniff of both the opening notes and this latter phase, and his verdict was the same as mine. And while our shared experience with Breath of God's smoked-meat phase proved amusing and edifying, there was nothing here to tempt us into thinking we were having a good time. For no woman wants to smell like the dourest of all lunch meats-- and no man, however enamored of a good sandwich, wants his woman to smell like it either.

But I'm not done. When the liverwurst accord (what IS it? what combination of scent elements is to blame?) was over, a dill accord kicked in. (Pickle with your sandwich?)

Now, I like the scent of dill as much as anyone else, and no one liked it better at that time than our cat. He was a veritable hog for fresh dill. We bought it by the bunch, and the beast positively trembled with desire whenever we cut off a sprig to feed him as a treat. So when he woke out of a sound midday nap and looked at me expectantly, I knew I wasn't dreaming that smell up. It lasted just long enough for me to decide for posterity that dill does not belong anywhere near perfume.

Period.

By the time Aria di Capri reverted back to something presentable on skin (the original floral accord, only wan and unenthusiastic), I'd had about enough. Clearly, whatever Luca Turin was drinking, it was more pickle juice than lavorato. And that wasn't the Duomo in his line of sight-- it was a delicatessen.

Later, I received an email from my friend, to whom I had sent Fiori di Capri via mail. In words of simple dignity, she thanked me for the perfume, even though it was nothing like she remembered. I understood then that no matter how let down I felt by Aria di Capri, at least I had not known it as any other scent than it was when it came to me. She'd known a better Fiori di Capri, once-- and never would again.

Et in Carthusia ego....

Scent Elements: Mimosa, iris, jasmine, laurel, licorice

[nagaficat]

Before he had met Deirdre, Sigurd had little appreciation for flowers. They were an easy gift, a sometimes message, but fleeting, easy to overlook in the wild fields of Chalphy where they bloomed so readily – but his home had never been lush with them, merely the spartan halls of his hold, traditional paintings, carpets that were older than his father. 

But then they had met by chance, first in Marpha, and then again in her Spirit Forest, and suddenly his ascetic military life had been filled with green and breath and all things alive. She seemed to cultivate a relationship with everything she touched, and so too did that life move into him and find root in his heart, sprouting under her care just as the vases and urns she decorated their halls with thereafter. 

And now, now that he had felt her absence so keenly, felt her wrested from his arms and his soul torn from it, he felt that he could cherish her all the more appropriately – his light, his life, the moonflower that bloomed under his touch and filled his heart with joy. They had scarcely been separated since he had sought her out, and though Sigurd could not be accused of being a man of thinking, he learned from his mistakes. 

When she turned to him in the market, such expectation on her face, he melted, every line of his face soft when he smiled at her. In another life, he would have bought out the stall for her, bought out the market, but if all she wanted was a simple bouquet, to build a corsage and boutonniere for the upcoming ball, then it truly was the least he could do. 

"It would do my heart the greatest good to be among these blooms with you, my love," he said to her, and the attendants of the cart simpered and swooned, so taken in by their love for one another. 

They were guided to a station nearby the cart bedecked with so many blooms and fillers that Sigurd's head spun, and he had to laugh. "I fear I am not so educated on this," he said, threading his fingers with Deirdre's for a quick peck to the back of her hand, "I hope you will guide me well." 

Even though she knew he would be agreeable, it still fills Deirdre’s heart to the brim with joy to hear her husband acquiesce to her request.  He has always been quick to give in to her wishes and indulge in her whims.  Even something like this which requires patience and a delicate hand, she knows he would participate in simply because it is with her.

There has only ever been one time where he denied her.  When she was left behind in Augusty to nurse and care for their infant son as he marched ahead to Madino. 

“Do not worry!  Together we can accomplish anything!”  Even if she ends up doing most of the work herself, it will not matter.  He is here and he is with her.

Deirdre takes a seat on the bench provided next to him.  She does not bother giving him space, sitting where they are still touching.  Even sitting across from him where their elbows would not bump into each other would feel like worlds away.  

She reaches for a sprig of blue forget-me-nots and places them softly in his hand.  Eyes full of stars, she looks up at him.  “Do you remember our wedding, my lord?  I wore them in my hair.  I would like to wear them for you again.”

[lovemeian]

here’s a suggestion;; imagine going to the love locks bridge with oikawa, atsumu, suna and sakusa 🥺 they’d be so smitten mmm ❤️❤️

ahhh! this is so cute my heart went oomph! ngl, love locks bridge is a superior cheesy end-of-date scenario that anyone deserves at one point. even if you both think its cheesy together, its still cute.

characters ! oikawa tōru, miya atsumu, suna rintarō, and sakusa kiyoomi x gn!reader

fluff! + i don’t usually do back to back popular characters, but this one’s cute so it’ll pass hehe + also since there’s four & i immediately thought of doing each drabble by different season + none of the tenses are the same, why? idek !

OIKAWA TŌRU,

mans a highkey simp, you can’t tell me he’s not the one who insisted/begged/bargained you to go. spring is here, in its most bountiful form; sprigs of wildflowers and carefully cultivated street plants litter the way to the bridge; and your man has not stopped swinging your hands together excitedly, humming his own tune in his own little world, sometimes bringing you in his rose-coloured gaze by shooting you such warm, adoring looks, kissing the back of your shared hand, and continuously alternating between complimenting you on the most mundane things— “i like how you did your hair today, y/n-chan!” — to talking about anything that captures his eyes— “ooh, look that restaurant looks nice, should we check it later?”

it’s been only a few days since he had been back from argetina, but he was like he was tourist, pointing out new things to ask you and old things that he remembered.

he’s positively buzzing with excitement, and even you can’t fight off the overwhelming pollination of love and adoration he was spewing. after you guys spend a total of twenty minutes picking a lock design & thinking hard on what to write on it in permanent marker, tooru pouting, “it has to be really good since it’ll be there forever!”

“what if they choose to clean it out after a year?”

gasps so loud, heads had turned. he looked like you just said you wanted to kick all the puppies in the world. “no! why would you say that? they wouldn’t, wouldn’t they? MA’AM!” you had to pull his hair back and had to be reassured, numerous times by you and the store employee who sells the locks, that no, they don’t clean it out every year, and yes, it’ll be there forever.

mans a little teary eyed, the drama queen.

but as soon as his ass is calm, you both lock it together, fingers finding each other right after the click, and the shared smile you both glimmer is so much love that spectators almost hurt to see. he sweeps you in his arms and he tightens it.

“i love you, y/n-chan,” he says softly to your hair, as if he’s tacking the lock, to the skies, one last promise to go with it. “i want to love you for as long as i exist.”

“simp.” you grinned, eyes shining.

he makes an unintelligible grumble, but kissing your crown regardless. “only for you. in the city i live in in buenos airies, they also have a love lock bridge there. we should visit every single one in any of our travels so we can say we’ve locked ourselves for each other in every other city.”

you raised your eyebrows, sifting through his hair to let some cherry blossoms that had been dancing in the wind and sitting pretty on him fall. “does that mean we’re not together in california right now? isn’t haji back there for a—”

he pressed his lips against yours with a little petulant glare as you simpered laughter in between insistent kisses. “you’re so mean, y/n-chan. but you’re my little meanie, okay? not even haji can have you.”

“what about—”

“shut up.” he slotted his lips against yours, drowning in your laughter and the hanami around you.

MIYA ATSUMU,

why either of you chose the deadset heatwave of the summer to do this, who knows. well actually you do. the beach is always the best idea to quench the heat, and the boardwalk, someone had set up a locks gift shop and at the end of the dock was a love locks set up.

you and atsumu had given each other a look, smiled and shrugged.

“a little cheesy, but why not? it seems cute.”

he kissed the top of your forehead, tasting a little sunscreen. “anythin’ for you, baby.” don’t believe him, he liked the idea so much he’s trying to simper his uncontrollable grin, the dork.

before you reach the gift shop, your eyes finds an ice cream stall and tug. you had been craving it all day under the sun. “i’ll buy us some first, why don’t you pick?”

“okay, but don’t take too long.” his eyes glimmer with mischief. “am not wearing a shirt, baby, might get picked up by someone else.”

your eyes narrowed. though it was too true that your boyfriend had never looked more delicious than just wearing some official msby boards shorts merch with his number on the side, citing the fact that he wanted at least his top half to tan evenly, so his abs and muscles are on full display for anyone who enjoyed the anatomy of the human male to gawk at. but in his neck you also know was a chain with your initials on it, something he never took off and proudly displayed.

“well i hope you know how to communicate with sharks, cos i’ll sink your ass if you do.”

as he guffawed, leaving you to buy ice cream cones, he giddly got to the shop and got a little overwhelmed by the choices. colours, shapes, even ones that sing when pressed? inhaling once, he chose to go classic— a medium sized bright red and wrote: your initials, his, and drew so many hearts with his tongue pushed against his cheek, balancing it with slippery sunscreen fingers.

“ya done?” you asked as you approached, finding him adorably bent as he wrote down on the lock. a gaggle of girls had been eyeing him and giggling, and you felt a flushed of pleasure as you stand next to him and his smile brightens, his love pouring off its hilt.

“yup!” as you offered his cone, you approached the queue of love locks, all brightly coloured and locked with so much hope and love, and as he grinned at you, he locked it, promptly tossing the key in the ocean as far back as his lean arm can do

“hey dummy, i don’t think you’re supposed to do that!”

he smirked. “this way, only fish people can attempt to break us apart.”

“tsumu,” you deadpanned. “you never know what might come crawling outta there.”

he went pale so fast, you actually snorted some ice cream. “aye, angel don’t say that! ya know i still wanted to swim!” as he pouted, completely glomping on you with his body despite your complaints that it was too hot. you now have a human keychain stuck to you, good luck.

SUNA RINTARŌ,

it wasn’t cold enough to completely pull out the heavy jackets, but autumn swept with promises of chilled cheeks and fingers; needing to bundle for warmth and seeking the nearest person.

“this is stupid,” suna complains for the umpteenth time, whiny and pouty as you haul him off to the love lock bridge that recently had been wrapped in fairylights.

“you didn’t want to go a while ago,” you retorted back, taking his gloved hands, peeling them off, and started warming them up. rin’s hands have always been beautiful— long fingers, nicely cut nails, and ridges and bones that felt like a comfortable puzzle underneath your own hands. you were always so surprised at how clean and pretty they are, and despite his pouty sentiments, he lets you play and warm up his hands because he knows how much you love them.

“that’s because there were so many people a while ago,” he said, puffing out an exhale as he checked the watch on your arm. almost 12am. he huffed. “it doesn’t mean i wanted to go at the crack of midnight.”

“it’s not the crack of midnight.” you smirked at him, kissing the corner of his lips. “it’s still 11:45.”

“that’s not very bright of you.”

“oh, stop being baby, we’re almost there. ooh, i’m so glad i bought a lock this afternoon. all gift shops are closed.”

“because it’s the crack of midnight.”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, yeah, ya crack obsessed. c’mon, i see it! oh, rinnie, look how fuckin pretty it is!”

“don’t— hey!” he took after you, grumbling at your clumsy legs, and if you fall and hurt yourself, i’m going to kill you, as right after you squealed, you had gone barrelling straight for the twinkly bridge. from his cursory view a while ago that was mostly filled with people and decidedly did not want to go there, he didn’t notice that the bridge, in fact, was not a solid, straight cap metal bridge.

it was one of those moving, creaky wood ones hung by thick ropes. and at your excited sprint, it started swaying. he slowed down just as your eyes popped excitedly, jumping on the damn thing.

“rinnie, look!”

“stop moving, goddamnit, what if it breaks, crazy!”

“it won’t— whoa!”

as soon as you swayed, rin was cursing gods and all as he dashed after you, taking you in his arms and holding onto the thick rope for dear life. “stupid!” he held on so tight, his knuckles started turning white. but then the bridge slowed and he started hearing giggles. from you.

you looked up at him with mischief and snorts. “i was just kidding.” his entire face just deadpanned as he suddenly jolted it, jumping as you yelp. “rin!”

“i hate you.”

“no you don’t.” you pouted. you never liked it when he said it, even if he didn’t mean it.

“no i don’t.” he sighed. god, he was a simp. “c’mon, let’s finish this and go home.”

“okay.” as you started moving, the bridge started swaying.

“be careful, fuck, who builds shit like this?” as he held on your waist in one arm, the other tightly on the rope, you finish putting your initials, the date, and a ‘love always’ for good measures, and locking it, turning to him to kiss him. “i love you too,” he muttered. only you could drag him out in the middle of a cold to do this. only you.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI,

there has been a fight, spurred on from a disagreement, snowballing into an argument, and to the worst and pettiest way of letting both of your anger spur it further— bringing up old shit that should’ve been buried. omi was a man who build routines and walls for his personal comfort, everything new takes time to shift and change his entire space. you had been one of his greatest efforts; he had loved you so much, he was willing to rework his walls, adjust his routines, to accommodate you.

but even if he has his limits, and you, who knew about it, and was always so happy when he tried, had maybe cross a line you didn’t think was a line in the first place.

it’s been two days, and life in the same space has been quiet. a little awkward. the anger has dissipated entirely, but neither ones are able to approach and apologise. you both think you are in the right, and you were, in some way. but both of you are stubborn and too awkward to approach the subject in fear of inciting a new one.

“you are both stupid,” one of your friends says as you poured in what had happened and how awful and awkward you do feel around the house with him.

“wow, thanks for the support. always knew i can lean on you for the hardest times.”

“do something, anything,” your friend insisted. “someone has to swallow their pride to move forward. open a conversation.”

“but how?”

“you know him better than i do— oh, oh! there’s a love lock bridge! it’s fairly new and usually empty during like, night. but it has the prettiest lights.”

“it’s the dead of winter, i’m not going to give us hypothermia.”

they wiggled their eyebrows. “and that’s when you know they still love you, you know.”

it was a stupid idea. but you still bought a love lock regardless. after work, you had headed straight for the gift shop, completely bundled up as snow started to fall; not harsh, but delicately steady. soon, it’d be too perilous to go. as you were in line, it makes you think of what to do if a blizzard happens and if the fridge has enough stock when you hear your name, rumbled by a familiar voice.

you turn, and there he was, sakusa kiyoomi with bright red nose and cheeks, squished in woollen mufflers, beanie with his stray curls pultruding out, and the thick scarf you had made him last christmas.

“oh, hi, love.” the endearment is natural in your tongue, and kiyoomi had missed it. at the pang in his heart, he had missed it so much he inhaled some snowflakes. “what’re you doing here?”

but your eyes are quick, noting that in his hand, he had bought a love lock too. in your favourite colour. at your gaze, he burned a brighter red.

“i—” he cleared his throat. “i was going to surprise you.”

you smiled, pulling out the love lock you just bought, a mirror to his but in his favourite colour. “me too. hold on, did you talk to f/n?”

he blinked. “oh. yes, i did. i— i’m sorry.”

“me too, love. i missed you too.” you took his hand and through thick mittens, tighten your hold on him as he pulled you in deeper into an embrace.

“i love you too, missed you so much,” he mumbled. truly, there was still so much to talk about, the actual conversation merely postponed. but as long as you remind each other you still love each other, still want to choose one another at the end of the day— you were both going to be ok.

“say, what if we lock these in together and go home fast?”

he smiled, cold lips kissing your cold forehead. “i’d say let’s go.”

locking it with mittens and slowly dropping temperatures is an entire ordeal, but both of you bundled into each other as you giggled your way home, more than assured that you were going to come out of this one stronger. 

made by lavi for nonnie <3

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