#i missed talking about her i love her bushels

[winter-soldier-101]

You are not her! Part 5

Word count:2114

Daemon hides in plain sight till he hears the stomping of his lady wife’s horse and he slowly walks up to lady Rhea’s horse and frightens the horse and it lands on top of lady Rhea Daemon begins to walk away but lady Rhea calls him back saying she knew he couldn’t finish so Daemon turns back to her and picks up a large stone and smashes the stone into her face till she is no more.

Driftmark

(Y/N) stays with Laena as they talk about their siblings getting betrothed to each other but it’s soon over as the guard calls upon her telling her the ship is ready to leave.

“I’ve missed you Laena and I can’t wait to see you soon” (Y/N) says hugging her.

“I’ve missed you as well (Y/N) and we will see each other soon” Laena says hugging (Y/N) tight and letting her go as they walk away from each other.

The ship ride home

(Y/N) stands near Rhaenyra as Ser Cole walks over to you both wanting to talk to Rhaenyra Ser Cloe asks to talk alone with her but Rhaenyra tells him that you know everything and it’s okay to talk.

“Did sleep flee you as well this morning” Rhaenyra asks Ser Cole.

“I needed to see you princess” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra as (Y/N) walks to the other side of the boat still being able to hear their conversation.

“I confess I had a similar desire” Rhaenyra says, smiling up at him.

“You have confided in me now and then over the years of our acquaintance. I feel forgive, me that I know you….a bit” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra.

“You know more than a bit” Rhaenyra says, smiling up at him.

“I’ve heard you say so many times how you loathe the lot of your position that you are to be married off at your father’s whim with no thought given to the yearning of your own heart and now the day comes Ser Laenor is a good and decent man but you did not choose him he was chosen for you” Ser Cole tells Rhaenyra.

“That’s true,” Rhaenyra says looking at Cole.

“If there were another path, one that led to freedom, would you tread it? Rhaenyra before I came here I was a knight in the Stormlands I have deep knowledge of the port at Sunspear where I’ve seen the ships of Essos setting sail with their hulls full of oranges and cinnamon and I’ve always wished to see where they went” Ser Cole tells Rhaenyra.

“Are you asking me to leave?” Rhaenyra asks him in disbelief.

“I’m asking you to come with me…. Away from all this from the burdens and indignities of your inheritance let us leave it all behind and see the world together where we’ll be nameless and free free to go where we like to love as we like in Essos you could marry me a marriage for love not for the crown” Ser Cloe tells her looking at her hoping she will agree and marry him.

“I am the crown Ser Criston or I will be I may chafe at my duties but do you think I would choose infamy in exchange for a bushel of oranges or a ship to Asshai? It is my duty to marry a nobleman from a great house and Ser Laenor will make a fine husband but my marriage does not have to be the end Ser Criston Laenor and I have an understanding I’ve granted him leave to pursue his own interests and in turn he’s granted me the same” Rhaenyra tells him and hopes he will agree to this instead.

“So you want me to be your whore?” Ser Cole asks, looking at Rhaenyra in disbelief.

“I want us to continue as we began with you as my sworn protector my white knight,” Rhaenyra says, looking up at him.

“I took an oath as a knight of your king's guard, an oath of chastity. I've broken it…” Ser Cole says looking at Rhaenyra angrily.

“I won’t tell anyone—“ Rhaenyra starts to say.

“I’ve soiled my white cloak and it’s the only thing I have to my fucking name I thought if we were married I might be able to restore it” Criston tells Rhaenyra with tears in his eyes.

“The iron throne looms larger than me larger than anyone in my family Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms and put them on a path— Ser Criston” Rhaenyra calls out for him but he just leaves her standing there alone.

“I’m sorry sister I know you care for him” (Y/N) says holding Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Thank you sister, I know I can always count on you” Rhaenyra says, giving you a small smile.

The Wedding Feast

“It is at great pleasure that His Grace King Viserys announces the start of the royal wedding celebration— House Lannister with their lord Jason Lannister, lord paramount of the west and master of casterly rock. House Hightower with their lord Hobert Hightower beacon of the south defender of the citadel, the voice of old town…” Ser Harrold announces in the lords and their families.

Jason Lannister starts walking up to the high table where the royal family is sitting.

“Congratulations your grace you have made a fine match for the princess now you have to find a good match for princess (Y/N)” Jason tells Viserys.

“Thank you lord Jason I could think of no other man than Ser Laenor” Rhaenyra says smiling at Jason Lannister.

“Well if this is only the welcoming feast I admit I cannot imagine what you might have planned for the wedding” Jason tells Viserys.

“My daughter is the future Queen. I want this to be one of two weddings for the histories (Y/N)’s will be just as grand,” Viserys says smiling at both his daughters.

“Where is the Queen? I hoped to pay my respects” Jason says, asking Viserys.

“I understand the Queen is still readying herself for the celebrations” Viserys tells Jason.

“This is why men wage war because women would never be ready for the battle in time” Jason says chuckling.

“Your presence is always such a pleasure, lord Jason,” Rhaenyra says.

“Princesses your grace” Jason says leaving the table and as the next family comes up a man stops them and wants to talk to the king.

“Your Grace princess Rhaenyra princess (Y/N) congratulations are in order” Ser Gerold says.

“We are very honored to have you as a guest, Ser Gerold. I must say I was most distressed to hear of Lady Rhea’s tragic passing. I'm very sorry for your loss” Viserys says to Ser Gerold.

“Lady Rhea was a unique character; her kind is not soon to be seen again” Ser Gerold says.

“If there is anything the crown might do to aid House Royce—“ Rhaenyra starts to say but the doors open and music starts as House Velaryon enters.

“Lord Corlys of House Velaryon Lord of the roses Master of Driftmark and his Lady wife Princess Rhaenys Targaryen their son and heir Ser Laenor Velaryon the future king consort” Ser Harrold announces them in and everyone stands and claps as they make way to the hard table everyone sits down as Daemon walks in and makes way to the table and father did not look happy to see him here.

“Be welcome as we join together in celebration tonight is only its beginning we honor the crown’s oldest and fiercest ally House Velaryon reaching back to the days of Old Valyria and the age of dragons with House Targaryen and—“ Viserys says but stops as everyone looks over and see Alicent walks in and heads down to the table as everyone stands and bows as she walks by.

“Congratulations stepdaughter what a blessing this is for you” Alicent tells Rhaenyra and gives Viserys a kiss and sits down.

“Please be seated” Viserys says continuing his speech.

“With House Targaryen and House Velaryon united I hope to herald in a second age of dragons in Westeros…. After tonight��s small affair seven days of tournaments and feasting at the end of it all a royal wedding between my daughter and heir your future Queen and Ser Laenor Velaryon the heir of Driftmark” Viserys announces to the mass as everyone claps and cheers.

(Y/N) watches as Rhaenyra and Laenor do a traditional dance as everyone watches and claps then gets up and starts dancing along.

“In the Vale men are made to answer for their crimes even Targaryens” Ser Gerold says walking up to Daemon.

“Who are you?” Daemon asks, looking at Ser Gerold.

“Ser Gerold Royce of Runestone” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“And?” Daemon asks.

“I am cousin to your late lady wife” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“Yes terrible thing I’m positively bereft of such a tragic accident” Daemon says looking around.

“You know better than anyone it was no accident” Ser Gerold says angrily to Daemon.

“Are you confessing some guilt, Ser Gerold?” Daemon asks.

“I am making an accusation” Ser Gerold tells Daemon.

“In King's Landing men are made to answer for their slanders, even old bronze cunts like you. The truth is I’m glad you’ve come. I wish to speak to you about my inheritance” Daemons says looking at Ser Gerold smugly.

“What inheritance?” Ser Gerold asks, looking at Daemon.

“Lady Rhea and I had no heirs as her husband whatever she was due now passed to me she stood to inherit all of Runestone did she not? After my nieces wedding I plan to fly to the Eyrie and petition Lady Jeyne myself, perhaps I’ll see you there Ser Gerold” Daemon tells Ser Gerold as he walks away.

(Y/N) soon joins Rhaenyra and Laenor in dancing and cheering and laughing everyone switches partners and (Y/N) is now dancing with Ser Harwin and they both laugh then she is suddenly pushed into his body.

“I’m sorry Ser Harwin” (Y/N) says apologizing as he pulls her away from the pushing and fighting that suddenly takes place (Y/N) runs over to Viserys scared as Ser Harwin gets Rhaenyra after all the fighting (Y/N) hears bones being broken and a scream as (Y/N) looks over and sees Ser Laenor cry over his lovers body.

The Vows

“The love of the Seven is holy and eternal, the source of life and love. We stand here tonight in thanks and praise to join two souls as one father… mother… warrior… smith… maiden… crown… stranger, hear now their vows” The High Septon says.

“I am yours and you are mine whatever may come” Rhaenyra and Laenor say to each other.

“Here in the presence of gods and men I proclaim Laenor of House Velaryon Rhaenyra of House Targaryen to be man and wife one flesh one heart one soul now and forever” The High Septon announces and Viserys falls forward (Y/N) yells out for the maester and guards help him up and take him to his room.

(Y/N) is taken to her room and sees a letter on her vanity and sees it’s from her father and opens it and reads.

My dearest (Y/N),

I am writing to you to tell you that you will be marrying your uncle Daemon. He will protect and love you; you shall marry soon after your sister's wedding.

Your King Viserys Targaryen.

(Y/N) reads the letter over and over letting the tears fall.

“Why are you crying?” A voice asks from behind.

“How did you….. Uncle, what are you doing here?” (Y/N) asks, looking at Daemon.

(Y/N) shows him the letter as he walks over to her and sits down next to you.

“(Y/N) I will care and love you” Daemon says holding your face in his hands as he leans over and kisses your lips softly and pulls you onto his lap and holds you there and he begins pulling at your dress but you pull away.

“We should stop” (Y/N) says slowly pulling away from Daemon.

Daemon stands and pulls you to his body.

“Let us leave to marry freely” Daemon tells (Y/N) and she nods her head and packs some cloths as (Y/N) packs some clothes Daemon pulls out a letter that he wrote as you and puts it down on your bed and he takes your hand and leaves with you as you both go through the passageway and down to the dragon pit and (Y/N) runs to cannibal and they fly away to Pentos.

Taglist: @secretdreamlandmentality @malynn @stargaryenx @urmomsgirlfriend1 @splaterparty0-0 @siriusdumblittlepuppy @devils-blackrose @thefandomimagines @impartinghades @immyowndefender @melissarose234 @lazyotakujen @whitejuliana1204 @elizadj @thanyatargaryen @afro-hispwriter @aegon-andaemondtargaryenslut18 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @hc-geralt-23 @snh96 @animelover18 @danielle-leah1997 @angeliod @lightdragonrayne @talkdiffently6 @yeah-just-a-fan @1950schick @billiesbeans @daemyratwst @impartinghades @nats-whore @dc-marvel-girl96 @noname2246 @targaryenmoony @scarlettqueen190 @slutmeoutsworld @ivanna6026

[imaginedreamwrite]

Since today is headcanon kinda day, I would like to suggest something I thought about few weeks ago.

I was hit by nostalgia and rewatched few videos about bookcanon of Game of Thrones. One of them was about real size of Winterfell and it made me think about Exile.

I don't know if the castle in the Exile is big - you didn't specify it I think (but maybe, I should re-read it since it is one my favorite fics of yours), but... If it is big or there is free space, my headcanon is that Steve would plant a little forest within castle walls like a godswood in GOT universe. He knows that Reader would be content living in the forest for the rest of her life if she wasn't stolen by him. Her connection to nature, her ability to live off the resources the forest provided fascinated Steve and (I think) he would want her to have that land of solitude, where her soul could rest. So, he would ask to plant lots young trees as a start (I think it was possible even in medieval times to replant trees that has grown for some time), maybe also some wild flowers and forest berries to create beautiful glade in the center of the forest.

idk - but reading how devoted Steve is and how much he loves Reader even when she fights with him, made me think he absolutely would do that for her.

(Tumblr, please, don't make the ask disappear 😢)

While I didn’t specify how big it was, I love this idea of Steve giving her her own forest in the interior grounds of the castle. Its her own private escape and it helps mend bridges between them

“I told you not to look.”

“I told you I’d cut your hand off and feed it to the crocodiles.” You spur him and his attempt to scold you almost playfully, and jut back against him when he gets a little too close to your back.

And that still doesn’t stop him.

“There’s no crocodiles in this area.” Despite your warning, Steve still leans in close enough to whisper in your ear, a husky drone that elicits a shiver.

“Where are you taking me anyway? To a torture chamber? A bottomless pit?” Your spite draws a laugh from him and with his hands still covering your eyes you’re forced to put a little faith and trust in him.

“I think I’ll suspend you from the tower, make an example of you.” The teasing continues and Steve is decidingly coy about how eased he is now, and much to your dismay you find yourself relaxing around him.

Instead of commenting on the teasing nature as you perhaps should have, you avoided the immediate easement of your relationship to comment on the surprise that he had for you.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me? And if you don’t tell me in the next few minutes, I’m going to-”

“A surprise, spitfire.” Steve embraced you fully, drawing his hands from your eyes to place them on your hips, and as your vision had come to fruition you had seen an encased forest and meadow before you.

“Your own private meadow and wilderness. Somewhere for you to feel safe with nature while being home-”

“I remember these flowers.” You departed from him immediately, drawing toward a bushel of petals and greenery that reminded you of the brook you’d cross every morning on your walk.

“And these vines…” you were at a loss for words, truly and wholly unaware of how much detail Steve had picked up on when he heard you talk about missing your freedom away from this all.

It was overwhelming to see it, no small amount of space for you to experience life as you once had and yet you were safely nestled within the confines of the castle walls. It was endless, a seamless and even compromise between the nature that raised you and the man who would be your husband.

“Steve-” you turned on your heel, silence befalling you as you watched him, gazed at him with some unreserved and unfiltered emotional shift reflecting in your eyes.

It was as if you were seeing him cast in an entirely new light, as if every ounce of bitterness had been carved away to reveal true person lingering beneath his animosity and heavy guard he had held in place.

“Do you…want to walk with me?” It wasn’t what you really wished to say, but it was something akin to the truth bubbling on your tongue.

[bugcatcherwill]

THUS CHAPTEYR... Will I am Worried About It WHAT !!!

Ashen helping Cottla win because she gets bummed out about losing all the time is so sweet,,,, I know Koko and Tulin are just kids too but them winning all the time and Cottla getting down about it and Ashen noticing and going out of its way and making a game for her to win at is so nice,,,coughing baby is nicer than the average Hylian smh my head

I love these chapters that remind me how important Ashen is to the story and TO ME..... pounding n my fists on the floor . what did we do to deserve this Freak /affectionate

ON THE OTHER HAND,,, catch my ass gripping Cross like a fucking Slime CROSS DON'T DO IT... CROSS DONT'T DO IT, !! SPRAYIGN IT WITH A WATER BOTTLE CROSS DON'T FUCING DO IT !! THROTTLIGN

crying over Zayl too. you don't understand I love Zayl so much every time it's happy I do a jig and whenever it gets sad or upset in any way it dampens the mood of the entire story [in a good way] FUCK,, what the balls happened to its leg. I KNOW ITS LEG WAS INJURED WHEN IT VERY FIRST DEFECTED AND IF THIS IS SOME KIND OF PAST WOUNDS OPENING BACK UP THING IM GONNA CRY I JUSY WANT MY FUCKIGN LIZOR TO BE JHAPPY .. HITS YOU /J /J /J /J

YEAAAAAAAA I KEEP WANTING TO TALK ABOUT THE ASHEN SCENE BECAUSE I LOVE IT SO MUCH

Like........as sweet as it is it still shows that Ashen grew up to the "older responsible child" role too early!!!! It's still so young and is having moments like this!! It's so sweet but so heartbreaking at the same time!!!!!!!!

And Ashen is more of a Hydrogen Baby than a coughing baby kaljhdflkhj

AND WE'LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS WITH CROSS AND ZAYL WHO KNOOOOOWS WHAT'LL HAPPEN >:)

For Cross it's like......peak foreboding. You KNOW exactly what kei are going to do, but have to just watch,,,,,god I'm so excited for that arc's conclusion,,,,,,,,

AND FOR ZAYL YEAAAA IT REALLY IS JUST THE LIGHT OF THE FIC AIEEEEEEE

It's the most The Heart of all time,,,

But as for its leg, I'll just alleviate the worry by saying it's not a past wound.

However, clarifying it might make things worse >:)

With a grunt she picked up the bushel, shivering from the sudden ambient cold, and carried it back to its intended destination. The monsters laughed the incident off and went their separate ways towards the transporter to the Akkala Lab. She never noticed that two to three icy chunks of ChuChu had vanished out of the bucket. Meanwhile Zayl’s leg, satchel slung around it, shivered and shook. A heavy stare had found itself plastered onto its face.

So from the end of the most recent chapter we know:

-The Sheikah merchant was missing a few ice ChuChu chunks and never noticed

-Zayl acting much more grim and serious

-Its leg where its bag was attached to is shivering

I wonder what happened (and going to happen)......I'll let everyone else do the overthinking ehehehehehe <3

[ananxiousman]

Prompt: Write about what you aren’t looking at, or cannot see in a given setting.

Not Looking

I am not looking at the bushels of people about me with feet that move in unique fashion, each cadence their own.

Dishes din and ding in the background, the sound of being cleaned, scraped, steamed, poured, ground. I still imagine the sound of their feet. The feet I perceive but do not see directly, as if all other sound fell away like a curtain. I feel their song of life and mood.

Some plodding with the heaviness of another waking day. Some light with the pep of fresh air, pure thoughts and caffeine. Others intentional, paced and in a hurry. Those that feel akin to me, amble aimlessly, yet full of intention, with half-worn heels that tell the tale of how one walks, scuffing and creaking across the wooden slats of a Parisian Style Coffeehouse floor. Mine are perched, half-heels high and knees bent chest-nigh. Toes pedaling and heels clicking, like Dorothy on a paddleboat homeward bound. Between my thoughts I feel shoulders and voices bristling against each other in morning air, slowly heated by the rising sun. Warmed by the idea of running into someone.

I sense the emotion of a man in my peripheral. Awaiting his warm cup of life, his neck cocked like a resting crane, shoulders hunched like a sack of dirty laundry, hands folded like an old newspaper never again to be read. He sounds happy, but he feels defeated. Pressed flat like dough beneath a rolling pin, he feels to me to be hunkered by the protection of passivity. He knows the Baristo by name and greets him with a smiling voice, comments on the weekday, knowing it’s the dutiful worker’s Friday, they share a moment of knowing with each other. No other purpose to it than to say, ‘I see you. I am seen.’ It is a beautiful and selfless scene. One I felt, but I did not see.

I wasn’t looking as another cluster of colors and shapes appeared to replace the man with shoulders that slouched like a half-full burlap sack. These sensations felt familiar, only a stool away - I could feel the bright reflection of sun from their moon-like visage turned to face the broadside of mine.

‘Good morning, Orion’

The voice spoke with a tenor so smooth it exuded the kind of confidence one gets from a plethora of education, the likes of which only extensive travel and dedication to the task of growth may afford. You could hear her wrinkle-smoothing smile through the bite of joy in her pitch. No eyes needed to paint the picture.

My eyes peel from the page like a piece of gum from a passing shoe. Feeling the invitation of warmth and familiarity, I peel-on and take in the sight of a friend.

‘Sherry!’ I greet in exchange

‘So lovely to see you here again, back for your morning cup before work?’

‘Yes’ she affirms with a closed smile, the corners of her eyes uplifted with the joy of meeting a friendly face. ‘I’m here for my ritual breakfast before work, a coffee and galette’

‘Oh how wonderful!’ Never missing a chance for tastefully poor grammar and playfully obtuse rhymes -

‘What kind did you get?’ I probe.

Unfurling a brown paper bag crimped shut with care, she mouses out a delicate raft of puff pastry adorned with berries and other glazed fruits.

‘I believe it’s pear and some other kind of berry. I’m not sure!’ She confided

They appear to be blackberries, fresh from the invasive army of himalayans that adorn the rolling hill and dale of Arcata in all her fruiting glory. They grow among indigenous species, choking them out of water and overcrowding the sun. Blotting out local life and giving tasty, purple stained smiles to some.

Not looking at the droves of cuing feet filing in and out and in again, Sherry and I continue to chat. We exchange small talk and pleasantries, speaking of family heritage and Sherry’s ‘ancestral’ ties to Ferndale. A quaint village of generational occupants some 45 minutes south of where we sit and sip.

Her ‘ancestry’ in the area only dates back about a generation. But they were welcomed like a founding family on account of her father being the town pastor. For $800 a month, he preached salvation and knit-1-pearl-2’d a community together with a doctrine of love and unity.

At 21, the town bar held a celebration of her coming of age. They celebrated more-so over the fact that they didn’t have to kick her out after the first drink any longer. And so, as she tells it, she drank. And drank, and drank. As nearly all newly-legal-year-olds do.

Sometime around then, she’d had all that she’d ever been given and it was all her own. Making $800 a month, same as her father did to support a full family, she decided it was time to give back. To let go of all she had and move on.

This thought brought her to Italy. More specifically to an orphanage that her Mother’s employer had donated to at least once before.

Without a lick of Italian under her belt, or so much as a friendly face in the area, Sherry chose to fill her sails and faithfully relocate.

Her letter requesting employment was adorned with little animals all about the southern border, a whimsical sight to the eyes of an Orphanage Director I’m sure. Whimsy being of no apparent hindrance, she was offered a position to fill about as quickly as she could manage to fill it.

3 years on and she speaks fluent Italian, has children who’s primary language is Italian, and is working for an organization affiliated with the military as a translator.

Fast-forward some few decades and you’ll find the moment we met - the night she chose to join a local Hatchet Throwing Club I happened to be officiating. Some few decades my elder, we became fast friends and have shared little stories here and there.

From it all I gathered the notion she hadn’t a clue of how she’d bring her story to where it is today, or how she’d keep smiling.

Not looking at the Baristo crafting flawless beverages while fending off snide remarks about the ratio of portion-to-price for a mimosa, with a smile that can be heard and not seen, I see the life of Sherry paint across my minds eye - on that ever expanding canvas of void that echoes behind our shuttered lids.

The image is a composite of uncertainty, exploration, self-worth. Of trial and tribulation. The scenery of her illustrious life unfurls like the details of an Italian countryside - wrapped around the shoulders of a once great muse, The Mona Lisa herself.

As if made by a master of pointillism, each memory a point in time combined to paint a greater picture. Close up, each memory has its value.

Step back and that value is expanded to take on new meaning.

Remove oneself further, and you’ll find each individual truth of experience combines to create an even greater image. One memory to the next, combining to add context, create new meaning and take on new shapes.

One cannot see what has not been done, as one cannot feel a victory as yet un-won.

In this realm it is purely imaginary. Caught in the ever changing meta-verse of flux and infinite choices. They are the un-plotted points of the discerning pointillist. Choices abstained from craft the picture as clearly as the points obtained.

Think of life now as a work of poetry

One plays with

Space

And teases Time

A poem

is as much

the structure

as it is

the rhyme

Each word

A choice

Each space

An equal point

Each plays their role

And holds their space in time

Not all doing is to be done

Not all dreams are to be won

For we are finite

In the gaps of our imperfections

Is where the infinite

Abides

[faerune]

20-30 for nelia! 💖

what do they hate being teased about? are they teased often? Her naivete/lack of knowledge about things in the broader world given that she grew up so sheltered in that tower (books can only do so much). It's too a point where she'll pretend to know certain things and Leli/Alistair will quietly poke fun at her about it and she's like I KNOW THINGS LOTS OF THINGS (like how to set them on fire).

did they have any fears growing up that they’ve since conquered? The sad thing about a lot of Nelia's childhood fears is a lot of them were rooted in true risks to her given that she's a mage (and an elf at that). She hasn't conquered them completely they just have...morphed into a fear of powerlessness instead of fears about a demon under her bed ready to snatch her up.

do they have a fear they want to conquer, but haven’t yet? Nelia rarely acknowledges her fears and when she does she looks at them as common sense/things that protect her from succumbing to the risks she's feared her whole life (being killed by templars, being possessed, etc.). If there's one thing about her Nelia will always turn things into something useful even her fear. It just drives her to be more powerful and knowledgeable in both magic and things like politics.

how do they show fear? sweating, shaking, blankness, anger, etc? Anger! Anger is something she can do something with. Often, her hands do shake but her nails are always clenching into the palms of her hands or into the wood of her staff whichever is available to her at the moment.

do they have a short temper? what’s most likely to set it off? God yes she does. Mostly when people do something to offend her big ass ego. There are a few things that set her off genuinely esp during the story like the elves being trafficked, meeting Ignacio in Denerim after becoming a little attached to Zev and learning more about what happened to him as a child, the blood mage you can kill in the Broken Circle, etc.

do they get scared easily? does loud noises, shouting, etc, scare them? Not really but sometimes she's a little sensitive to loud noise and the bustle of the city at first just because it's a lot all at once and she wants to see everything.

what are they most passionate about? what could they debate about for hours? Magic. Magic. Magic. Magic theories, magical technique, magical history. History in general she also loves! Books too! She has a particular soft spot for elven history in her later years because it's interesting to her and she feels like she never really got to be An Elf in all the good ways like being part of that community and history.

what do they never, ever want to speak of, ever? Her parents/family. From what little she remembers of how she came to the circle, Nelia sometimes thinks it's better she has forgotten them.

do they have kids? do they want kids? if so, how many? Nelia is good with kids (lots of experience with kiddos in the tower) but I'm not sure she ever considered having kids. Mage children are obv given away and then Grey Wardens can't have children. Once she settles in Amaranthine as Arlessa and Commander with Zev though...those thoughts start to creep in. I'd like to say they adopt a child eventually but just one!

is there something they’d like to change about themselves physically? I don't think so! She's a little insecure about her body at first when she starts looking at it through the lens of someone who has feelings for someone and wants to be intimate with someone (a few passing flings in the Circle that never got to that point and Zev). Nelia has always just seen her body as....A Body...something that gets her to point A to point B and holds her ~extraordinary~ brain. That being said, Zev does a lot to boost her confidence.

is there something about their personality they want to change? In her earlier years? No not much. Nelia really thinks she's the shit. In her older years when she's ruling Amaranthine and commanding the Wardens, she becomes a lot more wise and less impulsive. She tries to listen a lot more instead of barreling ahead with whatever she thinks is the right path and she wishes her younger self would have been more wise, thoughtful, and considered things before jumping into things.

[sanguineterrain]

Brooklyn Honey - Bucky Barnes x Reader

(Repost!) Hello, this is for the lovely @wkemeup​’s 9k writing challenge. I decided to go with the song prompt “Life in the City” by The Lumineers. It really reminded me of 40s Bucky.

Title: Brooklyn Honey

Summary: Life in the city ain’t always so pretty, but you’ve got Bucky and he’s got you.  

Pairing: 1940s!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: nah

***

“That’s so not how you do it.”

“Sorry, I must’ve missed the day you wrote the manual on how to put up curtains.”

“You sure did, and I can tell you as an expert, the nails aren’t supposed to resemble a mountain range.”

“Smartass. C’mere.”

Bucky’s palm opened and you took a nail, carefully tapping it into the wall.

“Or is it the skyline you’re going for?”

“You’re pretty mouthy for an assistant.”

“I keep it interesting, doll.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“James Barnes, what on earth are you doing in there?!”

Your eyes went wide and you hurried to scramble off the chair you were standing on. Bucky put a hand on your back, shaking his head.

“Buck—”

“I got it, don’t worry. Keep hammering.”

“But—”

“Honey, don’t you trust me?”

“Absolutely not.”

More knocking, faster and louder this time.

“Coming, Mrs. Anderson!”

Bucky buttoned up his shirt, smoothing his pomade-slicked hair back, and went to answer.

You stepped down from the chair anyway, daring to peek around the corner. 

He had his arms up, trying to fill the entire door frame and hide the obnoxiously yellow curtains you probably weren’t supposed to have. Mrs. Anderson, Steve and Bucky’s busybody next door neighbor, was a small, shriveled, old woman with a perpetually pinched face that looked like it had been stored in a jar of formaldehyde for the last twenty years. She kept trying to look over Bucky’s shoulder but he wouldn’t let her, moving when she did.

“—could’ve sworn I heard hammering coming from this apartment.”

“Oh! You must’ve heard me fixing my bike.” 

“You don’t have a bike, James.”

“Did I say my bike? I meant Steve’s.”

“Steve rides a bike?”

“Absolutely. Keeps him fit.”

“I don’t recall seeing him ever—”

“Well, bye, Mrs. Anderson! Always a pleasure to see you, ma’am.”

She gave another stern look before shaking her head, walking away.

You sighed as Bucky shut the door with his foot, a too sly smile on his face.

“Didn’t I tell you to trust me?”

“I think you might be a worse liar than Steve.”

“Well, ouch, doll.”

“First of all, who’s ever heard of needing a hammer to fix a bike?”

“We can be the first.”

“Next time, I’m answering the door.”

You clambered back onto the chair, returning to knocking in the nails. 

“I still don’t understand why you wanted curtains in the first place.” 

“It adds a homely touch, doll. Aren’t you the one who’s always complaining about how drab this place is?”

“Of course, but it’s not my apartment.” 

“It could be, with how often you’re over,” Bucky said sweetly. 

“Keep dreaming, Barnes.” 

“I will,” he assured with a smile that could melt butter. 

You shook your head and returned to focus on the curtains. True, the first one was beyond help in terms of nail placement, but the least you could do was try and make the next one even. 

Bucky had offered at least ten times to do it himself but there was no way he was getting his hands on a hammer after what had happened when he’d tried to install some shelves last winter. 

Besides, you were better at decorating when it came down to it. At least, that’s what Bucky kept insisting, letting you do essentially anything you wanted to the apartment. 

The chair suddenly groaned under additional weight and you startled as you felt the side of a body press against yours. 

“How’s it goin’?”

“Bucky, this chair really isn’t meant for two people.” 

“You sure? Seems pretty sturdy to me.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist and you fixed him with a look. 

“What? Don’t want you to fall.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Ain’t it?”

He hopped off before you could scold him further, grinning up at you. 

“Beer?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Bucky disappeared and returned a minute later with an open bottle for you, holding it so you could sip safely while still perched on the chair.

Then you kept hammering, eyes narrowed as you focused on not hitting anything other than the nail.

Bucky watched from the floor as you did so, leaning back on his hands.

“What’re you looking at?” you asked after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a gentle smile on his face.

“The city.”

***

“Honey, I’m home!”

“What did I say about that, Barnes?”

“You said… you’ll love me for all eternity because you’re as sweet as honey?”

“I think it was more along the lines of, ‘don’t call me honey unless you mean it.’”

“I always mean it, Y/N.”

And that was a little more sincerity than you were willing to explore, so you pointed to the bag instead.

“What’s that?”

Bucky grinned, setting a giant paper sack on the counter.

“Lemons.”

“What?”

“Lemons. You know, the little yellow fruits that make you do this?”

Bucky puckered his mouth and smacked his tongue, eyes screwed shut.

“Lemon’s not a fruit.”

“It sure is! Fruit got seeds. Read that in a book about agriculture. We produce a lot of corn, did you know that?“

“Okay, Bucky, the presiding question still remains: why do you have every lemon in the city?”

“There was a good deal at the docks. Dirt cheap for produce. Some guys told me they were takin’ some home for their wives. Didn’t want you to feel left out.”

“I’m not your wife.”

Bucky just grinned. You rolled your eyes.

“I don't know who taught you this, but the way to a girl’s heart is not twenty pounds of lemons.”

“Think of all the lemonade we can make.”

“Unless you’ve also got FDR and his cabinet in those bags, we’re gonna have a lot of leftovers.”

“Look at it this way: no vitamin C deficiency. One less thing to worry ‘bout.”

“Bucky.”

“They’re not all lemons, doll. I got other stuff too. Tomatoes, cabbage, snuck some cucumbers, even bananas.”

You sighed, smiling tiredly. This ration was taking its toll on everyone. You knew Bucky was doing his best, had seen the vegetables and thought of you and how much you missed having cucumber salad and tomato sandwiches like you used to.

“Thank you, Bucky, really. I appreciate you.”

You brushed past him to begin preparing the excess vegetables you three wouldn’t eat this week to pickle. Salt and sugar was going to be hard to gather, but you’d manage. You always did.

“Welcome, doll.” 

He beamed, eyes full of warmth as he watched you. 

“You gonna stay for dinner?”

“I dunno. Seems like Steve’s gettin’ kinda tired of me,” you laughed.

“Never. ‘Sides, even if he was, doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, really?”

“Nope. ‘Cause you stay for me.”

“And where did you get that idea from?”

He shrugged.

“Seemed kinda obvious, doll. You’re smitten, admit it.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got me all figured out. However did you know?”

“I’m a bright fella.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You ain’t saying no…”

“Really, I have to say no? Can’t you tell I only stick around for the great deals you get on produce?” 

“But it’s me that gets the great deals, so really, you’re still staying for me.” 

Bucky was against the counter now, shoulder to shoulder with you. 

You sighed, hand on your hip as you stared at the table. 

“What the hell are we going to do with all these lemons?” 

“We’ll figure something out. Always do, don’t we?”

You hummed, leaning your head on his shoulder, aware he was talking about more than the lemons. 

“Yeah. We always do.” 

***

Steve had been home for a while, wordlessly letting you in when you’d shown up an hour ago. You didn’t have to explain anything to him anymore. 

The record player was on, crooning gently. Steve was in the corner, drawing, away from the window after the breeze had whipped his papers around one too many times.

“Can’t believe they’re building another skyscraper down on Lawrence.”

Steve frowned.

“Really? Won’t be able to see the sunset now.”

“Yeah. And Brooklyn’s not exactly known for its scenery to begin with. Saw a rat and a pigeon fighting over a pretzel this morning.”

Steve chuckled from the floor, shaking his head.

“Times are tough. Even for rats and pigeons.” 

“Sure are.”

“Nice curtains, by the way. I like the color.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Did Bucky ask—?”

“No,” he answered, smile evident in his voice. “But that’s alright. I know he’s just tryin’ to gauge what you like.”

“What?”

“Yeah, after the war’s over and all, he’s gonna try and buy a nicer place.”

“And he wants my furnishing tips?”

Steve shrugged, gaze soft and knowing.

“Guess so.”

You cleared your throat, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Want some lemonade?”

“Jesus, there’s more? I thought we’d run out of bushels.”

“You’d think, right? I put ‘em in the icebox so they won’t spoil so fast.”

“Sure, yeah. Thanks, Y/N.”

You were in the middle of stirring the pitcher when Bucky came in.

He didn’t greet you or Steve immediately, like he usually did, instead setting down his keys, then slapping the mail onto the table. 

“Well, hey there, mister. Fancy a drink? Today’s special is sour lemonade, your favorite.”

Bucky looked up, startled, and glanced at the pitcher before nodding, attempting a half smile.

“Sure, doll. Thanks.”

“Everything okay, Buck?”

He nodded, slipping away to the bathroom with a sigh.

You turned to Steve, who shrugged.

“Long day at the docks, I guess.”

***

June twelfth. That was when Bucky was being shipped out, somewhere in Europe, too far from you. This entire year you’d been holding your breath, hoping, needing the draft to leave him alone. 

Now they were taking him away from you in less than a week. 

You were in the apartment, lying on the floor, on Bucky’s second to last day. That’s how he found you upon coming home. 

“Trying to count all the cracks in the ceiling, doll? You’ll be here all night.”

You had a glass of lemonade by your head, spiked with a bit of rum. It was already warm, because it was summer and things were supposed to be warm in the summer.

The curtains danced in front of the window, yellow like sunshine and all those goddamn lemons in the freezer. The only respite from an otherwise colorless world.

“This city is so ugly.”

Bucky looked up at the sound of your voice. He walked over, crouching by your arm.

“Think so?”

“Yeah. Can’t find a single pretty thing in the city.”

“I can.”

“Can you?”

“Sure. She’s looking at me right now.”

“That was sappy.”

“Yes it was.”

Bucky lay down, rolling onto his side next to you, taking a sip from your glass.

“But I ain’t mean it any less.”

You hummed, closing your eyes.

“Well, for what it’s worth then, I think you’re handsome.”

“Oh, yeah?”

You could hear his proud smile.

“Don’t make me take it back.”

“No, I’m just surprised to hear it is all.”

“Surprised, huh? I’m certain I ain’t the first one to call you handsome.”

“You’re the only one I wanna hear it from.”

Something fluttered in your chest.

“What d’you say then? You and I, think we can take on a city as ugly as ours?”

He smiled.

“With you, doll?”

“Yeah.”

“With you, of course.”

“Good. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Bucky propped his head up on his elbow. It was quiet again, with only your occasional sighs and his quiet breaths.

“What’re you looking at?” you breathed, opening your eyes.

“You.”

Bucky flicked a drop of lemonade from the tip of your nose.

You turned, now face to face.

And oh, Bucky’s blues. Those had been your color even before the curtains.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you blurted.

He smiled a little sadly.

“Gonna miss you too, Y/N.”

You pushed your lips together, taking a deep breath.

“You were right, you know.”

“‘Bout what?”

“That day when you brought home all those lemons. You said that I stay for you.”

Bucky’s lips quirked, gaze fond like it always was.

“All those times I stayed for dinner and pretended to know what I was doing putting up those curtains. I stayed for you.”

You wiped your nose quickly, sniffling.

“And I’m gonna keep staying.”

“Yeah? What if the bridge collapses tomorrow?”

“I’ll swim.”

“Even in the winter?”

“I’ll get myself a pair of ice skates.”

“You don’t know how to skate, doll.”

“That’s right. So you better come back safe and teach me.”

Bucky leaned in, nose brushing your cheek. He rolled over and carefully straddled you, holding his weight.

“I’ll be there, honey.”

“Now what did we say about that?”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinched in thought.

“Don’t say it if I don’t mean it?”

You hummed, pulling him closer, arms around his neck. Bucky’s lips were a millimeter from yours, breath fanning over your chin.

“Mm, I think it was something about eternity.”

Bucky was soft, tangy and sweet. His scruff scraped your cheek and your fingers curled into the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He slid his hands under your back and turned so you were on top, head on his chest. You lay like that for a while, listening to his heartbeat, arms strong around you. 

Yellow fluttered in the breeze, tacked unevenly onto the wall, catching your eye. 

Bucky glanced to the side, chuckling.

“Don’t let Anderson take our curtains away.”

“Of course not. I spent a weekend on those. She’ll have to fight me for ‘em.”

“Good God. Now I gotta worry about you brawling with old ladies and Steve getting into alley fights while I’m gone?”

“Nah. Steve’ll help me.”

“Oh, great.”

You reached up, brushing his jaw with your knuckles.

“Call me honey again.”

“Honey, honey, honey.”

You reached up to get just one last kiss, except it definitely wasn’t going to be the last. It couldn’t be.

“They’re not gonna take you away from me.”

Bucky shook his head, kissing you much slower this time, trying to memorize you before time ran out.

“Never. ‘M gonna think of you and I’ll be back ‘fore we know it.”

You nodded, wishing hard, hoping somebody was listening. 

“Then, when I come back,” he whispered, promise riding on the summer air.

“We’re gonna make the best damn lemonade you’ve ever had.”

And maybe this city could take away your sunsets, your tea and jams, even your summer.

But if there was anything that was yours and yours only, it was the lemon pulp on Bucky’s lips and the undissolved sugar on your own, as bitter and pretty as home.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Sundown (Pt. 1)

You're on the run with a very gifted child, and you come across a new haven- Maurader Valley and its sheriff.

Warning for mentions of guns, wild west style duels and fights and stuff, and cults because there were a LOT of cults in that time period of America and yes that IS a red dead gif, please don't hurt me, and also I've been playing a lot of Far Cry 5

Also, Omega isn't a super "wild west" name, so she's Olivia to y'all here, Hunter is fine so his name is sticking! And the Kaminoians are a cult in here, The Order.  Thank you @hellothere-generalangsty for letting me use this amazing AU! I had fun writing this! it was getting so long I need a part 2.

Also... Marriage of convenience to love trope, anyone?

"Miss," Two small hands tugged you out of the lull that the train had put you into. "Miss, come on. We should go," Olivia's eyes were bright, cautious, under her hat.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes and nodding, glancing around. "Alright. Is this-?"

"Yes. Our tickets said Maurader Valley."

Nodding softly you stood, picking up your carpetbag and Olivia's hand, walking her quickly to the door of the train. "Thank you for waking me."

"You're welcome." Olivia's free hand moved and gripped the fabric of your skirt, her gaze shifting around them. The words were sudden, shaky. "I'm frightened."

Your hands grasped hers gently, and you paused on the platform your feet landed on. You turned to her, kneeling down in front of her, making sure her dark eyes met yours. "I am, too." Your fingers squeezed hers, reassuring her that she was not alone.

Olivia's cognac eyes were far too wise for her age. It almost threw you off the first time you had met her, but that anxiety had been entirely replaced with an overwhelming sense of love for the child, which was why you were here, as far southwest from them as possible. "They'll have to get through me first, Olivia. You're safe with me." You reached down and gently readjusted the brim of her hat. "You've been so, so brave this whole time. I need you to be brave for a little longer."

She gave a small nod, her fingers squeezing yours in response. "I'm brave," She repeated to herself, in a whisper, as you stood and lead her towards the ticket counter.

___

Your thoughts were tremulous as the stagecoach bumped over a rock. You both had left so quickly in the dead of night, you doubted anyone knew you were all the way out here. At the very least, it would bide you time to get a little money or, at the best, find a loophole in the Disavowment- there were only two ways to leave the Order. They were old, they were stupid, but you didn’t know how long you could run before your past caught up with you.

Marriage or death. And you weren’t very pent on dying soon.

The stagecoach ride to Maurader Valley was long but uneventful. Olivia fell asleep with her head pressed on your lap, the bushels of skirts offering more support than a train window or a log. You smoothed a hand in her curls, the sunshine hair speckled with brown underneath at the base of her scalp.

The coach came to a halt. You lurched forward, grabbing for the window for support, and Olivia sat up. Her hands grasped you, eyes wide.

"Shh, it's okay." You gently took her and pulled her close, hugging her. "Just a quick stop."

Her breathing slowed, and she tugged away, quiet. She nodded, following you out. "This isn't a... Big town."

"No. Not really. But that's what we need at the moment." You exhaled, reaching into the carpetbag and tugging out a newspaper with a rustle. You'd seen it on the train- an advert, for Maurader Valley, seeking a school teacher. "Exactly what we need." You rolled the newspaper back up and tucked it under your arm. "Let's find some lodging and some food. Then we can talk to someone about the ad."

Olivia's head bobbed, and a giggle escaped her as you plunked the hat on her head. She followed you quietly, taking in the sights, whistling a little tune.

You pushed open the door to the general store. There was only one other patron, a lanky man, hassling at the counter with an older woman. You offered an apologetic smile for interrupting their hassling over what appeared to be a box of bullets. Olivia gave a chipper wave before following you, where you softly lingered by the dried goods. Your hand gently released Olivia's, and she wandered to the shelf, squatting down and looking at the dried fruits.

You reached down and picked up some dried jerky and let her pick some dried peaches. You tucked them on top of the newspaper as you wandered back to the counter. When you reached the front, you lowered the goods and the newspaper, watching the lanky man stalk out. “Grumpy,” You smiled politely, as the woman glanced at the goods. 

“Yeah,” She said, skimming you, brow in suspicion. “You ain’t from around here, are you?”

"No, I'm not." You offered a sheepish smile, back loosening when Olivia sprinted back to you and clasped your hand, giggling softly. "I had a question about the teaching position?"

"Still open. You interested?" The woman behind the counter eyed Olivia, who simply waved.

Your head bobbed curtly in a nod. "And a place to sleep and a hot bath. Please."

The woman's brows knitted as she drummed her fingers on the counter. "Hm. Name's Cid. I have a couple extra rooms upstairs, but it'll cost ya."

"That's fine. And the job?"

Cid sighed and motioned you to follow her. "That's the sheriff's question. He's also the judge around here. Good guy." Cid turned and locked the door to the general shop behind you and Olivia, tucking the keys back into her pocket on the apron. "Little scary at first, but he's a real softie." She glanced back at you both, frowning. "And don't go acting weird around him."

"No worries." You squeezed Olivia's hand, softly tugging her along. The last thing you needed was losing her in a new place.

Cid stepped up onto the wooden porch and opened the door, glancing in. "Hey, Hunter. We've got fresh meat."

"Bring 'em in," A gruff voice that you presumed was the sheriff chimed.

Cid motioned you in, and you slowly walked in, fingers tight on Olivia. "She's here for the teacher position. She has a kid, too."

"I think he can see that," Olivia piped up, chipper.

"Smart kid." The sheriff laughed, a warm sound. You turned to him, taking him in for the first time. He was young, younger than you would have expected, face creased with crows feet and laugh lines. A dark spray of a birthmark splayed across half his face, but his eyes were bright and brilliant. He knelt down by Olivia, grinning. "What's your name, kid?"

"Olivia." The child released your hand and took Hunter’s, shaking it. Hunter grinned at her, stopping to glance up at you. 

The window light caught his eyes, his gaze ambered in the sun, halos of honey skimming you. “And this is-?”

“My mum!” Olivia chirped. 

You smiled as Hunter stood, reaching out and gently shaking his hands. “Hi. I’m looking to be the school teacher?”

Hunter smiled and tilted his hat politely. “Thanks, Cid. I’ve got it from here.” He opened the door for the woman, then glanced at you and Olivia. “After y’all. I’l show you the schoolhouse.”

You gave a nod, following Hunter, watching Olivia run up and grasp your hand again. She beamed brightly up at you, whispering loudly, "I like it here."

"We've only been to two buildings." You chuckled and tugged up your skirt, moving up the wooden steps of what you assumed was the old school house. You accepted Hunter's hand helping you up, pausing and glancing around. "It's very nice," You stated, moving around, leaning over benches and the small desks. "Who's been teaching them?"

"Wrecker. He's nice, he's been reading stories to them and taking them out on nature walks stuff like that." Hunter leaned back on a desk as Olivia raced to the teacher's desk. "So, what brings you here?"

You flashed a smile, watching Olivia root through the books sitting by the desk. "The job."

Hunter's brow creased. "High class city woman like yourself, you move you and your kid out here alone?"

Alone, you recalled. The only way you and Olivia could live in peace were by accordance to the oath, their oath- death or marriage. You shuddered, brushing of the sensation that trying to forage a third option was unwise. You and Olivia were safe, for now at least, and that was all that mattered. You drew in a breath and watched Olivia sit down with a book. "Yes."

"People only come out here for two things. They're either trying to find something or they're running." Hunter's brows raised. "Which one are you doing?"

"A little of both."

Hunter paused, then smiled gently, crossing his arms as he looked over at Omega. "We're here for you either way. I think you'll both have a nice life here."

___

Olivia had issues fitting in at first with the other kids. She was more reserved, soft, and the other children babbled, bounced, sung, and Olivia would look back at you. Over the days, you would nod, encouraging, watching her run outside to play with the others outside of the schoolhouse. You leaned on the railing of the steps, the wood creaking as it supported you.

Olivia was happy here. She was with other children, and finding herself, and opening up. Here, in the warm sun, away from the cold buildings and winters and even colder people. You shuddered away the cold thoughts, the oppressive gazes and eyes; now was not the time or place, and you were safe here.

You wrapped your hand around the rope to ring the bell for the kids to come in, pausing, looking up at the sky. It threatened rain. You tugged on it, twice, allowing the rings to echo. "Come on! Let's get inside and stay dry." You called.

The children flocked, tugging at one another and laughing, Olivia in the mix.

You hurried inside, helping the children gather their slates and chalk. "Quickly, run home before the storm hits." You called, picking up Jek's hat and plunking it on his head. "And I except your numbers done tomorrow!"

"Can I go ahead to the general store?" Olivia trotted by, hesitating for a moment.

Your hands froze, wrapping around a book. "Well..." You glanced at the door, frowning for a moment as you thought. You would rather Olivia get back dry, and cleaning up for the day would take a while. "I suppose." You exhaled, walking her to the door. "Oh- there's Wrecker." You waved at him, catching the gentle giant's attention. "Let him walk you to Cid's." You paused before she walked, gently taking her shoulders and turning her towards you. She blinked up at you, brow arched in puzzlement.

"Erm... Are you okay?"

"Yes," You cleared your throat and smiled, looking her over. Pride swelled within you as you stood- Olivia had truly blossomed here, and she was exactly what a child should be, carefree and energetic and willing to explore the heights and widths of the skies and valleys. "I'm just happy for you."

Olivia grinned up at you, waving as she lolloped dow the steps. "I am, too. Thanks, mama!"

She called you that put of habit, you knew, but it... You pressed a hand against your beating heart and watched Wrecker scoop Olivia up, chest swelling with joy. You hurried back inside and began stacking books, sweeping the chalk and pencil shavings off the floor. By the time you finished sweeping, the rain had already begun to pound on the roof.

You hummed, softly, a tune that was circling in your head. Your fingers wrapped around a stack of books and you heaved them off the student's desks, walking towards your own stationed at the front of the classroom. You jumped as the door slammed open, the books dropping with a heavy thud.

"Pardon, ma'am." Hunter slammed the doors shut, fighting against the gusts of wind outside, and he turned to hurry to you. "Here." He knelt down, grabbing the books and stacking them on his arm. "I didn't think it would startle you."

You exhaled and got on your knees, picking up the books one by one and loading them onto the desk. "It's alright. The storm probably caught the doors." Your fingers brushed his lightly as you reached for a book and they tingled, so you diverted your grip to another book.

"Just saw Olivia wondering back to Cid's with Wrecker. Didn't want you to walk alone in this." Hunter stood. The stack of literature rested easy on his arm. "Where do you need these?"

"My desk." You picked up your own stack and followed him, lowering the books by him. You averted your gaze, cheeks flushed. "So you... Came here when it started raining?"

Hunter shrugged, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Yeah. I know the weather can get nasty, and I didn't know if you had an umbrella or anything-"

"It wasn't necessary, but thank you." You paused, glancing at the window. "I would appreciate a walk back."

The easy-going grin twisted your heart in tangles. "Pleasure's all mine, ma'am." Hunter nodded. He yanked off his coat and held it up, rushing to the door. "That rain doesn't wait on us."

You nodded and tucked your shawl around you, hurrying after him. The jacket provided you both with minimal shelter, but his laugh made you laugh, and the rain didn't seem to bad. The mud clung to your boots and hem as you both ran across the first road, ducking under the first porch (the bank) that came available to you. Hunter's laugh filled the air, and he shook out his jacket, glancing at you. "Sorry about that." His loose hair, wet, curled tightly and stuck against his forehead.

You shook your head and leaned on the post, watching the rain. "I like the rain. I never knew how much I missed it."

"It didn't rain where you're from?" Hunter frowned. "Lands almighty."

You shook your head, pausing, chest tight again. You could only remember curling up and watching the rainfall from a tight window, knees against your chest. "It did, but I wasn't allowed in it." You said, softly. You glanced down at the street, watching puddles gather before overfilling.

Hunter watched what you watched, the water rolling in small streams down the road. "What are you running from, exactly?"

You turned to him quickly, gathering your shawl closer. His eyes followed you, the deep intensity pressing on you. "I think it's better you don't know that." The words were soft, strangled coming from your throat.

Despite looking away from him, you still felt his eyes on you, heavier than the water drenching your clothes. The weight of it came back, recalling how cut off you were, attempting to run and being dragged back, your parents disapproving stares as you longed to be out of the commune, and watching Olivia grow and only wanting her to have what you never did-

A hand smoothed over your face, the coarse pad of Hunter's thumb brushing away the tear. "You don't have to tell me anything," Hunter said, gently. "I'm just concerned for you and Olivia."

Your eyes scanned his face, lips parting, swallowing hard. "It would be too much for you."

"Nothing is too much," He said, quickly. "It's my job." Hunter paused, then draped his coat around your shoulders. "Here. Let's get you back to Cid's."

Your fingers held the lapels of the coat as he walked with you, quiet. "Thank you," You mumbled, softly walking. Hunter hummed cordially, guiding you to Cid's. His fingers were light against your back as he led you into the front door on the saloon side of the building.

Wrecker was sitting on a chair with Olivia in the opposite side, and he was frowning at the cards in his hands. "You're too good, kid." Wrecker mumbled, a hand scratching his head.

Olivia giggled, nodding, unruly curls bobbing. "I guess so." She glanced back at you and Hunter, and she grinned. Olivia hopped down and ran over, hugging your damp dress. "Mama, I'm beating Wrecker at gambling!"

"Oh goodness," You sighed, as Hunter threw back his head and laughed.

"Now, Kid." Hunter tugged a third chair to the table. If you wanna learn from a real pro, you have to learn from me."

Olivia bounded back over to her seat, crawling up. She chattered about her day- what she learned, recess, and walking back in the rain with Wrecker. You observed briefly, smiling softly as Hunter tapped on Olivia's card, softly telling her how to deal and count.

Fingers leaving the doorway, you practically floated towards the stairs for your room. Cid looked up from counting cash on the counter. "Is that Hunter's coat?"

"Yeah." You said, softly, climbing up the last couple of steps. You heard Cid mumble something about how Hunter never let anyone borrow his coat, and your heart, for some reason, floated even more.

___

Cid woke you up, yanking the blankets off your body. You sat up, Olivia stirring next to you. "Get up!'

"Why?" You asked, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. You stood and grabbed your bag, anyway, listening to Cid.

"There's a man downstairs. Said he's looking for you and the kid!"

Your heart jumped in your throat, and you turned to Olivia. She stared up at you, eyes still coming to from the deep sleep she was in, brimming with fear. "Don't let them take me," She whispered.

You scooped her up, glancing around. "There's a window. Let's-"

"He's waiting down there." Cid hissed. "Go out the back. I have a wagon out there, you can come back for your stuff later."

You nodded, wrapping Hunter's coat around you and running down the stairs. You turned back, glancing at the window, and you swore as you turned tail and ran that there were two red eyes watching you in the window.

___

You were awakened again, this time by a large hand grabbing you. You yelped and threw out a fist, hand meeting an arm. "Whoa, whoa!" Hunter grabbed your hands, gently. "It's me."

Your breath quickened, the warmth of Olivia gone. "Where is she?"

"She's inside, asleep." His grip moved to your shoulders, and your eyes adjusted well enough in the night to see the outline of him. "Are you okay?"

You nodded, your own hands moving up to clasp his arms. "Hunter, they're coming," You mumbled, legs feeling loose, shakey again.

"Who?" He said, gently. You only shook your head, shoulders sputtering, and the sob heaved out of you. "Who wants to get you and Olivia?"

You glanced up at him, chest tight, head pounding. Words balled up in your throat, lifeless, thick as paper. Hunter gently moved an arm around you and pulled you against his chest, smoothing a hand over your back.

You recalled nothing else except for Hunter catching you when your knees slacked and your vision went black.

___

You only woke up when you felt warmth besides you. You sat up, abruptly, looking down at Olivia, who gasped. “Are you alright?”

You shuddered, looking around. “Are we still with Hunter?”

“Yes.” Olivia plunked down besides you, running a hand in her own blonde hair. There was a pause before she said softly, “I told Hunter.”

“You told him?” You inhaled, sucking in a breath, heart twisting. “What will he think?” Your palms broke out in a sweat, shaking. Possibilities ran through your head- Olivia and you being on the run again, alone in the wilderness-

“He took it well.” Olivia reached up, gently taking your face in her small hands. “And he knows everything.” 

You shuddered again, reaching down and hugging her. She hugged you back, quickly, her hold comforting you this time. You closed your eyes, heart aching for this girl, the daughter you did not deserve.

The door creaked open and you glanced up. Hunter stood in the doorway, looking at you and Olivia. He offered a gently smile and entered, gently sitting down on the foot of the bed. “Olivia told me everything about the Order.” His eyes flickered to yours, and he laid a gentle hand on your blanket, looking between you and Olivia. “She told me how you took her and ran.”

You nodded, cradling the girl, who had turned her attention to Hunter as well. “What are you going to do?”

Hunter inhaled, scratching his head. “I’m not making you leave. If this is where you want to be, then you’ll be here.” He paused, swallowing. “But you can’t be alone. Olivia told me there’s only two ways to keep the Order from coming after you, and I can’t have y’all dying on me.” He inhaled, sharply, and he reached up, gently taking your hand. “Which is why I’m asking you to marry me.”

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 8

Distractions

Pairings: The Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, ClanLeader!Din x Reader.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6k

Warnings: Smut (oral (m), exhibitionism, rough sex, penetrative sex, public (outdoor) sex, doggy style, breeding kink, dirty talk). Descriptions of canonical violence. Implied injury. Talk of children/pregnancy. Fluff. Talk of death/’meaning of life.’ Honeymoon shenanigans. Two big idiots being in love. A little surprise for all the Mira stans out there.

A/n: I hope y’all are ready for some more world-building! We get to see a bit into Din’s past in this chapter, and shed some light on some possible ulterior motives. Second a/n at the bottom! Hope y’all enjoy💗.

Summary: Din and you finally didn't the time to slow down for a bit and you find out quickly that you weren't the only ones who had something planned.

The Offer Masterlist | My Masterlist

The stone beneath your fingertips was rough, pewter-colored grains gathering at the edge of the brick you sat on until you flicked them off with your finger. You squinted and watched the few larger pieces you could see as they fell to the ground, collecting just a few inches from your feet. A chunkier, darker colored boot came into your line of sight and you followed the path up his legs until you were met with the matte blue of Paz’s visor. You squinted through a smile as he tilted his head, blocking the sun from your face and gesturing to your boot.

“Do you like them?”

The leather squeaked as you flexed your toes in your boot, your foot turning to the side as you lift your leg a little to show it off. You nodded, a sheepish grin plastering across your face knocked your heels together.

Paz didn't have to ask where you had gotten them; they were brand new, a practically perfect fit, and made specifically for you.

“....at your husband's request.”

You shouldn't have expected less from Din, especially from the way he had reacted when the sole of your original shoe finally gave out. He had made such a big deal out of it; even after you told him it was fine, tossing them to the side and continuing with a simple pair of slip-ons you had. Din wasn't so quick to dismiss it, he picked up the boot in question and watched as the split in the arch grew wider and puckered when he squeezed it in his hand.

It was a surprise to find the new pair sitting on the table this morning, along with a note handwritten by Din. 

“These have been made for you at your husband's request. Please, take very good care of them. -Din.”

You could practically hear the playful attitude in his voice and picture the laugh he probably had as he wrote out the words. 

The written ink was smeared, the corners of the spare paper fraying, and some of the letters were hard to make out; but you loved all of it, every flaw and every second of care that Din had poured into such a simple thing. You had smoothed out any creases that had been left in the paper, being careful to not spread any of the ink further, and placed the note inside one of the books in the chest that sat at the end of your shared bed, another one of Din's gifts. It felt silly sometimes to hold on to such trivial things; but when you read the note again, one last time before putting it in the chest for safe-keeping, it didn't feel silly at all. It felt warm and airy and it tickled your cheeks with a feeling you had only ever had around Din.

“You don’t have to wait with me you know?” you peered up at Paz and tilted your head to mirror his. “I’m perfectly capable of finding him without you.”

“I know that Vod’ika,” Paz crossed his arms and leaned against the same wall you sat on. “I figured you would like the company.”

“Always,” you bumped your shoulder against his playfully, looking to the entry of the great hall just a few feet from where you sat.

It was quiet around the great hall, most people being respectful of the council and leaving an empty and silent place for them to work in. You stood from your seat, walking just a few steps in front of you until you were met with the adjacent wall, leaning forward and craning your neck to look at the sky.

“Did he say why he sent for me?” you questioned, though it wasn't bothersome on your end, it did make you wonder what was so important for Din to send someone for you instead of just looking for you himself.

“He only asked me to bring you to him, once the council had finished,” Paz gestured to the door. “They should be done at any moment.”

It wasn't a few minutes later that you found yourself walking the halls just a few steps behind Paz, Mandalorians passed the two of you; your path seemingly going in the wrong direction from the way they flowed down the hall. You nodded to the people who noticed you, most of them giving a simple acknowledgment of your presence; the few without helmets offering a smile.

Some stray voices carried through the halls, echoing off the stone and mostly indistinguishable by the time they found you. You followed Paz turning a corner where the voices grew louder as you stepped through the threshold of a doorway.

There was a long table that stretched across nearly every inch of the room, a few groups of people still lingering as they slowly filed out of the room. Din stood at the head of the table, speaking to an older Mandalorian who carried his helmet under his arm, his hair was greyed and worry-lines set deep into his features. Their conversation hushed as you and Paz neared, Din's helmet turning to follow the direction his counterpart had looked. He said your name softly, turning to face you better.

“As requested,” Paz joked as he stepped towards the other two men. “Took me far too long to find her, you should keep a better track of her, Djarin.”

You rolled your eyes at the laugh they shared, grinning as you watched the two of them shake hands and joke with one another.

“Cyar'ika,” Din turned to you and held his hand out to you. You took it and went to stand at his side, leaning towards him as your fingers intertwined. He gestured to the unnamed Mandalorian, repeating your name to him and introducing the two of you.

“This is Medrit, a member of our council and my mentor from when I was a youngling.”

You had seen Medrit around in the village before, mostly when you had sat at dinner with Mira; but you had yet to speak with him. His demeanor told that he was someone of importance, and the decorations that sat on his chest were a testament to that as well.

You smiled at him, nodding as he repeated your name and offered you his hand to shake.

“Din Djarin has told me much about you,” Medirt spoke, smiling fondly as he patted Din on the shoulder. “I'm sorry I missed your presentation and have failed to meet you before this.”

“Medrit and I have been busy.” Din sounded almost shy, something that sounded so foreign to you. Medrit seemed to agree, exchanging a look with Din that did not go unnoticed.

“But I hope to know you better, very soon.” 

He reminded you so much of Din, in the way he spoke and carried himself. You wondered if we're seeing a glimpse of Din's future, the thought of his hair greying at his temples bringing a smile to your face.

“I would like that very much.” 

-

Medrit and Paz said their goodbyes not too long after, following the last few people who remained out of the room. Din and you were left alone, save for the guards who were paired at the doors. Before you could think of asking, Din dismissed them; the two of them shuffling out of the room at his command and pulling the heavy wooden doors closed with a thud.

“You never told me you had a throne.” You teased him, pointing to the chair that was behind him. It was noticeably larger than the others at the table; made of the same wood, deep, rich in color with designs and phrases etched into the arch that served as the backrest. The chair wasn't much different than the rest, but you noticed it nonetheless, grinning at him as he shook his head.

 “It's not a throne, Cyar'ika.” You could hear the grin on his voice, his helmet pressing gently against your forehead as he squeezed your hand.

“You look beautiful.”

The leather of his gloves was warm against your face, following along your jaw until he pushed them into your hair.

“Your hair?” He questioned, his fingers pulling away once he noticed resistance.

“The children,” You smiled at the memories, shrugging a little when Din chuckled. “They wanted to practice.”

Some days it felt like there wasn't much you could do to contribute to the Clan. As much as you hated following Mira around as if you were lost, especially since you were married to their Alor; she never minded the company or the help for that matter.

You sat with her for lunch just outside the gated areas that served as the gardens, sitting on empty crates and sharing some of the food you had spent the morning picking. It’s where you met Korri, a sweet girl about your age with kind eyes and a quick tongue that kept even Mira’s smart mouth at bay. You noticed how Mira’s eyes focused on her when she spoke and the way their hands brushed against each other anytime they stood near each other. You didn’t mean to tease Mira badly but, you couldn’t resist seeing the meek expression that crossed her face when you questioned her about it. The two of you were alone and gossiping like schoolgirls over bushels of food; sorting the good from the bad once most of it had been harvested. Korri had joined you, fitting right into your conversation once the awkward tension had dissipated.

As you ate together, you watched as children ran around, playing games of their imagination, their laughter carrying through the gardens. You had learned a few of their names, becoming familiar with them as the times you helped Mira grew in number. Sometimes during your breaks they would come and sit with you, asking questions with an innocence that only seemed understandable because of their age. Most of them understand what your marriage to Din meant, and a few of the older ones had even made a habit of calling you their Alor; a title you knew they used with no real bearing but was a little joke between you and them.

And of course, when one of them came up to you and begged you to let them practice on your hair, you had no resolve to tell them no.

They were careful, as careful as someone so young could be; twisting sections of your hair into different patterns until they found one they liked. Eventually pulling most of it back from your face and securing it with a tie. They insisted on picking some of the small clusters of wildflowers that grew along the fences of the garden and putting them in the ties of your hair. You sat and let them work for as long as they liked, thanking them and making over their handy work as they giggled at your praise.

The children were all very sweet, and some days you looked forward to them following you while you worked, enjoying their company no matter how tedious it could be.

“You look beautiful.” He repeated the sentiment from earlier, his voice just barely above a whisper.

You pressed yourself up against him, your hands resting on his chest while his arms fell to hold onto your hips. You tilted your head, batting your eyes as you looked up at him with a pout.

“Kiss me.”

He groaned a little, squeezing his arms tighter around you.

“Not in here, Cyar'ika.” he sighed, his breath hitching a little when you leaned to press a kiss on the spot where his chest and neck met. “I can't.”

You nuzzled your nose in his skin, dragging your lips up and down and leaving a trail of kisses in their wake. His fingers dug into your flesh, his hands flexing sharply as your nails running gently down his chest, stopping at the signet that cast his belt.

“Sit down, then.”

You pushed his shoulders, watching as he followed your direction and sat in his seat; his thighs spreading naturally as you kneeled in-between them.

When you finally put your mouth on him, he had nearly shot straight out of his chair from how hard his hips bucked. He was wound tight, his cock hard and throbbing under your touch from you teasing him; running your nails over his skin, and mouthing kisses onto his tummy, just barely ghosting over his groin.

He moaned your name, the sound practically melodic even through the metallic filter of his helmet, as you locked eyes with him. You guessed about where they'd be under there, imagining the vivid, dark color of his irises as you had seen them just this morning.

“You look so beautiful, Cyar'ika.” He groaned when he hit the back of your throat, choking out a curse as you slowly pull your mouth back up the length of his cock. “Taking my cock like this.”

You pulled off him with a wet pop, giving a few sweet kisses to the tip before wrapping your lips around him again.

“I don't deserve you, sweet girl.”

-

“We'll make it on foot, but it'll take a little while to get there.”

“You still haven't told me where we are going.” You released the strap of your bag to grab Din's hand your finger intertwining and your paces synchronizing as if from memory.

You had been walking on this trail for a while, it was one you had never been on before, but Din seemed to know where he was going. So you followed him, watching over your shoulder as the village slowly disappeared into the treeline behind you.

“That is the point of a surprise, Cyar'ika.”

A surprise.

Although it had been almost three months since you had married him, Din still surprised you. Sometimes in the form of his words, his actions, and sometimes with gifts; all things you told him weren’t necessary but he insisted on giving to you, his way of making sure you were taken care of. Of all the things Din could be, he was protective and caring in ways you had never realized could be so intimate with another person.

You knew he would kill for you, and you were sure he had threatened that before.

You had never brought it up, but you knew Din had threatened Kron the night of your presentation. You could count on one hand the number of times you had seen him since, a stark contrast to how he seemed to loom over you in the months prior. While you knew Kron deserved every word that Din had spoken to him, part of you couldn’t help but wonder about it. You were happy to put the experience behind you but part of you worried that it was about something that laid below the surface. You had never even known why Kron had even shown interest in speaking with you in the first place.

“That man, Kron,” you spoke before you had even decided if it was best to bring this up. “Why do you think he hates me?”

He didn’t say anything at first, taking a moment as if he needed to collect his thoughts, the gears turning under the shin of his helmet as he figured out what to say.

“I don't think he hates you, Cyar'ika.”

You scoffed, earning your hand a squeeze as he turned his head to look at you.

“Well, I would've believed otherwise.”

He stopped fully, your hands still connecting the two of you when you stopped just a second after he did, turning to face him. He sighed, breath coming from deep within his chest and causing his shoulders to raise with the force of it.

“He's angry with me,” he paused, still gathering his thoughts as if he needed to decipher what exactly to tell you. “and he never should have taken that out on you.”

“Why would he be angry with you?”

Maybe it was better to drop the subject, but you couldn’t help the curiosity you felt; an itching feeling that got worse with every word Din said.

“Because I beat him.”

The Mandalorians had a particular way of running things, traditions, and governments that sometimes dated back farther than anyone could remember. It didn’t surprise you that it wasn't a matter of electing someone to become their leader, they had to prove themselves just like they did as a child.

“Our leader before me was a wise man named Goran.” Din paused for a moment, leaning his head back until his visor pointed to the sky and then dipped to look at you. “When the time came, he had no children, successors to carry on his line.”

Shortly after the Verd’goten, The elders had announced that the future chief would be chosen from younglings hand-picked by the council. There were days, weeks dedicated to the trials that had been prepared for them; tests of their skill as a leader, a warrior, a Mandalorian. Something like that didn’t happen every day, and nearly all of the village watched as each of the candidates were tested; it became a game of sorts.

Both Din and Kron had been chosen by the members of the council, both of them had succeeded at nearly every challenge and in the final weeks, they were the only two competitors left.

“He was a few years older than me,” He started walking again, pulling you along with him as you listened to him retell it. “Much bigger and more experienced than I was. I think everyone thought he would be chosen.”

The story Mira told you when you first asked about Din was true. As a final test of their strength, both were sent on a hunt; they needed to kill the Mudhorn that had been terrorizing part of the village. Taking down such a creature would be the ultimate approval of a warrior’s capability and skill, and their willingness to protect those who are innocent. 

Din had won.

The night he had made his way back to the village, carrying the horn of the beast over his back as evidence of his victory, he was welcomed with open arms. The celebration has lasted for a week and at the end of it, he was crowned the new chief.

“You are the only living thing that has seen my face, since.”

The tenants of his creed had been solidified then, with status came the change and responsibility greater than most had.

“How old were you?”

He hesitated, almost as if he was ashamed to admit it.

“Fifteen.”

“You were just a child.”

“Maybe, so.” He looked at you, his free hand coming up to squeeze the fingers still tightly wrapped around his bicep.

“It must have been hard on you, having enormous responsibility so young.”

You could never imagine the burden Din had to carry and to have it from such a young age; sometimes you had no idea how Din had survived for so long on his own.

“This is the way.”

You placed a kiss on the pauldron of his shoulder, right over the Mudhorn signet that had been molded into the beskar, laying your head against the cold metal as you walked in silence again.

There may never come a time when you fully understand Din's creed, and even if you sometimes thought his life would be easier without it, you never wanted to disrespect his beliefs. You would be there for him, even when you disagreed with his reasoning. Making sure he didn't carry such a weight single-handedly anymore was the only thing you concerned yourself with; Din knowing he didn't have to do this alone anymore was all that mattered.

“One day my time will end, and there will be someone to take the helm just as I did from him.”

You had talked about things like this with Din before, most of the conversation happening in the late hours of the night as you tried to find sleep; you talked about a future, the life you wanted to lead with him, and what would become of that. And want the end would look like.

“I don't want to think about that.” You dismissed him, looping your arm around his tighter and pushing any sort of similar thought from your mind.

“All things must come to pass, Cyar'ika.” His tone was gentle, the words almost lost from how quietly he spoke them. “One of our children will be the next to lead us, and I will die at peace knowing they are prepared to take my place.”

“Our children will be lucky to have a father like you to teach them,” you smiled, shaking your head as you looked at him. “I don't think there's much I could do.”

Din slowed his steps, pulling his arm from your grip and he stood in front of you again. Something in him changed, his demeanor much sharper, determined than what it had been before.

“You have overcome so much in your life, Cyar'ika.” He was quiet again, his words carrying an emotion you could feel as he stepped closer to you, the space separating the two of you falling away to practically nothing.

“Just because you have never wielded a weapon in battle does not make your life less honorable.”

He guided your gaze back on him when it fell, his knuckles gently running along your jaw and tapping against your chin as a request for you to look at him.

“Never degrade yourself from anything less than deserving.”

Din had a way of saying just the right thing, it was as if he had time to carefully plan every single word before it fell from his lips. You smiled up at him as he held your face in his hands, the leather of his gloves contrasting the warmth that you felt in your cheeks.

“If our children are half as kind as you are, Cyar'ika….then I know we will have done something right for them.”

-

“Don't look.”

“I'm not.”

You couldn't help but giggle at how silly this felt; the kind of feeling that was light, and innocent and left butterflies that swirled inside your stomach when Din laughed at you. 

“See,” you squeezed your hands dramatically over your face, trying to prove you had no intention of breaking your promise. “I can't see a thing.”

Even with a half-hearted attempt at reassurance, Din wasn't convinced you'd keep true to your word.

“Yeah?”

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold cover your face, you slipped your hands out from under it as Din tied it in a knot at the back of your head.

“I think I know you better than that, Cyar'ika.”

His arms wrapped around your waist and hauled you off the rock you had taken a break on.

“A girl can try can't she?” He spun you around until you faced in the other direction, setting you down as you gripped his biceps to keep your balance.

“Maybe,” he turned around, and you heard the sound of him moving around a little bit, then his unfiltered voice hit your ear. “But then you'll ruin the surprise.”

He took the bag from your shoulders and you reached out for him blindly, your belongings hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. He held on to your wrists and gave you a quick kiss on the lips before he lifted you into his arms. One of his hands settled underneath your knees, while the other wrapped around your waist.

You couldn't tell why Din had brought you out here, you couldn't see much as the path disappeared under your feet, the worn cut that had been made on the forest floor blending back into its surroundings. Din had insisted you close your eyes as soon as you reached the end, and he guided you to sit and wait until he was ready. The trail had led to the start of a hill from what you could tell, the sun shining brightly on the other side and casting both of you in a shadow as you stood at its base. Din grunted as he started up the hill, and you dug your fingers tighter into his furs as you shifted in his arms.

He carried you to the top; even with you commenting on how capable you were at walking he just ignored you.

“This is about you, Cyar'ika.”

“About me?” You could feel the sunlight pass over your features from behind your blindfold, warm and kissing your skin as you grinned up at him.

He sat you down once he passed the top, helping you balance yourself against him with his hands still roaming your sides. He turned you around with a kiss to your lips, your back pressing against his chest.

“Are you ready?”

He pressed his lips into your shoulder, trailing sweet kisses up your neck until he reached your ear; his voice rumbling deep in his chest as he whispered the words into your skin.

“I hope.” 

There was a nervousness that settled in your stomach, an excitement that flooded your veins but left you woozy as you leaned against him. You felt his hands reach for the blindfold, loosening the knot and letting the soft material fall away from your eyes.

It took a moment for you to adjust to the light, the sun was bright and hovering over the horizon, bathing everything in a beautiful golden glow and you shuddered out a breath when everything came into view.

It went on forever, large stretches of meadow littered with pinks and reds that swirled in gentle patterns; flowers of every kind dancing around your feet and tickling the skirt of your dress. You could see the colors vividly under the brightness of the setting sun; blooms that were full and in every shape imaginable stood at your fingertips.

“Do you like it?”

You felt him smiling against your skin, peppering small kisses along your jaw and cheek.

“It's wonderful.”

You turned in his arms, your faces just a hairbreadth away from one another as a question burned on the tip of your tongue.

“Din, how did you-”

“It's yours.” Din cut you off, his hand cupping your jaw while his thumb gently ran across the apple of your cheek.

“Mine?”

He held onto you tighter, and you felt like you were gonna burst; your chest swelling with the immeasurable feeling you got every time he looked at you.

“I’m giving it to you.”

You could see the warmth hidden behind a heavy-set brow, his irises a deep, rich color that sparkled with golden flecks of sun and left you breathless. His kiss was soft and left your mouth burning in the wake of his touch, your hands threading through his hair and pulling him deeper as your lips slotted together.

“Every year, that is the trail we use when we go on our hunts,” Din explained pulling away just enough for the words to slip past his lip, his palms still caressing the side of your face.

“And every year we pass by this meadow without so much as a second glance.”

Your hands wandered to hold Din’s arms, your fingers trailing along the length of his forearm until they came to rest at his wrists. He smiled as you squeezed them in your palms, your forefinger tracing tiny patterns on the underside of his arm.

“But this time, Cyar'ika, all I could think about was you.”

You felt tears brimming at his words, and when they finally rolled down your cheeks he brushed them away; catching them with his thumb as they fell from your eyes.

“So I'm giving it to you.”

He kissed you again, his mouth heavy against yours and his touch like molten that left a gentle burn underneath your skin. His taste was practically burned on your tongue by the time you pulled away from him, your threaded fingers the only thing that stayed connected as you led him deeper into the meadow. He was impatient, stopping you much sooner than you had planned, your chest colliding as he pulled you back to his arms. Warm, wet kisses trailed over your neck, his teeth sinking into the sensitive spot on your shoulder, making you groan in his ear. You gasped as your hands ran over his back, your nails scratching lightly and traveling to pull the curls at the base of his neck.

You don't remember how you got to the ground, it doesn't even register that you're moving until you feel the solid earth beneath you, pinned by Din's weight. His hands felt like they were everywhere at once, warm, and calloused against your skin once he removed his gloves. They pulled at pieces of your clothes, your own hands going to pull the latches that held Din's cape.

“You want to give me warriors, Cyar'ika?” He growled into your ears, your bodies rutting against each other as you desperately tried to strip yourself of enough layers to have each other. “Be my sweet Riddur and bare my children?”

Din chuckled at the completely sinful sound that left your lips, half-concocted strings of pleas spewing from your mouth; begging for him to touch you, to kiss you, to fill you to the brim with everything that was him.

“Let me breed you, sweet girl, as a proper husband should.”

He wasn't gentle when his hips finally rocked into yours, but it felt so blissful; like your body was tingling with excitement and about to burst with each cant of his hips. 

Your knees dug into the dirt beneath you, the material of Din's cape doing nothing to cushion you from the weight of his thrusts; the sound of your love-making the only thing that could be heard over the moans you shared.

He clung to you as if his life depended on it, kissing every inch of you he could reach and gripping you hard enough to leave imprints of his hands on your skin.

He swallowed the screams that laid on the edge of your tongue in a kiss, his fingers circling your clit as you ride your high over and over again. You were so sensitive when he had finally finished, your nerves heightened and your cunt glistening with the mixture of your releases.

You shared ‘I love you’s between slow kisses, your lips swollen and sensitive as he nipped them between his teeth. You held him close, burying your nose in his hair as you lay beneath a painted sky, every color imaginable dancing above you as the world continued slowly from day into night.

-

There was hardly a shred of sunlight left in the sky as you made your way back to the village. Din all but led you, the darkness making the forest a little more difficult to move through; your fingers gripped any piece of his clothing you could reach, clinging to his side as if you were afraid he'd leave you behind.

He chuckled a little bit as one of your hands gripped his cape, the other landing on his bicep and walking directly behind him, your head resting on his shoulder blade. You let go of him as he tapped your hand, stopping in his tracks to brace himself and telling you to climb into his back. You hesitated for a moment, you have no idea how much longer it would be to get home; there was no way Din could be comfortable carrying you for that long.

“Come on, Cyar'ika.” He turned his helmet to look at you, what little moon that was out tonight glinting off the visor. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck, jumping when he told you to and moving with him as his arms helped you settle on his back. He walked a little slower but he still seemed to navigate the trail better than you. You could feel the breaths he took from under his helmet, his chin peeking out from under his helmet from your angle. You laid your head against his shoulder and hummed as you squeezed his neck tighter, your finger sticking out to tickle him along his jawline. He flinched slightly, huffing out a laugh as he groaned out a meaningless warning. You settled your cheek against his pauldron, looking out as slopes of land started to form under the faint shine of the moon. The night was still around you, the only noise that registered being the thump of Din's boots on the ground and the faint sound of a broken breeze that wafted through the woods. You could see lights from the villager's home through the thinning treeline, the mountains that served as the backdrop of your home glowing with blue hue under the moonlight.

“We're almost there.” You commented, pointing a finger in the direction of the village.

Din slowed for a second and lifted his head to follow your hand, commenting on your ‘good eye.’ You huffed and held on tighter to his neck, trying to hold some of your body weight up to make it easier for him.

It didn't take much longer to reach the edge of the forest, the homes of the village much closer and more lively than they had looked from a distance.

There was something uneasy that washed over as you slipped from Din's grip, your feet landing flat on the ground that felt alive underneath you. The earth was rumbling, hardly noticeable but it tickled you through the soles of your boots as you stood still. You look over to find Din looking towards the village, his hand reaching out for you and pulling you to stand behind him. He held onto your hand with a bruising grip as if he were afraid you would slip through his fingertips.

It hit before you could ask him what was wrong, a blinding light that knocked you to your feet and left you scrambling against the dirt beneath you. There was a pounding inside of your head, a deafening sound that was shrill and left ringing in your ears. Your head was spinning as you tried to sit up, fighting against a heavy weight that kept you pinned to the ground. There were sounds of voices, muffled yelling that barely registered as you blinked up at the sky. 

The canopy of the trees was glowing in shades of violent reds that swirled around bellows of smoke. Your body felt heavy, every breath that passed through your lungs burned as you pushed against the pressure that held you down. You tried to move again, your arms limp and scratching against the dirt as shadows passed over your face. Some limbs seemed to move with yours slowly, with heavy hands bumping yours in their search for purchase. And then the weight was lifted, your vision blurring at the sight of Din's silver helmet. His hands held your face, words falling from his lips that were suffocated by the chaos that roared around you. Your eyes felt heavy, every time you blinked it was like heaven to have them close for just a second longer.

You looked at him, watching the colors dance across the profile of his helmet with words stuck on your tongue; sentences lost in the confusion that had settled over your mind. He was still talking to you, his arms sliding under your body to haul you off the ground; the remnants of a promise hitting your ear as your eyes finally closed.

“.... you're gonna be okay.”

Translations:

Vod’ika- Little sister

Alor- Leader, chief

Verd’goten- Mandalorian rite of passage

Riddur- Spouse, Husband/Wife

A/N (pt2): Y’all remember when the reader talked about how much she liked flowers because its something she remembers from her childhood??? Well Din did.

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[writerkenna]

I've been taking a small break from writing the Wilson-Barnes Family series, but I wanted to give y'all a bit of content while you wait.

So, here are some Mila in kindergarten headcanons (because I work in a kindergarten and I have some thoughts)

Mila is a very smart little lady, but also one with no patience. So, while she excels at reading, learning her numbers, sight words, etc, she has no time for coloring inside the lines or cutting nicely. She gets notes sent home about it but Sam and Bucky largely dgaf cause they know how brilliant she is

On Mila's first day, hair done into beautiful braids, new outfit bought for the occasion, when she gets dropped off, Mila sheds not one tear but Sam and Bucky are total messes. Surprisingly, Bucky is even worse than Sam, basically inconsolable for like a full hour afterwards, b/c he's been a SAHD for years and what the hell is supposed to do now?

What he does end up doing, is becoming a room dad. Sam works too much to take up that position, but Bucky is home and missing Mila, so when sign ups for room parents come home, he signs right up.

Bucky is fully in an email chain with other parents, setting up bake sales, organizing class parties, gathering school supplies for crafts and projects. He is COMMITTED!

He's got that military fastidiousness and when it comes to being room parent he GETS. SHIT. DONE. The teachers, who were originally wary of him, given his everlooming reputation, come to adore him

Though, all that being said, he's still a grumpy, anti-social old man and does not use his role to make any friends.

Sam, on the other hand, when he's home to be involved, is all charisma and smiles at every parent event. He's got a circle of parents he's befriended that he'll set up playdates with and a bushel of single moms (and a few single dads) who for sure are flirting with him.

Bucky's not jealous. Obviously not. (except of course he goddamn is) He is just keeping his arm around Sam's shoulders and giving him a kiss every five seconds for utterly unrelated reasons.

There is parent drama between the room moms and dads. Bucky gives Sam full reports on it, as per Sam's request. They stay out of the tension, themselves (mostly)

Mila is a social butterfly and has a million friends, though there is a few kids who are not allowed to come over to the Wilson-Barnes house b/c of mixed opinions on Bucky (and you best believe that hits right at the core of Bucky's self-hate and guilt)

Sam is still out here throwing Halloween parties, birthday parties, end of school year parties, you name it, and talking Bucky up to any parents (and kids, occasionally) who will listen, cause he'll be damned if anyone says shit about his man.

Anyways, outside of the detractors, both Bucky and Sam have their fair share of little fans. There's a gaggle of boys Mila's friends with who always ask for Bucky to do cool tricks with his metal arm, and Sam has made fully suited-up appearances at a few birthday parties

Every art project and report card stays up on the fridge for months.

And, still, with as much fun as kindergarten is, the fam loves nothing more than a night at home; dinner cooked together, a movie, and some books read before bed, with all three (occasionally four, depending on baby #2’s sleep schedule) together.

There are some rambling thoughts! Stay tuned for updates to come on the Wilson-Barnes Family series

[therealvalkyrie]

The cold, sharp smell of the first frost

Pairing/setting: Levi Ackerman x Female!Reader, cannonverse, set before the fall of Wall Maria

Prompt: “The cold, sharp smell of the first frost”

Summary: After your parents’ deaths, you manage the family farm while longing for your lover to come back again.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: entirely fluff:)

AN: This is my submission for @vennilavee ‘s AOT writing challenge! It’s an aesthetic prompt, so I went with farmgirl fall charm, AOT style. This writing style is a departure from what I’ve posted on tumblr so far, but I think it’s fitting for a shorter work like this one. Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy, and as always don’t hesitate to come talk with me! ~valkyrie

The frost comes early that year, creeping its way from the forest in the dead of night and across your fields. The chickens are the first to complain about it, clucking and chirping around your legs like a gaggle of church ladies all in a tizzy as you collect eggs. They tell you of the frost, the frost, the frost that seeped in the cracks of their coop and under their feathers. The pumpkins are next, vines slightly wilted under melting dewdrops. You murmur an apology and a promise to harvest them before nightfall as you pick your way through their patch.

When you reenter the house, egg basket in the crook of one elbow and sun well into the sky, the cat protests the flurry of autumn air accompanying you. She stretches in the sunspot by the kitchen table and fixes you with a reproachful stare.

“You spoiled thing,” you admonish as you step past her. Nevertheless, you pour the last of the cream into her saucer as a peace offering.

Your morning passes in the usual way: making bread and setting it to rise on the windowsill; stoking the fire to cook yourself an omelet with cheese from the neighbors’ goat; flipping quietly through your inventory book to compare this year’s crop to last year’s.

At noon, you haul buckets of water and a bushel of apples out to the workers in your fields. Timothy, who is skilled with a scythe, once again drops to a knee in a grand, sweeping gesture.

“Marry me!” He shouts your name across the fields. “Marry me and you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

You answer in the customary fashion he has grown to expect: “Oh, but Timothy, I do love my work. And I know you only offer because your mother’s threatening to make you marry the MacNally girl.”

You tousle his hair teasingly as the other men laugh and he clutches his chest in pretend heartbreak.

After the meal, you meander back to the house, mentally checking off a to-do list for the day. The water buckets swing from your hands as you walk, kicking up dust from the path with the heels of your boots. It’s as you round the gentle curve around the cornfields and come into view of your home that you stop dead in your tracks. The water buckets clang to the ground, causing the distant figure to turn and your heart to stop.

Green cloak, black hair, impeccable posture.

“It can’t be…” you whisper. The figure spreads its arms wide and all of a sudden you’re running full tilt, hands hitching up your skirts past the point of decency, wind whipping your cheeks to a flush.

You crash into him and he stumbles back a bit with the force of it, quickly stabilizing you both on your feet. Your arms are around his middle and his are at your back and in your hair, holding tight.

“Levi,” you sob into the crook of his neck.

“I’m here.” His voice rumbles through you like the most exquisite summertime thunderstorm. “I’m here.”

It takes you several moments to calm your breathing and pull back to really look at him. He looks tired, as usual, and there’s a new scar on his cheek, but his eyes are warm and tender as he gazes back. You reach a hand up to trace the scar gingerly.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you until winter.”

“I got some time off after the latest mission and we weren’t too far away, so I thought I’d come see you. Is that okay?”

You scoff, though you know he’s joking with you. “It’s more than okay. You know how I miss you.”

“I missed you too.”

“I love you.” This admission is quieter, more reverent, like a prayer.

“I love you, too.” He cups a hand on your cheek and his mouth quirks into a rare smile. Then, he’s kissing you like soft spring rain washing away the hurt of winter and you’re kissing back, two hands tangled in his raven hair.

You spend the afternoon simply lying in his arms in a patch of sunlight on your bed. He tells you of his training and the new squad he was given and the women who nearly throw themselves at his feet. You laugh at the absurd look on his face when he describes how one wealthy Interior woman offered to pay him for his company. He avoids talking about the mission, but you know he’ll say what he needs to when he can. Often, when he’s home, he’ll whisper horrified confessions in the dead of night about his time killing the Titans, and you’ll hold him to your chest as he weeps. But the daytime is for feeding him fresh bread and tea and relaying jokes the field workers tell.

When the sun dips low, you fasten a knit shawl around your shoulders and crook your hand in his elbow to go take the workers their weekly pay.

You introduce him to them with an air of pride: “This is Captain Levi of the Scout Regiment. Levi, these are my boys.”

He nods while they tip their caps and as you pass out the salaries, you can feel Timothy’s eyes flicking between the pair of you. When you reach out to pass him his money bag, he takes it and leans in a tad closer.

“Well, darlin’, if it couldn’t’ve been me, I’m glad it’s him,” he says lowly and with a cheeky wink.

You laugh and pat his shoulder, then return to Levi’s side to wave the lot of them off.

“What was that about?” The question is tinged with covetousness, and you rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You have their approval, is all. They’re very protective of me.” You gaze at him with earnesty for a moment before breaking out into giggles. “Come on, let’s eat. You must be starving.”

Levi helps with evening chores, recapturing an escaped chicken, pulling more water from the well, and sweeping the floor to within an inch of its life. You serve him a vegetable stew and afterwards settle in by the fire to read one of the new books he brought from the city. Your voice carries him through the story as he lays with his head in your lap. Rough, working fingers card through his hair and he allows his eyes to close, lulled by the night sounds of your home.

Outside in the dark, the frost twists up pumpkin vines again and snaps in the air, a warning for another harsh winter to come.

[thatslikely]

Mill Boy - F.W.

Mill Boy- Fred Weasley x fem!reader [1800s muggle!au]

warnings: mentions of child labor

word count: 3.4k 

a/n: probably part one of a minseries? y/n and fred are about 10-11 in this so part ii could possibly be a timeskip

“Mum, can I go play? Please?” you pleaded, doe eyes shiny and prominent. Your mother, a hard working housewife, was bent over the sturdy kitchen table, dousing dirty dishes in scalding water, preparing them to be piled with the beef warming in the flames of the stove across the airy kitchen.

“Fine, Y/N, just please don’t get your dress dirty. Your father worked hard to afford such a fine cotton. He wouldn’t be pleased to see it ruined, now would he?” You eagerly nodded in agreement, ready to go enjoy the meadows lying across the walls of your humble residence. It was a beautiful spring day, most enticing one yet. Birds fluttered through the lush, brilliant cedar trees, enjoying the tranquil air that comes with the season. Ox-eye daisies dotted the expansive hills, all the way down to the slowly trickling creek. 

You slipped your muddied boots over the clean, cotton socks adorning your feet, grabbing your hat to shield your youthful eyes from the golden star above right after. You slipped it over your locks, which were neatly tied into pig-tails with silky, baby pink ribbons Mother bought you for your birthday. 

You skipped through the propped back door, little giggles of delight humming through your throat. Any traces of the harsh winter that stormed the land only a few months prior were washed away with the glimmering sunlight, which coerced the wildflowers to bloom from buds to petaled cups of sweetness.

With a smile, you followed a path of vibrant, woolly blue violets, carefully plucking their stems for a nice arrangement to become the perfect centerpiece for dinner. The colour, in your opinion, complimented the pastel pinks of your dress perfectly, filling you with even more glee. How you wished that you could spend all your time out of the confines of buildings, having fun and being free of responsibility.

It was most unladylike to go splashing in the cool water of the stream, and you would surely be scolded for it if you chose to do so. You had attempted to conceal your submersion in the winding brook once before, but the liquidy footprints you left on the floors of your house quickly outed your escapade. Fearing another stern talk, which was not pleasant in the slightest, you simply skipped to its edge, astutely observing its reflective surface with admiration. 

The crystalline liquid glossed over smooth stones adorned with moss so peacefully, its pace never wavering, not even for a second. The mere idea of something perpetually in motion, never having to stop and take a break, as you did many times after a long day of running in the fields, chasing butterflies, astounded you. 

Everyone had to go to sleep, or stop for a breath every once in a while, right? Scampers, the stray which adored your family’s covered porch, went to bed at odd times, most often at noon. And yet, he still slept. The grocer down the lane kept his shop attended every time you’d visit, but the windows would soon be curtained and dim when the moon came out to rule the seemingly never ending sky.

You prodded the cool creek with your finger, letting the water continue to flow past it unbothered, as if it were nothing but another stray twig. The thirst for answers dripped down from your mind, enveloping your body in a sensation that couldn’t be mended by simply drinking the water. You were amazed, and you had to see more, know more. You followed the bends of the stream, far beyond the view of your house.

Nobody had ever outright stated that you shan’t see where it goes, where the water ends, so naturally you had to discover it yourself. Maybe you’d be met with a secret alcove, your own private pocket of the boundless world. Alternatively, maybe you would stumble across a small house entangled high up in the branches of a tree, and fly up to its entrance like a fairy from a tale recited before bed. Or even, most enticing of all, maybe there was a prince waiting for you where the water ends; a prince who’d sweep you off your feet, offering you a chance to live in a magnificent castle situated in a far away land. 

You hummed songs that your frilly-dressed peers would chime in unison during recess, filling the still air. The toes of your boots leaped from one large rock to another, balancing on their flat surfaces like a game of hopscotch. 

The soft, sweet humming echoing through his cove from a ways down the creek instantly perked Fred’s curiosity, luring him in like a siren’s song. He halted his stick-poking of the ants inching up the burly trunk of the ancient tree, swinging his gingered-head down, so his vision lay unobscured by the low-hanging branches. 

No one ever came to visit Fred when he lay slouched in the safe, knotted branches of his tree; whether it was because his family couldn’t locate him or the fact that they were aware that he needed a break, he didn’t know. Days spent in the mill were painful and excruciatingly long, so during the few spare moments he had to himself, he’d spend it talking to the lush wildlife surrounding him. He’d never be talked over by the weeds or birds, they’d just sit and listen, exactly what he needed. 

He nearly fell to the grassy ground trying to find the source of the melodic songs, curious to see who dare disturb the previously hidden Fort Fred. He imagined himself as a skillful militiaman, like his brothers, ready to charge and overtake the enemy, even if the music-maker was nothing near a threat.

Just as he was about to jump down to investigate on his own two feet, the source was finally revealed. An absolutely beautiful girl- a princess, rather, approached the tree. She was dressed in a light pink gown, as if she had just come back from a royal ball. Her singing brought serenity all around, as if she were somehow communicating with the birds and butterflies, allowing them to chirp and flutter along. At the same time, however, her well-loved boots and hat altered her look to something of a daring adventurer, exploring the unknown paths of thicket.

“Hello,” you said angelically, clasping your hands together across your waist. You were completely surprised to meet a companion on your previously solo expedition, and a dashing, amiable one at that.

You’d never seen this particular boy at school before; he seemed different than all your icky male peers. The boys at school would tug on your pigtails during tests, claim you were infested with disgusting germs at recess, and chase you around the yard tauntingly. But this boy’s features resonated nothing but kindness: the crinkles around his eyes from smiling, light orange freckles all across his nose, his shaggy, fiery red hair topped with a patched-up flat cap.

Maybe there was a prince at the end of the brook after all.

The friendly-appearing boy hopped down from his perch in the tree, smoothing out the wrinkles and leaves in his suspendered trousers and white button up with a suspicious look. “And who would you be, miss?” 

“Erm- my name’s Y/N. What’s your’s?” You couldn’t help but smile, and your cheeks prickled as if a ladybug were crawling across them.

He stepped closer to you, his composure open and honest. “I’m Fred, Fred Weasley. I live down the way, near the mill.”

“Nice to meet you, Fred Weasley.” You did a proper courtesy, just as you had been taught so many times before, then adding, “what’s a mill?”

Fred’s jaw dropped, as if it had no hinges. “You’re joking, right? You don’t know about the mill? I work there just about every day of the week.” He pointed further down the creek, opposite the direction of your house, astonishment swimming in his mahogany brown eyes. 

“I’ve never heard anything of the sort. What do you do in a mill, exactly?” 

“Well, there’re these big, loud machines that're always moving. They get power from this huge wooden wheel upstream that’s always spinning. They make tons of pieces of fabric out of wool. Maybe I even weaved some of the cloth used to make that very dress you’re wearing right now.”

You marvelled at his descriptions, even the simple way he spoke, articulated his words. Those utterly despicable boys at school would’ve just stuck their tongues out at you disrespectfully, not giving you the time of day, but Fred couldn’t be more different. He spoke to you as if you two were something of equals.

“Oh wow.” You were barely able to suppress a flustered giggle. Why were you feeling so, mushy around Fred, the sensation comparable only to the consistency of porridge? “I didn’t know you were so talented to do that.”

“Aww,” -he blushed, scratching the nape of his neck- “I mean, it’s not too difficult, you could probably do it if you tried. After a while ‘course.”

“Nonsense.” You not-so-nonchalantly rubbed your palms up and down your dress, noticing beads of perspiration accumulating on them. While doing so, the bushel of hooded violets resting in your pocket became evident. You pulled one from your stash, saying, “do you want one of my flowers? I picked them down near my house.”

Fred swore at any moment, if anything were so much as to touch him, he would burst. He’d never experienced these, admittedly strange, feelings before. It felt like his last meal wouldn’t settle in his stomach, or as if he’d just run a horse’s distance by the way his heart was pounding out of his chest. Was he sick? Should he go tell mum?

“I, erm, of course,” he stuttered, barely capable of moving his lips to form coherent words. “You have e-excellent taste in flowers, miss Y/N.”

“Thanks. I picked plenty, for a nice centerpiece at home. Mum always loves flowers.” You fiddled with the frills and layers of your dress, doing something to occupy your energetic fingers. Fred studied the flower intently with his brows furrowed, tugging on its petals and anthers. 

After Fred was satisfied with his examination of the violet, he said, “you know, there’s some really pretty yellow flowers growing down by the mill. They’d go perfectly with these here.”

“Will you take me?” 

“Of course I will. We’d best get going, though. Don’t wanna miss dinner.” Fred gestured for you to follow his lead, walking through the knee-high blades of grass as if he were wading through a river. When he quickly noticed your look of apprehension, not wanting to dirty your dress or have an unwanted animal encounter, he grabbed your palm with a grin, forcing you to trail behind him.

You two distantly followed the path of the creek, adventure flowing through both of your veins. Fred’s grip on your hand was gentle, despite the calloused patches scattered over his skin, no doubt a result of the ‘large machines’ he described working on in the mill.  

After a while of giggling and jogging, the distant outline of a building across the stream was visible. Its four walls were composed of rough, grey stones used as bricks; it’s roof was sealed with jagged pieces of slate, some out of place. But the biggest surprise came not with the building itself, but to the right of it. A humongous, wooden wheel spun through the rill, rhythmically splashing the previously tranquil water as it continued flowing. It was as if everything today was out of a fairy tale, but this was the most outlandish of them all. A giant wheel, spinning in pace through the water? 

“Well, we’re here.” While Fred usually dreaded returning back to the mill, as his time within the confines were never pleasant, tolerable at best, he was glad to be here with company and a different mission. He wasn’t going to be making fabric today, no, he was on the search for bundles of corn-yellow flowers, with the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on. True royalty, a princess through and through.

“Wow. That wheel’s ginormous! How does it work?” This time, it was your mind that curiosity flooded, and it ceased to relent. 

“Erm, I don’t exactly know. All I know is that the creek pushes the wheel, for some reason. I’ll ask Dad about it sometime, he’ll know.” You nodded appreciatively, satisfied at the promise of an answer. 

 “Now what do you say we go find some of those flowers?”

“Yes please!” You started peering around the water’s edge, attempting to spot any signs of cheerful, yellow flowers.

While you continued digging through ferns and bushes, searching for gold, Fred enchanted you from a distance across the shaded meadow. “I think my brother Percy said that the flowers are called Golden Alexanders. He’s one to always go a bit heavy on books during his breaks.” 

‘You’ll have to ask your brother how they got their name. The first part’s fairly obvious, the Alexander portion not so much.”

“I’m gonna have to ask everyone in my family questions if I keep showing you new things by the looks of it,” he giggled, walking around the grassy plateau with his hand shielding his eyes from the setting sun. 

“Teacher always tells me during lessons, ‘curiosity killed the cat’-” 

“Poor kitty,” Fred muttered.

“-But satisfaction brought it back. So you best bring me back some answers tomorrow, because I don’t exactly fancy dying.” Fred’s eyes widened with his new, highly-important mission. “I’d at least wish to go out in a heroic way, not at the hands of my own unquenched curiosity.”

“That’s quite the big word.”

“I know, I learned it the other day!” you giggled, covering your toothy grin with your hand. “Isn’t it cool?” Fred responded with a handsome, wide smile and concurring nod. His eyes were filled to the brim with joy; they reminded you of warm evenings sitting around the crackling fire charring logs and embers. 

You scourged through the brush for a while longer until the soothing trickling of water was interrupted by Fred’s distinct voice, shouting, “Oh, I think I found some o’er here!”

You skipped to Fred’s direction, the toes of your boots patting the grass lightly. Fred was leaning down over a small patch of Golden Alexanders, watching a few bumblebees buzz between the central stigmas protected in the wreaths of small petals.

Without thinking, you swiftly wrapped your arms around Fred, his back pressed to your chest tightly. “Thank you, Fred. These’ll look great. You’ve got quite the eagle eye.” Your cheeks burned, and your soft arms were swept with tiny goosebumps.

“It’s no problem, really. I’m just glad you’re happy.” You unleashed Fred from your grasp, nearly tumbling to the ground with flusteredness. The porridge-ish feeling was back, and your now-wobbly legs weren’t exempt. “Your smile’s contagious, you know.” 

Fred’s reaction to your hug was slightly different, but equal in magnitude. His chest puffed as if it were fluttering with butterflies that would glide low near the grass, his neck, which tingled after your every exhale, was burning like brush, and his breath all but stopped, which he paid no mind to. 

To distract himself from the foreign sensations racking his body, he pointed to the revolving wheel sputtering the crystalline, flowing water, saying, “Do you think it's possible for me to climb the wheel? I’d wager I could.”

“You’d be a madman if you did.” You daintily trailed behind him like a curious cat, spying on his actions from afar.

“Then I guess I’ve got to do it.” He stepped one foot on one of the damp wooden beams, which proved successful until the churning of the wheel shook off his balance. He stumped to the group with an ‘ow’, groaning, “Princess, you were supposed to catch me.”

“Sorry,” you cheekily giggled, suppressing your smile with your cupped palm. You looked in all directions but Fred’s to avoid an assumed scornful glare, but instead you were met with a chuckling redhead, his umber eyes screwed shut with laughter.

Childish titter occupied the still Spring air, blending in with the trickling water and occasional melody chirped by a lone sparrow or two. Your fingers intertwined with Fred’s to prevent you from falling backwards into the puddles of sludge strewn through the sunset-soaked blades of grass.

Eventually, Fred could be your stabilizing tether no longer, and you both fell backwards, hands still locked playfully. You started to get up from the soft cushion composed of a plethora of plants before the flat-capped ginger motioned for you to remain relaxed on the ground, the large tufts of your gown and all. 

You complied, and before you knew it, you were making out the shapes of pink-hued clouds, improvising tales and fables to enchant Fred with.

“That one looks like a rabbit, doesn’t it?” you would say, or “that one looks like a mule-”

“-riding on a carriage!” Fred finished, giggling in unison with you. As your throat erupted with chuckles, you and the prince beside you clutched your stomachs which were rattling with joy.

After a while of staring up at the deepening sky, you said, “I think I’ve got to go back for dinner, Mum’ll be expecting me.” Fred immediately stood up, quick as a soldier, and he outstretched his arm chivalrously to help you sit up as well.

“I’ll walk you back, don’t worry. Who would I be to let a princess such as yourself brave the wilderness alone?”

“How kind of you, good sir,” you replied with a joking curtsy and exaggerated accent dripping with poshness. Your fingers intertwined with Fred’s again for the second time that day, and this time they felt more familiar, as if you could pinpoint every sun-owing freckle or crease in his pale skin.

Your connected arms swung rhythmically as you both relaxedly walked towards the direction of your humble residence, careful to avoid stepping on dotted ladybugs that scurried through the grass. Occasionally, you or Fred would release a clever wisecrack or randomly twirl, basking in the pink rays of sunshine that gradually depleted, but for most of the trek home, you stayed quiet, simply enjoying each other’s company: a luxury that was hard to come by in Fred’s house of nine.

When your house was finally visible on the thin line of the horizon, Fred’s eyes couldn’t help but light up. Your home didn’t look much different than the Weasley’s, save for its size being half as big. Your chimney wasn’t as crooked and worn by the elements as the gingered clan’s was either, but the young boy didn’t seem to notice. All he could see was an elegant castle suited for no one but the best.

At long last, you arrived on your back porch. The door was wide open, where your mother leaned her aproned hips against the frame with a smile. Wonderful aromas wafted from the kitchen to you and Fred’s nostrils, beckoning you to take a seat at the dinner table and dig in. “Now who might this be, Y/N?”

“My name’s Fredrick Weasley ma’am.” Youthfulness glinted his eyes as he reached his hand to shake your mother’s. “I go by Fred.”

“You’ve got quite the firm shake,” she said, suppressing a chuckle, “I hope you and Y/N had fun today? By the look of her dress, she did.”

Your cheeks burned like a tin fresh out of the oven as you looked down in horror to see brown splotches of dirt strewn across the fluff and frills. “Mum, I-”

“Shh, Y/N, don’t worry about it,” you mother cooed in a whisper, eyeing the oblivious redheaded boy next to you, who was equally smudged with mud but complemented with a sweet, wide-mouthed smile.

“Well, Y/N dear, it’s dinner time. Does your guest Mister Weasley care to join us?”

“No thank you, Miss Y/L/N, I’ve got to be on my way back to my home as well.” Fred pulled you closer to him, so that your chest was mere inches away from his’. A sudden burst of confidence pumped through his veins, and with that, he gave a light pack to your cheek. 

Your eyes widened with shock; his lips left a tingly imprint on your nerves as he turned back around towards the creek. I’ll never wash my face again, you thought, cupping your cheek with your palm. 

“Bye princess, I’ll see you tomorrow, promise?” he shouted, giving you a final wave. 

“Promise. Bye, Mill Boy. See you then!” And with that, he was off following towards the water in which he came, the orange sunlight turning his figure into a fading silhouette. 

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[kumkaniudaku]

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+. 

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"  

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."  

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?" 

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

[nebulablakemurphy]

Focus

George Weasley x Reader

Requested by anonymous: George x reader where she's just stressed and tired from studying and she feels somewhat numb to stuff and is constantly losing focus.

I hope you enjoy it! 💜

Words 1.1k

The sounds of Gryffindor tower swirl around you, from your place on the corner settee. Students of all ages preparing for their first trip home, since arriving at Hogwarts. Roommates exchanging addresses, to keep up on the latest gossip during their time apart. Couples sneaking off to snog beneath self made bushels of mistletoe.

You, on the other hand, think more practically. O.W.L.S. are less than a month away. To say you’re stressed, would be the understatement of the century.

Jotting down a quick note, for safe keeping, you notice a pair of feet stepping into view. George, you’d recognize him anywhere. Your boyfriend’s weight shifts the cushion beside you.

George slings his arm over your shoulders. “Hello, love.”

“Hi,” you chew the inside of your cheek. Reluctantly placing your open book face down, atop your thighs.

“For the weekend-“

Oh, this weekend. You’ll need to spend it studying.

“Sweetheart?” George says, leaning into your field of vision. “Is everything alright?”

Alright? How could anything be alright? Everything’s...“fine.” You force a smile, “everything’s fine. What were you saying about this weekend?”

“I asked if you’re still planning on coming for dinner?” George repeats.

“Oh, of course,” you nod, “I wouldn’t miss it.” Popping over to the Weasley’s during Christmas holiday is a tradition of sorts.

Mrs. Weasley’s cooking is brilliant. It doesn’t hurt that you and George always sneak away, to exchange a few gifts of your own.

“You’ve been hitting the books like mad, for weeks! I think you’ve earned a break.” He reaches for the hardback resting in your lap.

“I can’t.” You press an apologetic kiss to his freckled brow. “I’m nearly done. Why don’t you head on down? I’ll meet you in a few.”

“If you’re sure,” George narrows his eyes at you. “But if you’re not at the table in ten minutes, I’m coming after you.”

“I’ll be there,” you assure him. Back to your work, before he’s out the door.

————————————————————

You make it to the burrow, the day after Christmas. Your entire holiday has been spent researching, in anticipation of those inevitable essay questions.

Even when you’re away from your notes, all you can think about is the fact that you should be reviewing them. The anxiousness begins to creep up again.

You itch for the stacks of bound parchment, waiting for you back at home. Unlike George, you’re very concerned about your test scores. He’s always believed that his future doesn’t revolve around academic achievement. You wish a bit of that would rub off on you.

Realizing you’ve completely zoned out again, you attempt to focus. The dinner table is full of smiling faces, exchanging stories. You want to engage, but the thought alone is overwhelming.

You manage to catch the tail end of a long winded joke, as it passes George’s lips. You’re supposed to laugh, because it was funny. Only it doesn’t feel that way, it doesn’t feel like anything at all.

George, your charming, loving, funny boyfriend; looks to you. Waiting for the laughter that should come, but somehow doesn’t.

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head, to clear it. “I’m very tired, I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh, of course dear!” Molly excuses you from the table, without further questioning. “You do look a bit peaky. George, take Y/N up to your room for a while. She’ll be tip top after a bit of a lie down. Just remember-“

“Leave the door open,” George finishes for her. Guiding you up the narrow staircase to his room, on the top floor.

George flops back on his bed, feet dangling over the edge. “Aren’t you going to join me?” He smirks, “or was this just an elaborate ruse to get me alone?”

You pause, staring down at the floor. “You can go back downstairs. I’m fine, really.”

“We need to talk.” He says.

You know what he’s going to say. He can’t do this anymore. “Ok then, let’s talk.”

“You’ve been a bit distant lately. Maybe we can start with that.” He doesn’t sound angry, maybe things between you won’t end on a sour note.

“I’m sorry George, I’m worried sick over these O.W.L.S. Umbridge upped the passing score, over a hundred points. There’s no way I’ll do well, even if I keep studying.” You draw in a shaky breath.

“It’s all starting to run together. I can’t focus on anything besides how nervous I am. I don’t feel like myself, and to top it all off; you’re breaking up with me.”

“Y/N,” George whispers, “no one is breaking up.”

“But you said, ‘we need to talk.’” You remind him. Nothing good ever follows.

“We clearly do! I’m worried about you. I need to know what I can do to help you feel better.” He’s being sincere, George would do anything for you.

“I don’t know.” You admit, choking back a sob. “I hate feeling like this.”

“Come here,” George opens his arms for you. “We’ll figure it out. You and me, we always do.”

You nod, closing the distance between you and breathing in the familiar scent of his shirt. “You’re very comfy,” you murmur.

“Glad to be of service.” He chuckles, stroking your hair. “You should try to get some rest.”

“That does sound nice,” you yawn. Hiking your leg up against his.

“We can run through the spells and potions, when you wake up.” George nuzzles the crown of your head.

“But you hate studying.” You crane your neck to see his face.

“But I love you,” he reasons, “so it all evens out in the end. After that we can pop on a muggle movie. Dad’s got a makeshift cinema down in the basement.”

“You’re being wonderful about this, you know?” You press your lips to the underside of his jaw.

“I just want you happy,” George confesses.

“You make me happy.” You assure him, leaning in for a kiss. You mean it, with every fiber of your being. George has always, and will always make you happy.

“Here I thought you were tired?” His mouth forms a smile atop your own.

“I’ll sleep better if you wear me out a bit.” You reply cheekily.

“You know you shouldn’t worry so much about school.” George whispers, rolling you onto your back. The length of his body covering yours. “We could be making better use of your time.”

You roll your eyes, hard, “George.”

“I’m only saying, that even if you flunk out, which you won’t; you’ll always have me.” He promises, trailing open mouthed kisses down your neck.

“You make a compelling argument.” He makes it easier to breathe.

“Always do.” George smirks, pleased with himself.

When you finally succumb to sleep, it’s the best you’ve had in ages. George holding you, until you wake.

Taglist: @bforbroadway @summer-writes @lupins-sweater @chaotic-fae-queen @a-mexican-waffle @obsessedwithrandomthings @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @firewhisky-kisses @haphazardhufflepuff @peachesandpinks @iliveiloveiwrite @the-hufflefluffwriter @masterofthedarkness @fific7 @poppin-potter @heloisedaphnebrightmore @mytreec

Twins taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual

[ratchedspeach]

Would you do a one shot with Mildred and Gwen having a baby? 🥺👉👈

A Bushel and a Peck | READ ON AO3

Gwendolyn hadn’t meant to say it, really she hadn’t, but there with the glow of morning filtering through their bedroom window, and Mildred’s bare legs tangled with hers, it just sort of slipped out.

“A child?” Mildred’s hair fell across her bare shoulders. Pieces of it fluttered across her forehead when she shot up to meet Gwen’s pale blue gaze. “I don’t even know how that would ... work.”

It was humor ... sort of. Mildred had admitted to Gwendolyn before that she lacked much schooling. Her capacity to read, while far beyond what it should be thanks to her own inherent curiosity, did not often bring her to books on reproduction. Truth be told, the thought scared Mildred. It reminded her of her own childhood, a time which she preferred to keep in the past. More than that, though, it reminded her of what Mildred still often considered her own depravity, for even with the profound love she held for her Gwen, it went against everything she had ever been taught was good.

“You’re a regular comediene this morning.” Gwendolyn exhaled a puff of smoke as she dabbed her cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. “I’ve been talking to Trevor. I didn’t want to say anything until he was sure, but he’s willing to help us forge the papers for an adoption.”

Adoption. The word hangs in the air like a noose. Mildred’s lower lip catches between her teeth. Menthol mingles with the sweet and slightly tangy scent of Gwendolyn’s breath. It wafts across her, but it does not bring its usual sense of ease. Mildred watches the smoke leave Gwen’s lips in a milky cloud, before breaking off into tendrils that seem to taunt her with their ability to disappear.

Gwendolyn waves a hand in front of her face, muscles tensing like she’s about to stand. “It was just a thought. Call it a daydream. Forget I said anything.”

“Alright.”

“Come again?”

Mildred takes the cotton of their sheets between her thumb and forefinger and twirls it until the fabric is stiff. A seagull caws somewhere beyond their balcony, shrieks with an errant caw before it too fades into the distance.

“If it means that much to you, then, alright. Talk to Trevor.”

Gwendolyn smiles at her, warmer than the glow of morning, more honest than anything Mildred can even begin to name. She takes her chin in the palm of her hand, kisses her until Mildred is certain she can feel her heartbeat through the soft flesh of her lips.

“Oh.” Gwen breathes against her, still smiling, still holding Mildred’s face. “I’ll call him today. If you’re sure, that is.”

“I am.”

She’s not, but Mildred’s learned to jump off cliffs so long as she’s holding Gwendolyn’s hand.

***

Gwen takes on the majority of the adoption process. She files papers, makes calls, she talks to agencies and foster parents, and she does it all with a sense of wonder vibrating off her. It reverberates off the walls of her study when Mildred brings her a sandwich for lunch. Gwendolyn offers her a grunt of thanks as she adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

Gwen’s study reminds Mildred of a museum. Books and papers litter every surface. There is no discernable organization as far as she can tell, but the older woman assures her that everything is exactly where she wants it. Bookshelves are built into the wall behind Gwendolyn’s desk from the ceiling to the floor. Every inch of it is used. Sometimes Mildred wonders if she’s actually read everything in here, but she fears it a silly question, and hasn’t had the courage to ask.

“This is good.” Gwen says with a mouthful of peanut butter and white bread, and a pen still poised in her hand.

“What is this?” Mildred comes to perch on the arm of her chair.

Gwen places her arm on Mildred’s hip to keep them both from teetering over. It’s become part of their routine, since Gwendolyn’s work often follows her home. Mildred’s does too, but not in the tangible form of paperwork.

“Just some files.” Gwen replies.

Mildred’s gaze follows the redheads downwards. Before her lays a pile of exactly what she’d promised: files, but not just any files. Mildred recognizes them as casefiles for children, each one with a photo stapled to the front. She cringes, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her forest green skirt. If Gwendolyn notices the change in the air around her, she doesn’t say, too enrapt in what she’s reading.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Gwendolyn murmurs as she takes another bite of her sandwich. Mildred nods.

The child is, in fact, beautiful, Mildred supposes she’s around seven. Her bright eyes are wide and bewildered, her lips pout into that dull, emotionless expression which she herself had learned to perfect. Gwendolyn doesn’t see this, of course. To her, the child is simply a child: simply young, simply beautiful, and why shouldn’t she be? Mildred can’t help the envy which tinged in her, the yearning strapped across her chest. How she wishes she could look at a child and see only that. She is burdened with knowing.

***

Her name is Rosalind, but the caseworker says that she goes by Rosie for short. At nine years old, the girl stands before the two women with the weight of the world strapped to her back. Gwendolyn offers her a smile, and invites her inside. Mildred can do little more than stare.

“You can put your things in here.” Gwendolyn opens the door to their guest bedroom turned children’s room.

The older woman had spent the week following their application being approved repainting walls and refurbishing the almost completely abandoned space until it was something out of a fairytale. Now, basking in the early afternoon light, the white canopy bed looks large enough to swallow the little whisp of a girl in front of Mildred whole.

Mildred watches as Rosie trails her finger along the comforter, watches the way she swallows back a smile on her pale lips, the way her light eyes spark with some amalgam of fear and enthrallment. Her fair hair is pulled into a tight plait against her back. Her full cheeks hold the familiar pinkness that came with being pinched, Mildred recalls from her own adoption day. A dusting of freckles dapples the bridge of her ornate nose. She looks more like a doll than a a real, human child. Were it not for the way her breath catches when Gwen asks how she likes it, Mildred isn’t sure she could tell the difference.

“I like very much.” Rosie’s voice is level, and gives no indication of emotion. “Thank you, Miss Briggs, Miss Ratched.”

Gwendolyn’s brow furrows. “You don’t have to call us that, you know. My name is Gwendolyn, Gwen for short, and this is Mildred.” She smiles warmly, if not a little self consciously.

Rosalind’s pale eyes flick between the two women before landing on Mildred. Something settles in the woman’s stomach as she watches the girl watch her. It’s as if she knows, Mildred thinks, as if she can feel their kindrencd. Mildred clasps her hands in front of her.

“Well, we’ll leave you to get settled, then.” Gwen smiles again after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything. Otherwise, dinner is at 6:30.”

She turns to leave, and Mildred follows suit. She can feel Rosie’s eyes burning against the back of her neck.

“Odd girl, isn’t she?” Gwendolyn whispers once their out of earshot.

Mildred isn’t sure, so she nods by way of agreement.

***

The first week is spent with an heir of discomfort which Gwendolyn cannot wrap her head around. Mildred watches her pace the length of their bedroom, fingers pinching her chin and eyes smouldering the hardwood floor.

“Honestly, I just never expected her to be so ...” She gestures emphatically when she can’t find the words. “I mean really, Mildred, I don’t think I’ve seen her smile once. Have you?”

Mildred bites the inside of her cheek, swallowing the amusement rising in her chest, but she shakes her head. “She needs time, Gwen. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

“I’m not building a goddamn city, though. I’m just trying to get to know the poor thing.” Gwendolyn groans. Their bed lets out a little “oof” as she lands against it with her full weight.

There, splayed out on her back with her arms stretched out on either side, Mildred takes the opportunity to press a light peck to her lips. Gwendolyn had been tireless in her efforts, wasting no expense in trying to relate to their young ward. It was endearing, if not a bit overzealous. Mildred didn’t have the heart to suggest that she let Rosalind come to her.

“I just ... thought this would be easier.” Gwen whines when Mildred is through kissing her. She looks up at the younger woman, her eyes as deep as the navy covers of the books she so desperately clung to. “I’ve never seen a child be so ... so indifferent.” Mildred tries to disguise the wince which her choice of words elicits, but she feels Gwen shift beneath her, and knows it’s too late. “What is it?”

“I can’t say for sure.” Mildred sighs, as though she’s expecting Gwendolyn to relinquish the question, which she does not. “It was often better to be quiet to be seen in ... in the homes I was placed in. You learn quickly to stay level, to swallow anything that could make you stand out for any reason. It’s easier that way ... safer, even.”

When Gwendolyn doesn’t respond, she thinks she’s said something wrong. Mildred sets her jaw. Her gaze trails to the fireplace, and she thinks that it will be cold enough to start using within the next few weeks.

“God, I’m an idiot.”

Mildred snaps her eyes back to Gwen, whose palms are now pressing against either eye with a deep frown creasing her features.

“You are not.” Mildred is quick to soothe.

“Oh, I am so!” Gwendolyn flips onto her stomach, perching herself up on her elbows to look at her in earnest. “What would you have wanted? If you were in her position, that is. What would have made it better?”

Mildred ponders that. She had never considered what she would have wanted, really. Her cards had been dealt, the dye cast, as it were. It felt almost futile to consider what could have been when her reality had been so far from anything remotely warm. Here, though, warmed under Gwendolyn’s earnest gaze, she considers.

“Nothing, I suppose.” Mildred answers honestly. “I don’t think anything could take away what I ...” She sucks in a breath, and Gwendolyn’s fingers find hers. “Nothing can take away from those memories, from those places, but there are ways to learn to endure the fallout.” Mildred meets her eyes. “Don’t give up on her; promise me you won’t.”

Gwendolyn smiles, tears turning her lash line red. She nods, she kisses Mildred, she offers a silent promise to stay the course.

***

It had started out innocent enough. Dinner, and a waning conversation about how Rosalind was enjoying school. She had responded with a shrug, and a “well enough” as she pushed a few pieces of chicken around with her fork. True to her sense of duty, Gwendolyn had pressed on. She spoke of her own day, asked Mildred of her’s. She discussed whatever book she had been reading, what she was looking forward to that weekend. Rosalind had listened like a machine created to do exactly that. When the two women had finished what was on their plates, she asked to be excused. Gwendolyn had exhaled heavily, her blue eyes going a little dull, but nodded her consent.

It had taken all of four seconds: two to push her chair back, one to spin on her heels, and a final to topple over herself and send her plate shattering against the floor.

“I’m ... I’m sorry.” Rosie breathed, her eyes going wide.

Mildred tenses at the way she scrambles to pick up the broken shards with her bare hands. She collects them with more speed than caution, and it only bodes consequences. Rosie hisses, flinching as her knee is impaled with one of the pieces.

“It’s alright, dear.” Gwendolyn murmured, her amusement giving way to something darker when Rosie ignores the blood pooling against her school dress. “Here, let me help you.”

“No, please!” The pieces of China clatter against the floor once more as the girl whirls around.

Rosie brings her palms across her face, her body tenses in on itself as if she’s waiting for a blow. Gwendolyn stutters. Mildred sets her jaw.

“Rosie, it’s just a plate.” Gwendolyn soothes.

Mildred wants to tell her not to come any closer, but then the older woman’s arms are hooking underneath Rosie’s shoulders. Rosie shrieks, eyes screwing shut. She kicks against the air and manages to land a blow directly against Gwendolyn’s chest. The redhead staggers backward clutching her right shoulder. Her eyes flick to Mildred, a silent plea crossing her features.

Mildred has half a mind to run, and half a mind to cower right along next to Rosalind. She doesn’t, of course. Sidestepping broken glass, she comes to kneel a foot away from the girl. Mildred doesn’t speak, not at first, just watches the girl pant and pull her knees against her chest. She’s mumbling something under her breath, and Mildred can only assume she’s begging for mercy.

“I was in charge of cleaning up after a family, once.” Mildred starts. Her voice is even, crackling with the weight of rememberance. Gwendolyn steps back so she’s practically touching the wall. “There was so many children in that house. So many children, but I was the oldest, so I took on the more difficult tasks. One night, after supper, I was washing one of the serving bowls. I had gotten soap all over myself, and I tripped off the stool. The bowl broke my fall.”

Mildred rolls up a sleeve, revealing the flesh of her left arm. She points to a a scar, about three inches in length, and silver with time travels the from the bend of her elbow to the middle of her forearm. Unable to contain her curiosity, Rosalind peaks around her knees with a furrowed brow. Mildred tries to smile, but it settles as more of a grimace.

“The woman of the house — oh, she was especially awful — he was so cross with me. She chased me around with a wooden spoon until she caught me. I wasn’t allowed to eat for three days after that. If I was clumsy enough to break it, then the money it took to keep me there would pay for the replacement.”

Gwendolyn watches as Rosie comes to mirror the way that Mildred is kneeling. The girl stares at the scar for a moment before taking Mildred’s wrist in meek hands, tracing the length of it. Mildred’s eyes flutter, breath hitching for just a moment. She presses it out between her lips. She catches Rosalind’s gaze.

“You have been told that you must be perfect, or pay the price. You have been taught that any misstep, any folly, warrants only the cruelest reaction, is that right?”

Rosie nods. Mildred nods.

“You will find no such treatment here. Gwen and I want you here because we want to be a family. We want to share the life that we created together. You are not expected to be anything other than who you are, Rosalind.”

Rosie ponders this, pale eyes twisting. Her fingers stay clasped to Mildred’s wrist. Mildred knows she’s not sure whether to believe her. She knows because she’s not sure she would have either at her age. Not after what she had bore witness to.

“Are you and Miss Gwen married?”

The question catches Mildred off guard in its innocence. She flushes and dares to press a finger to the girl’s cheek. Mildred’s eyes glint with something akin to affection.

“No, sweetheart. Although, we do love each other very much. The way that some women might feel about a man. Do you understand?” Rosie nods. “Good. Here, let’s get you a bandage for that knee.”

***

It is a year that tests each of their patience. Gwendolyn learns through experience the ways which best suit Rosalind. Rosalind, in turn, starts to open. She cracks a small smile here and there, she even shares in the teasing banter which is so commonplace between the two women.

On the eve of her tenth birthday, they take her to see Guys and Dolls — her first picture. Rosalind’s eyes light up. She stares in wonder as Marlon Brando and Jean Simmons kiss in Cuba. She hums what she remembers of the score on the car ride home, until she’s exhausted herself. Gwendolyn carries her inside, takes off her shoes, her socks, and dresses her in a nightgown with the utmost care. She tucks her into bed. Mildred sees her place a kiss against Rosie’s forehead when she thinks no one is watching. She smiles.

When Rosie wakes the next morning, she is met with an unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable scent. She tears off the covers, descending the stairs with bare feet. Downstairs, the house bustles with a soft of monotony that she is slowly learning to find comfort in. She finds Gwen and Mildred in the kitchen — Gwen sipping coffee with a newspaper practically touching her forehead, and Mildred over the stove. When Rosie sits down, Mildred places a plate in front of her. Rosie’s nose scrunches when she doesn’t recognize the thin, golden, dough like objects in front of her.

“Try them before they get cold.” Gwendolyn suggests over her morning paper, so Rosalind does.

Saturated with syrup, the pancakes taste more like maple than the sourness of buttermilk, not that Rosie knows the difference. She’s never had one before. She scarfs down two, practically inhales them in a single swallow.

Mildred can’t help a little hum of amusment as she places a third on the girl’s plate. “They’re better when you actually take the time to taste them, you know.”

“Sorry.” Rosie manages with the meager space left in her mouth. She swallows hard and sucks in a deep breath.

She eats the third one, but takes Mildred’s words to heart, slowing long enough to revel in the distinct texture, the way the little bubbles of air seem to crackle against the roof of her mouth as she chews. It’s like nothing she’s ever tasted before. She spends the rest of the morning in a fuzzy haze, the scent of butter and sugar dancing across her nose. She reminds herself to ask Mildred to teach her to make them.

“Happy birthday, Rosie.” Gwen pushes a little box across the breakfast table. Her newspaper is folder beside her, leaving her gaze intent and eager.

Rosalind takes the box, eyes flicking to Mildred who nods before seating herself next to Gwendolyn. She presses a kiss to the older woman’s cheek, but otherwise says nothing. Rosie’s fingers trail across the silver wrapping paper for a moment, grazing the textured material. Her heart pounds, blood rushing through her ears. She’s not sure why she’s nervous, only knows that she is. She’s never been given a gift before. She’s not sure what comes next.

“Well, open it!” Gwendolyn muses like her internal monologue is as clear as the radio.

With painful intention, Rosie’s finger latches onto a piece of tape and rips it open. She can’t fathom ruining such pretty paper. When Gwendolyn starts to tell her not to worry, Mildred squeezes her shoulder and offers her a gentle look. Give her time, she seems to say, and Gwen swallows her impatience.

Rosie opens the box to reveal a silver chain with a heart shaped locket. She gasps, eyes shimmering, seeming to deepen ever so slightly.

“Open it.” Gwendolyn says again when Rosie traces the carving of the heart.

“By ... I already did.”

Gwen laughs. “The locket, silly, open the locket!”

When Rosie offers her an inquiring look, Gwen sighs and takes the necklace from its resting place. The girl watches with breathless fascination as Gwendolyn’s fingers find a small groove on the side of the heart-shaped locket, and it pops open. She slides it back over so that it’s facing her. Rosie leans down. Inside are two photos: one of Mildred and Gwendolyn, and the other of her. Rosie’s throat tightens.

“I figured when we finally have a photo of the three of us, we can replace it and — oof!” Gwendolyn’s words are cut off when she feels a pocket of warmth slam against her chest. She sits there, stunned for a moment. Once accustomed to the sensation of Rosie’s arms around her waist, her tears on the shoulder of her pajamas, Gwen smiles. Her heart loosens a little, and she hugs her back.

“Thank you.” Rosie whispers, swallowing against the sobs teetering against her lower lip. She thinks she’s never been quite this happy, thinks maybe she didn’t even know what happiness was until now. Gwendolyn doesn’t answer, she just holds her, pressing one palm to the back of her head.

People say you only live once, but people are as wrong about that as they are about anything.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia drabble

author’s note: well. i said it. and here it is!!! this is based off the most recent gruvia matching covers of fairy tail 100 years quest!!!:) i felt super inclined to write this bc 1. those covers are BEAUTIFUL and 2. well... last time gruvia was at a ball it.......didnt go so well!!! (end of the gmg arc......iykyk😔) SO!! i hope i did these covers justice!:) enjoys bbies!!!!! and im tagging @sobatsu bc i was instructed to lol!!:) i hope u enjoy, love!!!:)

*

“Wow.” Lucy lulled, taking in the grand surroundings. “I forgot just how nice this palace was.”

“Yeah, it’s been a little while since we’ve been here, huh?” Natsu finally looked up from his plate as he said with a mouth full of food.

“Natsu, manners!” Erza scolded. “Queen Hisui was kind enough to invite us here for her birthday ball. Don’t embarrass Fairy Tail.”

Juvia, however, was not taking a large part in the conversation. She was more focused on a certain someone, and how she had yet to even talk to this certain someone throughout the whole night.

Once she heard that Fairy Tail would be attending Queen Hisui’s birthday ball, she was estatic. Rather than dwelling on the fact that last time she was in that very ballroom Gray essentially rejected her, she decided to look at the glass as half full. She would reinvent herself this night. She would wear a dress even more dazzling than before, she would act so elegantly even if it killed her, and she would do everything in her power to make Gray eat the words he said at the last royal ball. Juvia would show Gray that she was an even newer version of herself, and she was a woman more than deserving of his love.

However, the fact that he seemed to be avoiding her the entire night was certainly putting a damper on Juvia’s plans. She didn’t want to overcrowd him like she seemed to last time, but patiently waiting for him to approach her was killing her. She wanted to gush over the fact that he looked so handsome in his fancy suit and sweep him off his feet onto the dance floor, but unlike her usual, she was trying to keep her cool. Unfortunately, “keeping her cool” was turning into a burning irritation. She kept her eyes glued onto Gray as she mingled with Jellal across the ballroom. They were chatting and laughing with drinks in their hand, and Juvia wanted to be by his side as he did so. Instead, she watched, and subconsciously poked at her food with her fork as her other hand tapped anxiously on the table.

Naturally, Erza was the first person to notice her agitation. “Juvia? Is everything alright?” She asked.

“Eh?” Juvia finally snapped out of her daze. She stopped her fidgeting and turned towards Erza. “Juvia’s fine.” She forced a laugh.

“Is that so?” Erza raised a brow. “That must be why you’ve been staring off and playing with your food for 30 minutes without taking a single bite.”

“Urgh!” Juvia finally dropped her fork. “Why hasn’t Gray-sama talked to Juvia tonight?! At all!” She spat out.

Erza gave a low chuckle. “I could’ve guessed that’s what this was about.”

“Why don’t you just go up and talk to him, Juvia?” Lucy chimed in.

“Because,” Juvia groaned. “At the last ball, Juvia was a bit—well— abrassive, and it totally turned Gray-sama off.” She sighed. “Juvia just doesn’t want to make the same mistake twice.”

“You know, the last ball was a long time ago. A lot has changed from then. Not only you and Gray as individuals, but as a couple as well.” Erza casually explained, tucking a loose hair that fell from her bun behind her ear.

“A c-c-couple?!” Juvia’s face turned red. Sure, she and Gray had gone through a lot together since then, but their relationship was anything but definite. They were in this awkward “more than friends” stage that Juvia just couldn’t seem to fight her way out of.

“Erza’s right!” Lucy said, optimistically. “Gray cares a lot about you, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you went up and talked to him or asked him to dance.”

Juvia sighed, somewhat defeated. “Juvia supposes you two are right, but I really don’t want to mess anything up tonight.” She began lightly messing with her food again.

“You should do whatever you feel is right, Juvia.” Erza gave her a reassuring smile.

Juvia finally smiled back. “Thank you Erza-san, and Lucy-san, but Juvia is sure. She will lay low tonight. Whatever happens, happens.” As much as it killed her, this is what she decided to do, and deep down she would hope Gray would eventually approach her.

“Hey, Juvia,” Natsu interjected. “While you lay low, are you gonna’ eat that?” He clearly had eyes for her plate.

“Natsu!” Lucy exclaimed.

Juvia hummed a giggle. “It’s alright. You can have it, Natsu-san.”

After all, she was far too anxious to stomach anything right then.

~

While Gray was paying attention to Jellal and their conversation, he couldn’t help that little thing that was itching away at his mind. Finally, he glanced over her way across the room to see she was talking with Erza and Lucy.

His index finger tapped at the glass in his hand, unknowingly to him. He quickly shook his gaze and turned back to Jellal.

“So it’s safe to assume you’re fitting right in at Fairy Tail? You’re a new member and you’re already going to all our parties.” He said to his old friend, but new guild mate.

Jellal nodded. “Well, there’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure.” He chuckled. “I would hate to miss out.”

Gray playfully raised his eyebrow. “Is there a particular reason you’re inclined to be so involved? Maybe, I dunno’, because of a certain red-head, by chance?” He teased.

Jellal’s eyes went wide. “W-what?! Erza?! I—erm— not necessarily! Why do you say that?!”

Gray couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re as cool as a cucumber all the time, but as soon as Erza comes up in conversation, you start buggin’ out.”

“I guess I can’t help it.” Jellal sighed contently and looked over to her table. “She has that effect on me.” He grinned.

Gray admired Jellal’s realness with himself. It was a trait that Gray seemed to lack sometimes, especially when it came to the feelings department. That got him back to thinking about that thing that was poking at him all night. Or rather, that thing that wasn’t poking at him. Wasn’t bothering him, wasn’t clinging to his side, wasn’t flashing that engulfing sweet grin, wasn’t talking his ear off all night.

“H-hey,” Gray finally let his anxiety fall off his lips. “Does Juvia seem...” He realized he was failing on putting the right words together. “I dunno’,” He exhaled. “Weird... to you? At all?” He finished, agonizingly.

Jella furrowed his brows. “Weird as in...?” He wasn’t sure just what Gray was getting at.

He groaned. “I don’t know, like she’s acting kind of... differently tonight, right?”

“She looks perfectly fine to me.” By the tone in Jellal’s voice, it was clear he was trying to pull something from Gray.

“Y-yeah.” Gray swallowed his thoughts.

“Or could you be getting at the fact that she hasn’t been following you around at all tonight?” Jellal pried.

“I mean, yeah! It’s not like her to— well— leave me alone.” Gray snorted. Here he was, finally getting a second to breathe from her, and he was complaining about it.

“Does it bother you that she’s not bothering you?”

“No!” Gray immediately answered, but once he saw the look he was getting from Jellal, he knew there was no fooling him. “Ok, maybe.” He turned away.

“It’s just strange to see her not being herself.” He looked at the drink in his hand and swirled it around. “So, yes, in a weird way, it does bother me that she’s not glued to my side.”

“Well, Gray, it kind of seems like you’ve answered your own question, my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go ask a beautiful girl to dance.” Jellal flashed one last smug smirk at Gray, almost as if it were a nudge, and walked strutted his way across the floor. He watched as Jellal executed his plan with that very red-head that knew just how to ruffle his feathers. Shortly following, Lucy and Natsu excitedly arose from their seats and entered the dance floor as well.

Gray knew what he had to do.

He downed the drink that sat in his hand, slammed it on the table beside him, took a deep breath, and headed towards her.

For the first time all night, Juvia wasn’t looking at Gray. She had her chin resting in the palms of her hands as her elbows leaned on the table. She looked longingly onto all the couples that were dancing the night away. It was hopeless. She had been defeated for a second time.

Flower petals fell from what was seemingly the sky, as the guards released them in bushels, setting the perfect mood for the couples romantically dancing.

“O-oi!” Juvia knew that voice all too well. She snapped her gaze at that direction.

“Gray-sama?” She nearly gasped. This was the first time she’d been so close to him all night.

“Juvia.” Gray took a deep breath. “Do you...” He held out one hand as his other instinctively scratched at the back of his head, as he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. He felt the blush burn his cheeks, so he couldn’t help but look away in the moment. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Juvia’s first reaction was her eyes widening, not believing what they were seeing. Her lips parted as she finally took in a breath after what felt like an eternity with no air.

“Yes. Juvia would love to.”

Gray finally looked back at her. and the world around him completely faded away. All he saw was her. Juvia’s long waves draped her frame perfectly, as parts in the front fell and curved onto the seams of her dress. She looked at him with a hooded gaze, one that stared into his entire being, and he was mad that he orginally didn’t have the courage to look into her deep blue trance. Pink frosted her porcelain skin perfectly, and it just so happened to match the soft petals that fell onto her so perfectly, grazing her hands that were crossed on top of each other, tightly held at the center of her chest. She was truly all he could see in that moment, and he didn’t care. All he ever wanted to see, was her. It was a sight he could look at for eternity.

Finally, the nerves seemed to dull. He gracefully took her hand, and led Juvia onto the ballroom floor. She was first to wrap her arms around his neck, and Gray matched her, a bit awkwardly at first, by placing his hands onto her back.

“Juvia thought you would never ask her to dance.” She half groaned and half chuckled.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve asked me yourself, y’know.” They continued to sway back and forth, stepping with ease.

“And risk rejection?! For the second royal ball in a row?! Juvia’s heart couldn’t take it.” She dramatically explained.

“Well it’s not like you to stand on the sidelines.” Gray scoffed.

“But it paid off didn’t it?” She hummed a giggle. “Gray-sama asked Juvia to dance.” She sang

“Yeah, but I didn’t like seeing you be all—well— not yourself.” He muttered and embarrassingly turned his head to the side.

“Eh?” Juvia pushed her face towards Gray. “Gray-sama doesn’t mind Juvia’s mannerisms?” She boasted

“Urgh, well, I like you, okay?! And part of what makes you you is how you’re so loud, and giddy, and forward, and in my face about everything.” He finally looked back towards her. “So don’t go changing anything about yourself, alright? I like you just the way you are.”

For the first time ever, Juvia was at a loss for words. Without giving a verbal reply, she removed her arms from Gray’s neck, and wrapped them around his torso while she prompty pressed her cheek against his chest.

“If Gray-sama insists.” She hummed, snuggling up.

For a moment, Gray didn’t know how to react. Before he could think of a response, he was overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity. This feeling, this sensation of Juvia being so close to him was exactly right. He loved feeling this closeness with her, not only physically, but emotionally as well. Even though he wouldn’t admit if half the time, he longed for moments like this. Her embrace brought him a sense of home like no other could. He calmly wrapped his arms around her, and brought her in even tighter than before.

Finally, while in each other’s arms, just as they knew they should be, Gray and Juvia danced into the night.

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Looks Like Someone Picked a Whole Bushel of Oopsie Daisies

Chapter Ten: Shades of Blue

As always, thanks to @edward-or-ford and @pacific-ship!

How can you leave me on my own? Desperate and destitute, these seconds feel like lifetimes without you.- New Years Day, My Dear

Mabel marked off February 1st in her calendar with an X in her pink gel pen with sparkles (was it really even a gel pen if there were no sparkles? Mabel’s opinion was firmly on the side of ‘no, absolutely not’).

Just two hundred and twelve days to go. She was counting the days, the hours, the seconds (okay, maybe just the days, she wasn’t that good at math) till her parents could no longer keep her from her soulmate.

Because on August 31st, 2017, Mabel and her super awesome brother-boyfriend-soulmate combo would be turning eighteen, and there was nothing their parents could do to keep them apart once they turned eighteen.

Their parents had insisted they were monitoring their texts, and that they weren’t allowed to speak under any circumstances.

Of course, Dipper had called Mabel from Grunkle Stan’s phone (turns out their parents had been total liars about that, too, and neither Grunkle Stan nor Grunkle Ford was in any way opposed to the whole soulmate situation) as soon as she got home, and they had both downloaded an untraceable messaging app where they could text, make phone calls, and send pictures.

As one might imagine, they sent a great deal of pictures.

And also videos.

They had a lot of phone sex and sexy texting time, okay? They’d only gotten to have actual in-person sex twice (twice!), so they had to compensate somehow.

In any case, there was nothing they could do about it before they turned eighteen, so they had to come up with workarounds.

Not that it could prevent the withdrawals that were likely to hit if another month or two went by without them seeing each other, of course, but it sure made the days go by easier.

Mabel wasn’t sure what her parents were planning to do once they hit the three month mark and the first of the withdrawal symptoms started. It wouldn’t be so bad at first, according to what Dipper had told her regarding the massive amount of research he’d done. Probably just more of the usual depression she’d been having since she watched him disappear behind their car, and then sleepiness, then headaches and body aches, and then things would get progressively worse until eventually, they wouldn’t be able to function at all anymore.

She didn’t know what their plans were for anything, really. She hadn’t spoken to them since they’d left Gravity Falls. She hadn’t said a word to them on the drive home; just put her headphones in and tuned out. She hadn’t said anything to them since, either. Her parents would try to get her to talk sometimes. Her mom did it more often. She had headphones on most of the time. She wasn’t even home very much.

She didn’t tell her parents when she was going to a friend’s house the way she had before. The first few times, her parents had called the parents of various friends until they found her. After awhile, though, they stopped.

She didn’t care if they were worried. They clearly weren’t worried enough about her and Dipper to let them be together, so Mabel didn’t see any reason to notify them or her comings and goings, despite their protests. Just because they wanted to cherry pick their concerns for her well being didn’t mean she had to let them.

Besides, she came home every few days, anyway. It was usually only for a night, of course. Then she’d go back out again. And yeah, that meant she was out on school nights, but her grades were good, and she always made it to class on time.

She wanted Dipper. She wanted to be in his arms again. She slept in the shirt she’d taken from him every night, and she hadn’t even washed it. It smelled more like her by that point than it did him, and not in a good way, either, but it made her feel a little better.

Plus, whenever she sent him pictures of herself wearing it (sometimes leaving enough of the buttons undone to where her cleavage was visible, other times leaving all the buttons undone), he got all possessive and sexy, and the night usually ended with them panting each other’s names into the phone as quietly as they could.

Mabel stared at the cheery pink gel pen in her hand. She wasn’t feeling particularly pink. She hadn’t felt pink in just over a month, as it happened. Which was strange, because Mabel always felt some shade of pink or purple.

But she could hardly remember what Dipper smelled like. She could hardly remember what he tasted like. What he felt like. If she couldn’t remember those things, she couldn’t make herself feel anything that wasn’t some shade of blue or other.

She hung the gel pen back up on her calendar, grabbed her overnight bag, and opened her bedroom door.

She had her headphones in and was looking at her phone, pulling up a playlist, so she didn’t notice her mother there until she spoke.

“Honey, why don’t you spend the night here? I’ll make your favorite, if you want, and we can watch a movie, and…” tears welled up in her mother’s eyes. “Please, sweetheart, I can barely remember what your voice sounds like.”

Well, Mabel thought, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to separate me from my soulmate, then.

With that in mind, Mabel shot her mother a glare severe enough to make her flinch, and pushed past her, her overnight bag bumping against the hallway wall as she did.

Her friends were waiting for her in their car outside.

Mabel loaded her bag into the trunk and ignored her mother watching her behind the curtains in the living room.

Squeezing into the only empty seat in the car, she grinned at her friends.

Kristin, Eva, and Julie had been total lifesavers. They knew about Mabel’s soulbro situation, and they were, like, super supportive.

“Your ‘rents still giving you shit?” Julie asked over her shoulder as she pulled out of the driveway.

Mabel sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping. “It’s not shit, exactly, just…” she sighed again. “They just, y’know. They won’t let me see him.”

“Yeah, that still doesn’t make any sense to me at all,” Kristin said, adjusting her black lipstick in a compact mirror. “I get that having an incesty-soulmate isn’t, like, ‘socially acceptable’ or whatever,” she did air quotes with her fingers, the motion seeming a bit off due to the tube of eyeliner she had in between her pointer and index fingers that she was using in lieu of lipstick. “But if my parents can handle me being bi, yours should be able to handle your soulmate being your brother.”

“Okay, so here’s the thing,” Eva cut in, turning around to address Kristin and Mabel. “I feel like, if it were me, and they were my kids, at first I’d be all freaked out, y’know? Cause like, they’re your kids, and then it turns out they’re soulmates and have to bang a whole bunch or they’ll get all eeeeuuughh, right? That’d mess anybody up, I think,” she paused for a moment before continuing. “But the thing is, though, I feel like after that initial freak out, I’d be kinda relieved, honestly.”

“Relieved? Really?” Julie was so surprised she forgot to use her turn signal when changing lanes. “Oops, my b,” she said, half to herself and half to the driver who had honked at her. Not that he could hear her, of course.

“Why relieved?” Mabel wondered.

“Well, if you’ve got a kid, right, and your kid finds their soulmate and it’s some stranger you don’t know, how do you know your kid’s soulmate isn’t gonna hurt them, or be a terrible person or something?” Eva reasoned.

“That’s a good point,” Kristin agreed, shutting her compact mirror with a snap. “Soulmates aren’t exactly exempt from domestic abuse and shit.”

Eva nodded. “Exactly, so like, if it were me, I feel like I’d be cool with it once I got used to the idea, because I’d know my kids, right, so I’d know they’d never hurt each other.”

“That makes sense,” Julie said thoughtfully.

“Mmm,” Mabel hummed. “I guess. I dunno. They’re weird about it.”

“Wait a sec,” Kristin interjected. “Didn’t you say your parents mentioned something about their parents being, like, religious fundies or something?”

Mabel nodded. “I think my grandmother on my mom’s side might be. Which would make sense, honestly, since my mom has been so militant about keeping the Dipster and me apart.”

“Okay, first of all,” Eva had a haughty air to her voice, and Mabel raised an eyebrow at her. “First of all,” she said again. “It’s ‘the Dipster and I’.”

The other three girls groaned, and Julie took a hand off the wheel to swat at her half heartedly.

“Ommigod, shut up!” Mabel giggled.

“Whatever, you love me and you know it,” Eva said with a grin.

The others grumbled but did not object.

“FYI, Mabes,” Kristin put a hand on her arm. “You should send him a selfie real quick.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” her friend nodded sagely. “You look hot, and it’s a damn crime he doesn’t get to see it in person, so you gotta help a brotha out!”

Mabel smiled and snapped a few dozen pictures of herself.

“Okay, which one’s best?” she asked, handing her phone to Kristin, who scrolled through and inspected each one.

“No, no, no… meh, maybe… no, no… oooo, yes, love it, this one, totes send this one! Look at how much boobage you got in there, just fuckin’ go for it, man!”

Mabel grinned and sent the picture to Dipper, along with a short little miss you <3 text.

He responded with a miss you too and then, two seconds after, fuck you’re beautiful.

She giggled and showed Kristin his response. “Mhm, mhm, told ya.”

“Okay, so, confession time,” Julie said, pulling into her parents’ driveway.

“Spill it,” Eva immediately demanded.

“So you guys know Chad, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Kristin said with a grimace. The guy in question was a bit of a fuckboi.

“No, don’t say that!” Julie whined, getting out of the car. “He’s really sweet!”

”Of course he is,” Eva deadpanned.

“He is!” Julie insisted. “Anyway, so he asked me out.”

Mabel groaned. “Jules, tell me you didn’t.”

“I might have, yeah.”

“Ugh, ew,” Kristin said.

“It’s not ew!”

“No, it’s totally ew,” Eva pointed out, and Mabel nodded her agreement.

“If it helps,” Julie was saying sheepishly as she unlocked her front door, “he’s really, really good.”

“Of course he’s really good, numbnuts,” Kristin said with an eye roll. “He’s slept with half the school.”

“So have you!” Julie said defensively.

“Oooo, gotta point there,” Mabel snickered, pointing a glittery blue nail at her friend.

“Yeah, but I’m, like, discreet about it,” Kristin pointed out. “And I’ve actually dated people seriously, too!”

“Anyway,” Julie cut in. “So the consensus is ew, then, huh?”

“Definitely ew,” Mabel agreed.

“Why are Chads always such Chads?” Kristin wondered aloud, opening the door to Julie’s bedroom.

“They really are,” Eva laughed, plopping down on the bed.

“Soooo…” Mabel trailed off. “Cards Against Humanity, anybody?”

———————————————————————Her friends always helped push the separation anxiety to the back of her mind, but with the other three girls asleep, there was nothing for Mabel to do but wallow.

Her phone lit up the dark room, illuminating the air mattress Mabel lay on.

Dipper had sent her a message.

I want you.

Mabel unplugged her phone and scrambled up as quietly as she could, crossing the hall into the guest bedroom and locking the door behind her and turning on the light, typing out a quick okay in response.

She knew from experience that as long as she was quiet, nobody would hear her.

Now? he asked.

Now.

And then he was calling her, and she was hastily stuffing her headphones in her ears and hitting the little phone icon on her screen.

“Hey,” he greeted, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey,” she said back. It was always such a relief to hear him. “I miss you.”

“We’ve been texting all day,” he laughed.

“I know, but…”

“It’s not the same,” he agreed with the words she hadn’t said.

“Yeah,” her voice was soft, and she heard him sigh on the other end of their call.

“Can I see you?” he asked after a moment.

“Y- yeah, one sec.” They’d done this more times than she could count, but somehow, she was always nervous.

She stripped out of her shorts and unbuttoned his shirt to let it reveal her breasts, pulled her panties down a bit with her thumb and smiled into the camera.

She only had to take six or seven pictures before she had one she was satisfied with. Sending it over and promptly deleting them from her phone, she waited for it to arrive.

She knew when he got it, because he said, “Fucking hell, Mabel,” with a groan, and she could almost picture him stroking himself.

She’d only seen him do that a handful of times, when they’d gotten the chance to do this on the rare occasion she was at their parents’ for the night. She could have watched it for hours.

“You’re so perfect,” he sighed in her ear, and if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was there with her. He’d kiss her neck, maybe, and then squeeze her breasts and pinch her nipples. Mimicking the things he was doing to her in her mind’s eye, she trailed a hand down her body and stroked herself lightly through her panties, listening to the way his breath was quickening.

“I wanna see you, too, Dip,” she sighed into the phone.

A few seconds later, a picture came through of him holding himself, and when she saw him naked… well. She had seen him naked more times than she could count by that point, but it was always breathtaking each time.

“Are you wet for me, Mabes?” he murmured in her ear.

She nodded, pulling her drenched panties off and kicking them to the side, before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

She took another picture, this time of a part of herself she didn’t really understand why he wanted to see, but he liked it so she sent it to him anyway.

“I wish I had gotten to taste you,” he gasped. “I think about that a lot.”

“O- oh?” How embarrassing. She knew she was blushing. She could feel it.

“Are you blushing right now?” Dipper asked. “I bet you are. You’re so cute when you blush.” She giggled a little, and he went on. “Will you touch yourself for me?”

“Mhm.” She brushed her fingers over her slit, dipping one inside slightly, just for a second, and gasping as she did so.

“Pinch your nipples, too, okay? I know you like that.” He did know, didn’t he? He knew all the things she liked. He seemed to know them intuitively. To be fair, though, he’d said she knew all the things he liked, too.

Pinching her nipple and brushing a finger lightly over her clit, Mabel whimpered.

“Does that feel good?”

“Y- yes,” she gasped out.

“I wish… mmmf,” he cut himself off with a groan. “I wish this was your hand instead of mine.”

Mabel squeezed her breast roughly, rubbing a finger back and forth over her clit.

“Me too,” she whined. “God, Dip, I want… I want you inside me so bad, I-“

“I know, Mabes. I know. I’d give anything to be inside you right now.”

She rubbed herself a little faster, and her legs were going to give out, she could tell they were, so she allowed herself to collapse onto the cold of the hardwood floor.

“You okay?” Dipper asked when he heard her fall to the ground, concern evident in his voice.

“Yeah, I just had to… ah!” she gasped. “I had to sit down.”

“Oh, okay,” he murmured, and it sounded like he went back to stroking himself.

“I need you.” She’d resorted to begging. She always did that when she was getting close.

“I know,” he groaned. “I need you, too.”

“Dipper, I- please, I need…” she rubbed herself faster, and her hips lifted off the floor an inch or so.

“I know,” he said again.

“I need you.” She couldn’t stop. It felt too good. “I need it, I want you so bad, please,” she begged. “Please give it to me, please Dip, god, I can’t-“

“Are you gonna cum for me, Mabes?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Yes, I’m gonna- fuck, I want your cum in me, yes-“ her wrist hurt, but she kept going. She was so close, so fucking close-

“Cum for me, I wanna hear you cum for me.”

“Dipper, ah, oh fuck, Dipper, I’m gonna-“ her body spasmed, and she fell limp.

A few seconds later, he followed her with a grunt.

It had felt so good, and Mabel felt so content for a split second, because she’d forgotten that Dipper wasn’t there with her.

The tears started to fall, and she began to sniffle. It usually ended that way. She couldn’t help it.

“Mabel,” he said with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” she hiccuped.

“No, no,” he assured her. “I just… I wish I could be there with you.”

“I don’t care where we are as long as we’re together,” she cried softly.

“I know,” he sighed again. “But we’ll be together soon, okay? I’ve got an idea.”

“An idea?” What kind of idea, she wondered.

“Yeah, but it’s a surprise, so until I’ve got everything worked out, just be patient for me, okay?”

“Okay,” she sniffed.

“I love you,” he told her softly.

“I love you, too.”

After a few seconds, he said, “and on that note, I need to clean this jizz off my stomach before it drips all over my bed.”

She giggled. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

“You’ll text me tomorrow, right?”

“Uh, doi, when don’t I?” She sniffed again. It was hard to force the silliness that usually felt natural when she felt so blargh.

“Good point,” he chuckled. “Night, then. Love you,” he said again.

“Love you, too.”

After they hung up, it took several minutes for Mabel’s body to stop tingling from her orgasm, and then several more minutes before she could stop the tears and go back to bed.

Being without him was tougher than she’d imagined.