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don't talk (put your head on my shoulder)

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You stretch as much as you can, letting out a groan as you crack your neck and flex your legs. This nice hammock you convinced Donna to buy really was an excellent addition to her already beautiful garden. From here, you only needed to raise your head to see the newly cleaned bird fountain, the ivy-infused gate, and the sunflowers that towered over you, the most recent addition to the garden. Countless more flowers (including Donna’s “special” ones) bloomed. A common saying you heard growing up was that the more you talked to plants, the better they grew. They supposedly could sense your moods, too.

You sigh and close your eyes, letting your head flop back against the hammock. Next to, and above, you, the oak tree’s leaves fluttered in the day breeze, providing some much-needed shade and respite. If the common superstitions were true, it was no wonder springtime was so kind to you. Lately, you hummed, dance, and spoke to the world. You simply couldn’t want for more. 

Well, no, that wasn’t quite true. Right now, you needed one thing. And you got that one thing, indeed. 

“Y/N?” A soft whisper followed a light caress to your elbow. “Are you awake?”

Your eyes flutter open, only to be blessed with the image of Donna’s face looking down at you. Her face is unveiled, much to your delight, and you reach up to press your hand to her marred cheek. “My my, you certainly are a sight for sore eyes. A wonderous visage, an angel sent down from the heavens to bless me, a simple mortal.” 

She opens her mouth, closes it. You note with satisfaction that a light pink blush dusts her cheeks. In the past days, you’ve had an excellent time seeing how pink her face could get. You haven’t found a limit yet, and you won’t stop trying, even if you do. 

“You’re overdoing it. You sound like Angie when she’s trying to make up for breaking one of my vases.” 

“Overdoing it? Not true. I am merely telling the truth.” You decide to give her a little break and ask, “Speaking of Angie, where is the little devil anyway?”

“I put her down for a nap. Sugar crash. You bought her too much candy.”

“Hey, I bought the candy for myself. Was it my fault she found my hiding place and ate half of my chocolate? No!” 

As you’re speaking, Donna grabs your hand that rests on her cheek and takes hold of it, looking at it carefully, then reaching out to trace the lines of your palm. Her touch is warm, soft as the grass under her feet, and light as she moves her fingers back and forth. She stares at your palm like it’s the most wonderful thing she’s ever seen; you look at her the same way. 

“Would you like to come sit?” you offer.

Her eyes dart back up to meet yours. “There’s … there’s no room.”

A mischievous smile makes its way to your face. “Oh, yes, there is.” You don’t move an inch, only raising your arm to beckon her in. 

“Oh, I see. You’re trying to fluster me again,” she mutters, ducking her head.

She’s so cute.

“You bet I am, my darling. C’mere.” 

She does. Donna swallows, then gingerly lifts a leg to clamber into the hammock. You’re having none of that. You grip her waist and tug. With a squeak, she tumbles right onto your chest, her face only inches away from yours. The tips of her ears are red, you note, and she’s trying so hard to avoid your gaze. 


“You’re so cute. I love surprising you. Was that a squeak I heard?”

A pure whine leaves Donna’s mouth, and she drops her head even more in embarrassment. You can practically feel the heat radiating off her cheeks. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“I can’t help myself! You’re just too adorable, sweetheart, aren’t you?” 

“Stop it.” Donna buries her face in the crook of your neck, and even though you can’t see her face, you know it’s on fire. 

“Be a good girl, and let me have some fun, won’t you?”

Instantly, Donna shudders and quiets, nuzzling deeper into her safety. You grin. You’re not an idiot. You know why she keeps dodging your praise. It’s not that she doesn’t like it; it’s because she likes it almost a bit too much. She loves your touches, your praise, you calling her “good girl.” 

But that’s a fun conundrum to think about another time. For now, you rest your hand on the back of Donna’s head, scratching her scalp, playing with the strands of her hair. She smells like the freshest of flowers and vanilla, along with new parchment steadying the light scent subtly.

Donna sighs happily and tightens her grip around you before whispering, “Y/N?” 

“Yes, my love?” 

“I ... really like when you play with my hair.” 

You smile. “I’ll be sure to do it more, then.”

A pause. “Y/N?”

“Yes, darling?” 

“Can we stay like this for a bit longer?”

“We can stay like this for as long as you want.”

So you do. You stay wrapped up in each other, limbs tangled, looking like one person instead of two at times, the birds chirping, the sun shining, the breeze blowing softly, just as you like it. You have Donna in your arms. What more could you want?