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tremendum · 4 months

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Setting the Mood ; Mr. Miller vii

[not my gif] pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, some use of she/her, use of the words girl/woman) rating: explicit. [18+. mdni] word count: 10k summary: ❝Joel's warming up to you in the way that feral cats warm up to a box with blankets in winter - cautiously, with a rigid spine and many false alarms.❞ warnings: power outage, one mention of cobwebs lol, smut - oral (f!receiving), nipple play, teasing, overstimulation, anal fingering (brief sorry), face sitting, pussy slapping!!!, tit slapping (once), begging, choking (light), fingering, rough sex, praise, dacryphilia, degradation, threats of using sex toys, Joel is less mean than normal, pussy drunk Joel!, squirting, brief mentions of guns/canon typical trauma and violence. also fairly fluffy. emotionally constipated joel and reader <3 notes: thank u all for ur patience & here's the next part! and Joel is a MUNCHHH in this one lol. special thanks to the anon who recently sent me such kind words about this series, as well as the other anon who gave me the inspiration & all the suggestions for this fic!!! this one's for u guys <3 [this is part seven of the Mr. Miller series.] [masterlist]

[important - this is the last fic that will be using my taglist. moving on, I've made a notifs blog - @tremendumnotifs - for ppl to follow for notifications. tysm!!] ★

"'s gettin' dark out there." Joel broods, eyebrow furrowed as he stares out the window into the dreary wink of evening, a dark gray clouding the sky as sheets of rain slam onto the pavement and pelt onto the gardens lining the block. "stormy."

you can't help but quirk your brow as you take in his worried form, the way he peels back the curtains like a wartime wife awaiting a letter or a figure appearing in the driveway. you have to fight back a laugh, instead putting on a straight face as you lean towards him, capturing his gaze.

"she's handled worse." is all you say, giving him a shrug - one that's met with a glare. "I know." he retorts, voice soured; a clench of a jaw before he turns back out, brooding, sighing, gritting his teeth. okay then.

you shift yourself, plopping heavily onto the couch - you're still not used to being in this house, even in its simple glory. Joel's boots, muddy by the door, Ellie's drawings littering the walls like little trophies Joel silently boasts about - none of them have frames, though you decide in a better world, they probably would. empty mugs of half-drank coffee on the counter next to the sink, a discarded hand knife on the dining table.

it's almost a complete mirror of your current house - with a tickling thrill, you'd realized this faintly the first time Joel'd thrown you onto the ground in his foyer months ago. he's since grown gentler with the way he handles you, at least, when he wants to.

even now - his tolerance, vastly expansive compared to months ago when a breath in his direction would cause a snarl within a second. now, he even initiates conversations - not often, but enough for you to feel like, at some point, things did change with him. Joel's warming up to you in the way that feral cats warm up to a box with blankets in winter - cautiously, with a rigid spine and many false alarms.

you don't particularly mind, either - Ellie and Dina have been helping you with the winter garden greenhouses a lot, and even Joel has stopped by on his way back from patrols to check in, lingering with glares or stares depending on his mood. he even came over to help you try and fix your porch steps leading to the backyard - free of charge, though you sent him home with some of the biscuits you'd made earlier that day.

you still get on each other's nerves - snide remarks, passes at the other's intelligence or capability. Joel criticizes you nearly every chance he gets, but you've come to decide it's a defense mechanism and not entirely in his full control. you, similarly, tease him every moment you can for his dramatics, but suddenly clam up and scamper away at any semblance of feelings or emotion. he always lets you come back though, without any mention of it.

"are you seriously worried about her?" you ask, sighing gently. you see the uptick in his brow when he looks at you, but you quickly follow up - "because we can go find her." you add, softer.

his jaw loosens slightly and he sighs heavy. "no, 's fine. I know she's at Dina's. just bein' dramatic."

you shoot him a look with your brows raised - no shit, Joel - but the withering look he gives you shuts your trap before you can go and run your mouth.

so you let him relax in his own way - pacing in near silence for several minutes before he stops, makes an internal decision to pour you and him each a finger of some amber whisky, and then drains it all in one go. you opt to sip yours.

the wind is what has you in a disturbed state - it howls louder in the basin of this valley than it ever has before in your life; screaming down the streets, blowing through the rush of firs that line the outskirts of downtown. and now, it uses its immense force to slam weeping drops of precipitation into the gardens hard enough to form bits of cold hail - a threat which, had it not been twenty years into the end of humanity, would likely still put gardeners to their beds with a curse to Demeter.

but now, circumstances are a bit more dire. losing crops, especially at this time of year, could be fatal.

"y'done with that?" his voice pulls you from your thoughts, looking up to see him standing above where you perch on the couch, gesturing to the towel in your lap. you blink, nodding, "-oh. yes, I am, thanks."

you use one last handful to scrunch up your wet hair, handing him the towel expectantly - but he stays rooted just in front of you, eyes staring unblinkingly at you. a sense of warmth floods through you, starting in your face and spreading over your chest and abdomen. his eyes are softer than they usually are; you lift a brow, his dark gaze unmoving. "something on my face, Miller?" you ask, lifting a brow. it's snappy - you don't necessarily intend it to be, but you can never tell with him.

he blinks, grabbing the towel from your hands which he'd provided for you when you'd arrived, sending you a grave look. "don't you start with me." he snaps back, turning to walk off towards the laundry room. the room, you think with foolish butterflies, where your jacket hangs up with its orange, janky stitching over the right side to dry. in some ways, a mark of Joel Miller. you smile down to yourself, staring at the spot he'd just stood.

you swallow your thoughts. you were here for a reason - not to get distracted, but to make a cake for Ellie. Joel had asked you a few days ago to help him bake a cake - for no apparent reason, you don't think her birthday is anytime soon - you'd agreed because, aside from the fact that there's little you wouldn't do for the girl, you haven't baked one in a long time and the lavender you'd grown last summer and dried is begging to be used in a cake batter.

"we need to get started soon!" you call out, shifting slightly to try and find his concealed body somewhere in the house. a faint call of his gruff voice responds to you, but you can barely hear through the onslaught of rain outside; suddenly, and with a careless flicker, the lights all shut off.

the whirring of heating stops, too, until everything is dark and silent.

you stare with shock, blinking in the dark - the house is silhouetted by the darkening sky, plagued already by thunderclouds. fuck.

"Joel?" you call out, rising on your feet to find him - you remember him mentioning in one of the first rounds of patrol with him - before anything, back when he really was just Tommy's brother - that he'd been some sort of handyman pre-apocalypse and so how the fuck has he just tripped the fusebox-

you feel him before you see him, unfortunately.

Joel, for all the time you've spent intimately knowing what his body feels like, shocks you every time by his sheer strength, the size of his shoulders and the broadness of his chest - especially when you slam into him in the dark.

"fuck," you both chorus at the same time, you stumbling back and him likely rubbing his shoulder. you groan as you hit a thumbtack stuck in the wall with your head, rubbing the spot sorely in the dark.

"the power's out." he states, irritation laced through his words. you roll your eyes, knowing it's unlikely he'll even see them in this light anyways.

"hadn't noticed."

your voice is flat and the silence that follows turns your face hot, taking a breath as you rock on your heels. "well I didn't do it." he states obviously, causing your brow to lift slightly until you look out to see through the muggy windows against the downpour that the whole block is out of power. damn weather.

"found a flashlight." he clicks it on, the light faint and dying as he brushes a few cobwebs from his hand - you realize the flashlight must have been from before the outbreak, with the original owners. but then the light is illuminating in your face; your eyes squint and you bat it away from you with a hiss, glaring at the man in front of you.

"what are you, a vampire?" he's holding in a laugh, you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, "you tried to blind me, that was a perfectly acceptable reaction. besides, I'm sure the batteries in that thing are a second away from corroding. don't put that near me."

he sighs, setting it beside him on some half-wall and you cross your arms. "suppose a guy like you probably doesn't have many candles, do you?" you ask, rocking on the balls of your feet - you really don't wish to spend the evening alone in your freezing house - nor in one that is completely dark.

"do I seem like I'd have any candles?" he asks, equally as exasperated as you. you let out a frustrated groan, leaning against a wall and jumping when you poke your hip into a table you hadn't expected to be there. you ruminate for less than a second before perking up, gasping in a sharp way that has his hand finding your elbow in alarm.

you ignore the flip of your heart at the gesture, tilting your head instead. "I have some. at mine." you say, shifting on your feet. it looks borderline dangerous to go outside right now - as you look out, it must occur to Joel that he's still holding your elbow because he jerks as if to remove it, but instead slides his hand up to hold your shoulder. it makes your heart skip a beat and you scarcely move a muscle.

Joel huffs a long-suffered sigh, before nodding. "let me get my boots."

getting to your house was less of a disaster than it should have been; Joel had the foresight to stuff a change of clothing into a bag after a brief argument about him not owning any umbrellas ('you don't have a fucking umbrella?' 'well pardon me for not havin' a Wal-Mart to stock up at during a fucking apocalypse.') and had held the lid of a trash bin above your heads as you ran, avoiding as much pelting hail as possible, to your front porch. you knew he was irritated - with the weather, with the fact that Ellie wasn't home, maybe even that you didn't get to make the cake - enough so that he wouldn't even make eye contact with you as you fumbled, fingers frozen and wet, for your key.

to your embarrassment, it's too stuck in the keyhole and your door wouldn't budge. it'd grown sticky and misshapen after the heat and sudden cold of winter, the frame wholly unfit to keep a functioning front door on its hinges.

"for god's sakes, give me them." he snapped, pushing into the frame and snatching the keychain from you, tinkering until he was able to slam into the doorframe with a grunt and burst it open.

"we needa fix that." he observes, ridding himself of his boots as you slink into the dark house after him, your face hot at his automatic assumption that he would help you fix your doorframe. he hadn't been particularly happy about fixing the steps for you, but he'd done it without being asked.

once you're rid of your wet coat and boots, you grab Joel's arm in the cold, dark space of your entry way and start to lead the two of you rather quickly up to your bathroom. "where the hell do you keep these things?" he grumbles until you've fumbles your way into the master bath, feeling around in the dark under the cabinets and avoiding stray screws sticking out near the drainpipes; it occurs to you that perhaps you should saw them off. maybe you could bribe Joel into doing it for you when he comes round to fix the doorframe.

seconds later you spin, holding up thick candles triumphantly, smirking as you shove three of them into his surprised arms. the lighting in your house is interrupted by the flash of lightning, flickering brightness over the dark porcelain tiles. "good thing we like to share, right Miller?" you smirk, grabbing the rest of the candles, eyeing the Epsom salt in a mason jar in the fading light, mentally noting to use that next time you take a bath.

he grunts at your words and you grin, shrugging. "what's mine is yours, right?" you ask sweetly.

he gives you a look as you make your way to the main bedroom to grope around for a lighter or matches - you can feel his irritation starting to wane away, slowly trickling like the beginning of a stream. "when did I ever say somethin' like that?"

you shrug with one shoulder, sending him a dark grin, "well you sure must've thought it that night when you invited yourself in to my bathroom."

it's quiet aside from the storm - your stomach broils in anticipation, heat and some kind of arousal tickling at your guts. there's nothing you love more than irritating him.

you tilt your head, desperately wanting to add more, but not in the particular mood to start a real fight.

Joel, at your words, doesn't get mad - instead he just stares on at you, much too silent, brooding.

his eyes swirl seductively, as if reliving that night in his head. you sure are - his stare, the way his eyes had trailed over your body, the soap slipping over your pert tits and just begging him to join you. in your mind, you leave out the blood and the wound from your stomach, the yelling from Joel and... well, everything that happened after that.

his eyes trail over your body, getting stuck on the curves of your hips and breasts, before meeting you again. when he opens his mouth, the words are not what you'd expected.

"this is too many candles for one woman to have in her bathroom." he grunts, shooting you a stern look that seems nearly sinister in the dark moonlight. the rain pours relentlessly on the roof and onto the windows, streaks in the reflection sliding down his broad chest.

bending over to reach the matchbook on your dresser, you toss him a little grin, "never said they were just for me. believe it or not, I tend to enjoy setting the mood."

his brows raise, setting the candles on the surfaces around him - two on the nightstand, one on the bench at the foot of the bed. you light each of them gently.

"set the mood." his voice is flat, twinging slightly with a hard jealousy that nearly has you floating.

"that's right." you nod, lighting the candles with a gentle smirk. he hums, crossing his arms as you cross to his side, lighting the candles and avoiding his eyes, suddenly very aware of the central piece of furniture in the room - your bed - and the lack of any chairs or couches.

"did you bring a lotta men into this room t'set the mood?" he asks suddenly, sending a wave of arousal through you. you hide your smirk as you turn back to him, illuminated by the flicker of candlelight. the implication of his words - did you - like he knows that you're only sleeping with him now. that he likes it that way.

you nod, "only the nice ones." your voice is nearly a purr; his eyes are dark pools, widening in the abyss of desire that threatens to swallow you both whole. his hands find purchase on your hips as you tilt your head.

"Ian?" he counters - both of you know the answer - but you don't mind leaning in to that curling, angry monster of jealousy that hides itself as indifference.

"maybe." you retort, leaning closer to him, tilting your head to keep eye contact. "it's always so much better when it seems romantic. they're not as selfish. less rough-" you see his eyes flicker when your hand coming to trail over his broad chest. "let me cum as much as I want."

of course, this was a fib. there were scarce numbers of people you let into your bed as is - even fewer who ever made you cum at all. Joel surely knows this - but his hands tighten around you all the same. "s'that right?" he asks, head tilting down to stare deep into you. you swallow, nodding with a grin. "it was much more civilized. and they weren't afraid to ask me to drinks or to come have dinner."

his smirk drops and, for a moment, a pang of guilt hits you; you hadn't meant to bring that up, in fact the prospect of going on a date with Joel scares you more than most things in the world - but he moves on quite quick.

"how many times?" he says instead, cutting off your spiraling thoughts. your confusion must show on your visage; Joel tilts his head, staring at you sternly, expectantly. "how many times did he make you cum?"

you blink, trying your best to continue your little white lie, but instead, your voice shakes out, "th-three." you admit. the smirk that curls under his stubble sends a flicker of dread through your gut - he's seeing straight through you.

you've cum three times with only one man - he's standing right in front of you, and he certainly knows it.

but he likes to play the game. so he nods, "okay, baby. three. I can beat three." he says simply, thumbs starting to rub slow circles into the skin exposed above your waistband. your cheeks heat, "wh-what?" you ask dumbly, watching the twitch of a grin that flickers across his skin in the dewy glow of the candlelight.

he shrugs, "been dreamin' about tasting that pretty little cunt all week."

your eyes widen - a hot coil of arousal swirls in your core as you stare up at him, wishing you'd swigged that whisky that lies over at Joel's in the dark like he had, if only for the courage.

because mutely, you've realized this is the first time anything has been initiated between you without an argument - and by Joel, nonetheless. he seems almost bashful when you look back at him.

"why'd you wait this long, then?" you ask, trying to sound coy but instead sounding very aroused, out of breath.

he lifts a coy brow. "waitin' for you to set the mood, I guess."

you stare at him for a moment.

his eyes flicker in some foreign kind of shyness, and then it occurs to you; you nearly burst out in laughter. "-was that a joke?"

your heart skips a beat when Joel lets out a small smile.

it's warm, syrupy - full of light. you nearly forget why you're laughing. "maybe. don't matter."

he seems so soft, so shy - as if embarrassed that he's admitting how bad he's wanted you all week. like you haven't been the same way.

but you can't seem to let it go - "a joke, from crabby old Mr. Miller?"

but you knew it'd come, using his name like that.

his hand is strong when he grabs your jaw, gentle but stern, and fighting his own smile - the smile lines around his eyes glowing and beautiful. you wish you got to see them more.

"doll, I thought we've talked about bein' respectful." he lifts a brow and you nod, swallowing your laughs quickly as his hand squeezes on your cheeks. "now, we've made it look real nice in here, haven't we?"

you take a moment before realizing he's waiting for an answer - you stand taller, nodding, "yes, sir." you agree, fighting the growing heat within you.

he nods, "'s right. so I'll treat you real nice, just like the boys you talk about." he sneers, weakening your knees. he moves you both slowly toward the mattress, tilting his head, "do you want that?"

does he even have to ask?

"yes, please, I want it." you agree, the desire to have him between your thighs growing unbearable. "we need'ya to come three times. you're going to count for me, aren't you?"

you wish more than anything you could defy such saccharine, sweet condescension from the man in front of you - but you've always been weak for him and his cruel mouth. you nod, staring up at his dark eyes, letting him push you onto the mattress gently. you faintly wish you'd taken the time to make your bead neatly this morning - but the thought is pulled from you as you note Joel's sudden hesitation. you tilt your head, about to ask if he's okay, when he abruptly speaks.

"you're so fuckin' pretty, darlin'." he says suddenly, looking at you with that exact stare from earlier on his couch; your heart flips as you stare up at him, swallowing. his hands come to your shoulders, moving until he's standing flush against the edge of the mattress, your thighs spread open for him to caress your neck gently. your heart pounds at the stark honesty of his words.

"beautiful." he whispers, feather-light touches over your neck, your chest shuddering and breaths short, staring in silence. "d'you know that?"

he's being uncharacteristically soft, and an inkling in your mind wonders if it's all a show - never would Joel Miller willingly be kind in such a manner. so giving, so... loving.

that panic that often finds you in the more tender moments flares up. you swallow thickly, "are you gonna get to it, or just stand there and stare at me?" you snap, the panic rising at his words.

his slow movements upon you stop, his eyes meeting yours sharply. something changes in him, a shift that is foreign and also familiar; as if snapping out of some trance and back into his original state.

"I'll do whatever the hell I want to." he snaps, "and you're gonna take it because I'm choosing to be nice to you." his voice is unforgiving - the cold tone with which you're used to. where you're safe, unafraid of what lies beneath tender caresses or words. "you hear me?"

you swallow down heat, a pool leaking into your panties - you're unsure if it's the way he was softly caressing you or the roughness of his words - probably both. "yes, Joel."

he lifts a brow, correcting you. "sir."

you swallow, nodding. "yes, sir." he leans over, kissing the crown of your head gently. "that's good. now I don't want to hear another fucking word out of you unless you're counting for me." he stares down out you, skin glowing under the scruff of his facial hair light up by the glow of the candles. he nods at your silence, a small smirk. "always liked you better when you're fucked so stupid you can't get a word out, anyways."

you don't dare speak, but you shoot him a withering glare, one that has him chuckling. "y'always act like such a brat, but you always end up doing what I tell you, don't you?"

you stare at him, your heartbeat in your throat, sat below him with your neck craned up. he raises his brows, hand coming to caress your jaw, "yeah, you do." he nods, "pussy can't get enough, huh?"

he's speaking in rhetorical, but you still want to slap him across the cheek.

you press your thighs closer but any kind of relief is prevented by his own legs as he stands between them. he leans forward, then, one hand pushing your jaw back until you're forced to look up to the ceiling; his other, snaking around your hips to thumb at the hem of your top.

his breath is hot as it hits your earlobe. "s'okay, I can't get enough of this pussy, either." he whispers, teeth nipping at your soft skin.

you sharply exhale as his hands tug on your top, releasing the looser buttons until it's held by only two of them, near your collarbones. he hums lowly, fingers rising to undo them himself. your skin is a wasteland of goosebumps, anxiously waiting for his touch.

he groans when you let the top slide off of you, your bare chest glowing alight by the candles. his eyes swallow you whole, amiring every part of you; your face burns warm, even as his hand trails one light finger down, over the swell of your left breast and brushing against your perked nipple.

"knew you weren't wearin' a bra." he grunts, his teeth scraping over your throat, "saw it the moment y'walked through my door. sat all pretty on my couch, teasin' me in this top." he growls, hands sliding over your shoulders to grope at your breasts.

you let out a sudden sigh - you hadn't noticed the baited breath that'd been held in your lungs the moment Joel'd pushed you onto the bed - you feel about to burst with need, your eyes pleading up at him. "sounds like you were just lookin' for it." you snap, eyes narrowing as you grow unwilling to play such games with Joel.

he wastes no precious moment; the smack is delivered light and playful to your right breast, stinging in pleasure as you gasp in a breath. his hand soothes over it even as he sneers in your face, leaning into your space, "did I tell you you could speak?"

you glare defiantly, "I thought we'd established by now that you always let me get what I want. you might even want it more than I do."

his hand finds its old home against your throat; holding you towards him, not restricting your airway but claiming you anyways. you feel another gush of arousal at the move, his eyes glaring into you. "oh, you'll get what you want, sweetheart." he says, voice holding no kindness, but an ominous amount of sincerity. "gonna be real nice to ya. all you're gonna do is sit here and look pretty. can you count to three?" he asks, voice rude. you glare back at him, "obviously."

he smirks, "we'll see."

and then he starts.

you aren't sure what you expected, but Joel wasn't lying when he said he was going to treat you nice. caresses over your skin, growing clammier by the minute- his clothes, still on and still wet from the downpour, sticking to his broad shoulders and expanse of his chest. his lips pepper over your neck, your jawline, teasing the corners of your mouth and releasing a cacophony of butterflies before dipping back down to your chest.

his hands are so large, gentle and intentional as they slide over the warmth of your skin. "pretty girl." he mutters, leaning so that one knee corners you, pushing you backwards until you're laying back on the mattress. you shutter a gasp as his thumbs and forefingers find your nipples, thumbing over them and sending currents of pleasure through you.

your whimpers and soft gasps are swallowed up by the sound of the storm against the roof, the cold house warming up by the second. he watches with lidded eyelids as his fingers twist your nipple, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain from you, pleasure blossoming through your body. you squirm, but he soon grows impatient, standing back and grabbing onto your ankles, tugging you towards the edge of the bed.

"keepin' all these slutty candles around, huh? how long you've been wanting to use these with me?" he asks gently, his fingers fumbling with your waistband. you help him, shoving them down your legs along with your panties, tossing them to his left.

"the candles aren't the ones that are slutty." you gasp as he pulls you closer to his hips, lifting you slightly of the mattress. his hard cock, separated from your yearning cunt by his denim, presses deliciously into you. he actually laughs at this; a shake of his head and a flutter of his eyelashes. "y'got that right."

he doesn't tease you like you'd expected - no, instead one finger circles your slit, gathering the sopping slick that leaks from you before gently sliding into your desperate heat.

you mewl loudly, eyes scrunching shut in pleasure. his finger is thick, warm; curling slightly as he slowly thrusts it into you. he hums lowly, one hand lowering you to the mattress then sliding up your skin to palm at your tits - they're stained with a few lovebites, brazen and still lined with excess of Joel's spit. it makes you shiver in pleasure. "that's it, baby." he growls lowly, "tight, real tight for me." sweat lines your brow as a low coil grows in your abdomen.

you nearly speak out of sheer habit several times, jolting when he hits your sweet spot repeatedly, hand flying to his hair and holding tight; he groans at that, deep and sweet. your eyes fall to his bulge and your hands move to palm him eagerly; he hisses in pleasure but the fingers not inside you catch your hands.

"not right now, sweetheart. not gon' be selfish, right? 's all about you."

when he adds a second finger, you're already squirming, regretting your doubt that he'd tease you. he's excruciatingly slow, gentle - his hand slides up to hold you by the throat, pushing you against your mattress as he starts to curl his fingers, thrusting harder.

you moan deeply as he finds your spot; your clit aches, neglected and throbbing, and your hand almost moves to relieve yourself before you second guess yourself and remain with your hands on his bicep.

you sigh, eyes rolling back as he fucks his fingers into you, wishing more than anything that his mouth was on you. or his cock in you.

his hand is a steady warmth against your throat and you know he can likely feel all the failed words and moans as they die out in your throat. he grins, fucking you steady with two fingers, "is there somethin' you wanna say, baby?" he asks, feigning genuine concern.

you groan out in frustration, that hot simmer growing as pleasure streaks through you. you glare at him, surely an amusing sight with the tears of frustration in your eyes. he tuts, pouting lightly. "c'mon, you can say it."

you swallow thickly at his permission, his hand peeling away from your throat momentarily to caress your jawline with his thumb. "use- use your mouth. please," you gasp, desperate as you move your hips against his fingers. he hums, "what, y'can't cum like this?" he asks, his fingers starting to pick up their pace. you grip his forearm and neck, gasping as your back arches from the mattress.

his fingers drag over your slick channels, the noise of your pleasure echoing as you nod, face crumpling in ecstasy. "fuck," you whimper, tugging on the nape of his neck.

he smiles, a dark thing in the dim light. "bet you can. let's see it, sweetheart."

you groan as the pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit; explosions of light appear behind your eyelids as he adds a third finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your sensitive bud.

his hand leaves your throat to press against your stomach; "y'feel that, darlin'?"

the pressure nearly pushes you over the edge, your thighs shaking as you grab for the bedsheets, hands leaving Joel in the shock of your nearing orgasm.

the noises echo in your ears as his pace picks up impressively; your knees shake as they start to close, your muscles seizing in pleasure. your whine is higher than normal as you squeeze around his fingers, white hot pleasure spreading.

you cum with your head tossed back, legs closing tightly as one of his hands tries to pry them open, fingers fucking you through your high.

you pulse, riding your high with stuttered breaths, fingers twisted into the sheets as he pumps his own into you languidly.

you remember wryly what Joel had asked of you, and you croak through a dry throat, "o-one."

you feel a huff of breath against your cheek before he hums. "that's good, baby." he murmurs, watching your cunt twitch, your arousal leaking out of you around his fingers.

you moan lowly as his fingers leave you, rising to his own lips to taste you; his eyes stay on yours as he palms himself lightly. you eagerly swallow, shifting your hips towards where he stands. yes, you need him in you-

he shakes his head at you as throws your legs away from him - you watch in shock as he starts to move. he pulls himself onto the mattress, laying upon your pillows, looking at you expectantly. "c'mere, baby." he mutters.

you blink at him, seeing his expression and slowly crawling to straddle him. your clit bumps against the denim of his crotch as you slowly rolls your hips over his, his straining cock delicious against you.

his hands find your hips and force your movements to halt with a strong grip. you stare at him, feeling embarrassed and confused, unsure what he wants.

he shoots you a look when you try to press yourself against him again, his fingers digging into your hips- "if y'think I'm fucking you tonight, you've clearly misunderstood."

your face must drain of blood as you stare at him, heartbeat pounding in your chest as you squirm. he moves down slightly, nodding upwards towards the top of your bedframe. "c'mere. and hold onto the edge if you can't handle it."

with a shaky breath and butterflies in your chest, you let him guide you upwards, until you're hovering over his face.

you let out a breath of desire, already throbbing in need; he stares up at you, "thought you needed my mouth on you?" he sneers. "play with your tits, baby, and ride my face." your fingers rise to your breasts, teasing your nipples gently as you whimper.

"now." he growls, hands pulling your hips down onto his face.

you gasp in shock, forehead and hands hitting the wall behind the bedframe as you jolt to stare at him. his tongue drives a fat lick through your soaked cunt, tasting your spend as your hips buck. your clit brushes against his nose- fuck, his nose; strong and slanted, beautiful as you press against it once again. pleasure shoots through you, curling your toes as you press against him.

all you can feel is Joel - your hands return to your breasts, if anything so that you have something to hold on to as ecstasy courses through you. his tongue circles your entrance lightly before sliding into you. you groan out, head falling back as you grind against his face; his groan reverberates in your cunt as a jolt of satisfaction causes your legs to weaken. "feels so good," you whimper, breathlessly; you don't even care that Joel told you not to speak, all you can think of is his tongue on you. the heat of your second crest starts to bubble over already; you let out a long moan.

you feel one of his thick fingers slide over the globe of you ass, gathering your slick before prodding gently at the tight ring of muscle below your cunt.

you gasp in shock, desire flooding you as need spurs you on, "fuck- please, sir, yes." you gasp, hoping the honorific will inspire him to give you what you really want.

he does. his finger breaches your hole slowly as you keen forward, gripping onto the headboard. he moans into your pussy as gushes of pleasure gather from the sensation and you whimper lowly, the feeling of his nose against your clit mixing deliciously as he slides his finger deeper into your ass.

if there's a better thing than having Joel's mouth on your cunt, it's that he can't speak like this; you start to move your hips, riding over his nose and fucking back onto his digit as he groans lowly.

"fuck- fuck." you groan, legs quivering, threatening to give out. he hums, leaning to chase your pussy as you move up, starting to move his finger inside your tight channel, his eyes staring up at you; you lock eyes as you thumb a nipple and your eyes roll back at the wide-blown pupils that meet you.

his hands, large and strong, pull you back against him, cementing you as he laps at your pussy, fucking his finger into you quicker and bringing you so close to your orgasm that you fall back slightly; your hand stabilizes yourself on his clothed chest; rolling your hips, the new angle sets your cunt into a wild frenzy of clenching, feeling incredibly close and chest stuttering as you near your high.

his finger leaves you suddenly as he pulls you towards him again - you barely have time to whimper at the loss of feeling before his tongue is flicking over your clit again, sending streaks of hot pleasure through you.

he's delving into you once again, his nose rubbing against you, your hips sliding over his face and finally pushing you over the edge.

your yelp of pleasure tails into a moan as you roll your hips, cumming on his face as you ride it out once again, legs shaking impossibly. you're muttering swears mixed in with his name as you ride out your second orgasm, shaking in desire.

"two," you whimper, sweat breaking on your forehead as one of his hands slides over your thigh, raking blunt nails over your skin. but he continues, your cunt sensitive as you jolt away from him as you catch your breath; you slide off of his chest to the mattress, your whole body tremoring with pleasure.

his face is flushed, chin glistening with your juices as he sits up, muttering, "don't you move."

you stop your movements, staring with hot cheeks and a swollen cunt as he turns, hands finding one of your pillows.

he leans forward to prop your head upon it; you gape at him in confusion, still pleased at the relief of strain in your neck but knowing you'll cum one more time before he's satisfied.

your body already yearns for it - you realize with a hot flash of arousal his intentions as he slinks backwards then, sliding to his knees.

your legs, despite yourself, spread for him. he smirks, "look at you, sweetheart, so willing for me."

you bite your lip, "just make me cum again," you say breathlessly, finding your strength again.

he raises his brows, "you sure you can handle it?" he asks, his palm sliding to cup your puffy cunt, the stimulation making you gasp. and then he slaps you, landing a harsh pressure on your clit that has you yelping, knees closing.

his other hand parts your legs, smacking you repeatedly until you yelp out, "yes!"

he stops his ministrations, instead rubbing your mess of juices all around you, causing you to sigh a gentle moan. he presses a kiss to your inner knee as he hums.

"I want eyes on me, sweetheart. can you do that?"

your eyes flick down to him as he settles between your quivering legs with a grin. a gentle kiss above your mound that has your eyes fluttering. "yes," you say breathlessly.

he rewards you with his lips against your cunt once again; it's immediately sending you over in stimulation, your legs tightening around his head before you gasp at the feeling, his tongue flattening over your swollen clit and plunging again into your entrance.

it's not long - your body is buzzing with electric desire, throbbing and jolting every time Joel's hands spread your legs open wider; your ankles curl and press into his back as his tongue alternates between flicking your clit and stroking as far into you as he can.

he's groaning into you, using his fingers to spread you further open for him; eating you out like it's his favorite meal. you're not sure if you'll stay conscious after your next high - you feel it creeping towards you and you whimper to Joel, starting to feel too sensitive.

"Joel- it's-" you whimper, pulling back and starting to crawl away on your hands, your legs tremoring with pleasure, moving up the mattress. he growls, hands grabbing you and pulling you back to him.

"not done with you yet." he murmurs, lips attaching back to your cunt. you buck your hips at the pleasure of overstimulation, hips moving away.

his hand grabs your ass, pulling you once again towards him, "stop fuckin' squirming. thought you wanted to get to three."

"I do," you whimper, gasping as his tongue traces around your pussy lips, tasting you and groaning into you. his face glistens with your juices and it's everything you can do to keep staring at him; he glares at you, "then don't complain."

his tongue licks a stripe up you again, swirling and sucking on your clit, and within moments you're nearing your high.

then suddenly everything - your fingers twist painfully as your body goes rigid, hitting your orgasm with a scream, your legs shutting around him and muscles spasming.

"that's right, sweetheart, ride it out." he mutters into you as you shutter, unable to form words but babbling his name incessantly as you push yourself up the mattress, away from the stimulation again as pain and pleasure swirl around your body.

fuck, you almost- you felt something different about that last one. he pulls himself until he's leaning over you, "think you're forgetting somethin'." he teases, his hands running up until they palm your tits.

you groan, hands shaking as they push against the mattress, the warmth of his body delicious. your eyes are fluttered shut, "two." you realize your miscalculation as it leaves your mouth -"n-no-" your eyes widen at your slip-up and you shake your head, embarrassed; your mind too consumed by Joel to fully function.

you wish he would just fuck you - his cock is unbelievably hard straining against his jeans and you urge to take him in any way you can. you'd let him have anything.

Joel sneers at you, amused by your flustered state. "d'they teach kids to count in these fuckin' FEDRA schools anymore?" he growls, slapping your pussy once more and making you yelp.

if you'd been paying more attention to his words, you'd have snarled that you learned how to count in public school, before the outbreak - and that he's a fucking idiot; you can't, however, as you're slapped on your sensitive clit once again.

fuck - a streak of euphoria through you at the jolt has your back arching.

"shut up, Joel." you whimper, "can you just- please, can you fuck me?" you ask, brows knitting together. he sighs, pulling back to stare at you with a stern stare. "just a little bit?" you beg, a ravenous force spurring in your blood. you need him.

"god damn it." he snaps, "I'm bein' so good to you, and all you can do is bitch and moan about my cock. got you so fuckin' obsessed, don't I?"

you groan in frustration, half of your body screaming to let yourself rest and half of you searing with desire and frustration. his words fluster you; even more so as he leans forward, hand spreading you apart to roll his clothed hips against your bare ones gently.

you let out a mewl, hips jerking back at the directness of the denim on your clit, the sharp sensitivity hitching in your throat. you ache and clench around nothing, your cunt begging to be filled by him. "please, Joel. I'll do anything." you insist smally, eyes fluttering shut. his lips ghost over your hairline and then peck your cheek in a shocking show of kindness.

"you can take it?" he murmurs against your lips. hope sparks in your heart and your bare ankles wrap around his his, pressing him against you, "yes, yes." you promise, nodding eagerly. he hums in thought.

"I'll fuck you with my fingers, then."

you gasp, hips jolting when his fingers spread your sopping lips, his eyes intent on your face as he circles your entrance. the tip of a finger notches against you and you flutter around him; your hands grasp onto his forearm and shoulder, staring up with a gasp. you're aching - you need him, any of him.

"Jesus, look at'you." he groans, muttering as his head dips to watch your pussy suck his fingers in with ease. he slowly pushes until he's knuckle-deep, groaning, "greedy little thing."

but his eyes stare and he doesn't move; you take it upon yourself to rock your hips, gasping at the pleasure you find as you take him even deeper.

he looks desperate, with his eyes wide, curls wet, mussed, and peppered on his head. "baby, I've gotta taste you." he grunts, suddenly sliding back down to lay between your legs; you mewl in shock as his mouth attaches to your clit in moments.

his fingers, then, start to thrust. gentle, at first, but you're so stimulated you shake your head, "can't-I can't." you whimper.

he shakes his head, the action notching his nose once again against your clit and sending shots of euphoria through you. you feel numb and on fire, eyes rolling back.

"you can, and you will." he mutters into your pussy, tongue sliding across the sopping plane of you as his fingers pick up their pace; your thighs clench shut around his head and squeeze - you can't help it - and he moans a genuine sound of pleasure at the feeling.

"you were so ready to when it was my cock. maybe I should use some of your toys you love tellin' strangers at bars about so much." he grunts, "make this little pussy cream even more."

your face burns as your eyes snap to him; a shiver of interest is soon overcome with the knowledge that you couldn't handle that; you glare at his words, anyways. that was one time, to him. when you were drunk. sure, not the best first impression, but- look where it got you.

you shake your head as you writhe below him, his lips returning to your sensitive mound to suck harshly as his fingers start to pump harder into you. he decides for himself with a hum, pulling away slightly, "no, you taste too fuckin' good. gonna stay here all night."

you believe him.

he tears you apart, tongue lapping you up, twisting his fingers, curling them as he slides them into you; the noise of your cunt wetly taking Joel's fingers and mouth make your eyes roll back.

he's everywhere - your fingers twist once again into the bedsheets, your toes curling as all of your muscles tense.

his fingers leave you suddenly, the feeling leaving you to suck a gasp into your lungs as he trails his hand over the valley of your breasts and into your mouth; you suck your juices off of his fingers eagerly, your mouth falling open in a yelp when he nips gently at your clit.

you jerk away, knowing you're sharply close to your next orgasm, your body tremoring and tears forming in your eyes.

the overwhelming pleasure is building immensely and you squirm away from him with a gasp hands coming to cover your pussy as it spasms, aching and leaking arousal.

"J-Joel- I can't," you wail.

he tuts, "c'mon, taste fuckin' amazing. love this little pussy." his arms snake around your hips, dragging you back and smacking your own hands away from your core. you sigh at the gentle swirl of his tongue through your swollen folds, hands carding into his hair and gripping tight. he mutters it quietly, "jus' one more, sweetheart, you can do it."

you whimper, a tear streaming down your cheek and onto your neck, "I can't, it feels so good, I can't-" you whimper, a direct contradiction to the shaking quiver of your thighs as you roll your hips, savoring the feel of Joel's thick tongue against you.

he hums lowly at your hip's movements and it makes you scream; the vibration and the nudge of his nose on your clit too much-

it hits you all at once.

you can't see anything; your hand flies to the sheets as one hand pushes Joel hard away, euphoria slamming into you harder than you ever have.

you feel the pads of his fingers, swirling over your clit as your hips buck wildly. you're sobbing, a state of bliss you've never felt before. your orgasm lasts much longer than you'd expected, euphoria rolling in waves that keep coming to shore.

when you come to, pussy still clenching in residual flutters, you have to suck in a deep breath.

through your tears, you see Joel's face; the bottom half is soaked in your juices, even the mattress is damp from your high - oh. you didn't know you could do that.

he presses a kiss to your thigh - you jolt, whimpering lightly. he shushes you, hands finding your hips as you shake, trying to come down from that high. "four." he mutters, smirking as you groan, your head falling back. "fuck." you hiss, throat raw.

"that wasn't so hard, was it sweetheart?" he snarks, still not moving from between your thighs, though you're sure they're dead weight on top of his shoulders. says him.

"fuck you, Joel-" but your words stop short and you gasp, hands flying as you feel Joel's tongue lick up the side of your cunt; "I can't Joel-" you sob, shaking your head, "'s too much."

you're so overstimulated you feel like you're floating - but after your shock you realize he's avoiding the sensitive areas, gently swirling his tongue in your wetness. tasting you just for the sake of it. he just shushes you once again- "hey, hey," he soothes, hand petting your hip gently, "just tastin' it. gotta clean you up." you shouldn't, but you feel a hot flood of arousal just at his words. your hands relax in his hair as he slowly moves his mouth around you, avoiding your oversensitive clit mercifully.

"you just rest. did real good, sweetheart. was so fuckin' sexy." you can't rest, though your body slumps and your eyes shut - his tongue runs lazy, thick circles around your pussy, gentle. you can tell - it's not for you, and maybe it never really was; Joel's loving it, and he's not planning on stopping anytime soon.

and you stay like that - eyes closed, catching your breath and calming your tears, as Joel's hands run soothing shapes over your side and thighs, his mouth not leaving you for a second.

it was minutes, could have been almost an hour, and you slowly fell from your teetering edge of unraveling; instead, a slow burn was once again ignited in your stomach as Joel lapped away at you, eating you out gently and devotedly.

occasionally there was a groan or a moan from him, gentle - or a mutter into you about how good you tasted. you'd move your hips gently when something fluttered deliciously and you chased that feeling, thinking of all Joel's words tonight which have made you flush - and most of them praise.

he's like a man starved.

and by the time you start to climb that hill again, your muscles aching but pussy fluttering in desire, you're burning up. you cry again, gently.

he brings you to orgasm a fifth time with a moan into your pussy and your hand gripping his own for dear life.

he laps everything that spills from your weeping cunt as you let out a scream of his name, swallowed by the noise of the outside thunder. you shake and tremor, blissed beyond anything you've felt, tired and spent.

he holds himself to you and you have to twist, crawling away from the devilish mouth that calls your name, his hands gentle as he lets you go; finally having mercy on your destroyed body.

you feel like you're floating, unable to stop shaking.

it's then that he chooses to strip down to his boxers; you watch him with shock as he does so, unsure if he's going to propose you take his cock now - you don't know if you could.

instead, he drops a kiss to your forehead. "I'll be back."

he's in there long enough for you to deduce that he's decided to take care of himself on his own, in the shower - a decision that disappoints you but also seems very thoughtful. there's that flicker of selflessness you see sometimes in Joel - the things he tries to hide.

you hear the faucet running in the bathroom and when he comes back, there's a washcloth and a cup of water for you.

he doesn't wipe between your legs until you're done shaking - and after, you sit there, your hand curled around his bicep, while he soothes over a few strands of your hair.

"gonna need new candles." you mutter, nodding to where they all sit, dripped down to within an inch, wax splattered atop your table and over the side of the foot chest.

"I'll get you a million candles 'f you let me taste you like that again." his chest rumbles as he speaks. a flicker of butterflies once again appear in your chest and you shrug, "I know I said I like when it isn't rough..." you trail off, face burning, "-but none of them ever did... any of that. and I really liked that."

besides, you both knew the moment it left your mouth that your words weren't true - in honesty, Joel has done nothing but rough you up and you always crawl back for more. you wouldn't have it any other way.

he scoffs, "good thing you're mine now." he mutters, "taste like fuckin' heaven. could watch you squirm all day." he drops a kiss to your temple and your eyes bore down at your lap; his words hold a semblance of possessiveness - not unfamiliar to this thing that you have with him, but now much more meaningful to you. why is your heart fluttering so fast, a grin growing on your face?

he clears his throat after a moment, shifting to sit up. in the process, your arm falls from his and you turn to look at him.

"do you remember last time I was in here?" he asks suddenly and you have to snort. "was dying of infection, yes I remember."

he sends you a look. "you were not dyin'. don't be dramatic." he counters, eyes narrowed.

you grin, rolling your eyes, "you were the one who was acting like it was such a big deal." you defend with a shake of your head. he sighs, "well I-" he stops short and it occurs to you that he's having trouble getting words out.

you look into his eyes gently, and he's searching yours. you're not sure what he's looking for. "shit," he mumbles, looking slightly lost - you've seen him like this, before - once.

"I'm tryin' to be less...mean. when it counts." he says intently, looking at you. "y'know, after we talked, and I..."

he trails off but you wait patiently for him to find his words.

he finds them eventually. "-well, that time I was here, when I helped you with your bandage..." he stutters his way through it and takes a deep breath. "I said something, that night." he starts again, running his hand over his face.

"you tend to say a lot of things when we're together." you supplement, your heartrate picking up. you're starting to feel your fight or flight kick in.

he rolls his eyes. "yeah, well. I said... that you were probably hopin' I would want t'make you my girl." oh. yes, you remember that. "-and I said that it was pathetic you'd think that." he says, not looking at you.

you too look away; yes, he's said many cruel things to you - that one, in particular, has haunted you many nights after waking up from dreams of warmth and sunshine and Joel's hand in yours.

"one of your best lines yet." you say, unsure what else to do. your gut twists in rejection at just the memory - then, it'd been in the heat of an argument and you'd just used it as kindling to fuel your fire, but it has since become a more prevalent proof every time you start to think too much about the what ifs.

Joel isn't amused by your words. "I'm just saying, if you did ever want somethin' like that - not that you would, but...it wouldn't be pathetic." he finally finishes. "it was a stupid thing to say." he mumbles quickly, still looking away - through the dim glow of the dying candles, you can see the red on his cheeks.

you feel hot, the implications of his words. he wouldn't mind if you wanted him to be yours. if you wanted to be his. your stomach flips.

grazing your hand over his back, you brush your lips to his shoulder. "you didn't mean it. we say a lot of things we don't mean. both of us." you answer softly, your lips caressing his bare shoulder. you feel the goosebumps under you across his skin at the touch and fight a small smile.

“remember when I tried to hit you?” you ask, thinking back to that disastrous dinner and the delicious aftermath on his foyer floor.

he smirks, finding the courage to look down at you. “think ‘bout it a lot.”

you hit his shoulder playfully, shaking your head with your own wry grin. of course he does.

he looks at you faintly, a hint of a smile flickering over his face. "we've been through a lot of shit together." he murmurs. he eyes the dresser across from you, lit up by a candle; you don't know how, but somehow he pinpoints exactly where you've hidden your gun, in your sock drawer. and he probably knows exactly why it's hidden.

"-don’t get me wrong, I like this thing we got goin’ for us, with the teasing and fighting - but I just want you to know I trust you. and I care about you." he says just as gently, his face flustered. your face heats at his words, a gust of affection blowing through you at his bashfulness.

you smile, leaning in to him; your hands snake around his neck as you gently pull his face to you. he finds more words, "sometimes you're a pain in my ass-" he raises a brow before you can snap back at him- "-but nothing you could do is... pathetic. 'specially not thinking something like that."

his eyes are large and hold none of the desire that they did thirty minutes ago; instead they hold something much deeper, more vulnerable. you don't feel scared by it.

you smile, "I trust you, Joel." his eyes stare into yours unafraid. "thank you. I care about you too."

and you're not ready to say everything else to him - no, not yet, even though your heart's known it for a while and so have you, somewhere in the back of your mind.

you do want something like that. you want exactly that.

"-and," he starts, "since this was your idea of something more civilized," he sends you a look through the corner of his eye; you know this isn't the worst of your sins committed with Joel, but you recognize his sentiment with a smirk, thinking back to your earlier words. you hide your growing smile as he adds:

"-maybe we could get drinks sometime."

taglist closed - this is the last fic that will be using my taglist. moving on, I've made a notifs blog - @tremendumnotifs - for ppl to follow for notifications. tysm!!]

@elissaaa @satansgoatt @queerponcho @bbyanarchist @lapricot @umavvitch @asreadbyaj @dinsbaby @cottoncandytomu @silencesscreams @silkiers @switchbladedreamz @missannwinchester @abs-2020 @afandomidiot @cosm1c-babe @rogersbarnesxx @carleenphillips-blog @bonnibuckets @nightlovechild @jazzyspams @girlboybug @cannolighost @pastelnap @userpedros @feministfanboi @buckyhoney @frogers @grhowls @daddy-din @gothoppered @notsosecretspy @okyeeaaahhhh @thirdoffive @totallynotastanacc @robbatlover @cutesyscreenname @wannab-urs @soooooyesbutactually-no @redhotkitchen @omlwhatamidoinghere @joelapologist2001 @leeeesahhh @bitchyikes @bigboiseason123 @furseal1986 @mumma-moonchild @kamcrazy123 @pseudonymist @xyz32 @xlengueterax @suzmagine @sushiwriterhere @yourwinchesterbros @littlesuckyducky @worhols @hearthrooob @thatgingefromtheinternet @grhowls @letterstopedrito @those-late-night-feels @trashmuseum @holeforjoel @charismatic-writer @nervous-plant @sushiumex @undrthelights @tarcinblue @fleursdecherise @alltheseperfectimperfections @whorror-s @thecasualnope @scarletthefierce

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mountainsandmayhem · 21 days

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hey hun!! for your 500 followers celebration could you do 📝, of a scenario in which joel comes home to find you all cramped up and in pain since you began your period and he decides to be the comforting little man and cuddles you to death??

(no pressure!! 🥰🤗)

-vii💗💗

Joel: Period Master

18+, but mostly fluff

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

AN: Thank you sweet Viv for this ask. This is based in the Little Dove universe, but Sarah and Ellie are teenagers and living at home. 💋 also, I 100% did not edit or proof read this. Sorry!

Joel has had a long ass day. A joke of a day really. First the concrete was late, then someone broke the powered wheelbarrow so they were moving gravel by hand. Then it started raining and they scrambled to cover everything, the job site soon became a muddy mess. He’s desperately looking forward to a hot shower and a glass of whiskey.

He pulls into the garage to see your vehicle already parked, which is strange since you had plans with a friend for after work drinks.

He trudges from the truck to the back door, mud still breaking off his work boots along the shiny concrete floor of the garage. He toes them off before heading into the back entry. Your heels are tossed on the floor, work bag and jacket haphazardly placed on the bench.

“Babe?” He calls from the back door, walking around to the family room to find his two daughters curled up on the couches.

“Hi girls. Where’s your mom?”

They both shoot daggers from their eyes, Ellie clutching the blanket tighter around herself and Sarah flipping the ice pack that’s draped across the back of her neck.

Shit, already that time.

The joys of living with all women….they’ve synced up. His usually sweet teenagers daughters turn extra moody, but Joel is the supporter of this family in every way, so he is always prepared for this time each month. Sarah, usually the sweet tooth, needs salt and chocolate milk. Ellie, usually the salty one, needs Diet Coke and green gummy frogs. All things Joel keeps tucked up in a cupboard, or in the back of the beer fridge in the garage.

He sneaks quietly back into the living room, putting the emergency supplies for the girls down on the coffee table as they watch Dirty Dancing.

Ellie looks up at him with sad eyes, tears welling in the corners. “Thanks, dad.”

He crouches down beside her and rubs her lower back through the big fuzzy blanket she’s cocooned in. “You’re welcome, kiddo. Do you need anything else?”

Sarah’s head pops up from her couch, “Mom’s not doing well. You should go be with her.”

He kisses both his daughters on the foreheads, taking a big breath before walking down the hall to your bedroom. Nothing in this world breaks his heart more than seeing you in pain. He knows some months can be worse than others, he knows about the bloating and the large clots you deal with. He knows that you can be insatiably hungry one minute and throwing up the next. He knows that your cramps can have you on the floor in the matter of seconds most of the time.

He opens the door as quietly as possible, finding you curled in a tight ball under the down filled duvet, just your hair peaking out the top. The room is stifling hot, the air almost thick, it feels like being in Phoenix in July as he pads over to the bed.

“Baby?” He whispers, carefully climbing up beside you, trying not to disturb you. A lesson he learned a few years ago when you had finally gotten comfortable, only to be brought to big crocodile tears when he moved a pillow that was tucked against your back.

A sad groaning whine leaves your throat as his large palm dips under the blanket to cup your forehead. “Sweetie, you’re burning up.”

“I’m freezing,” you whine, pulling the big blanket tighter around you.

“Ok, baby girl. I’m here now,” he says, standing and stripping down to his boxers briefs. You peek your eyes over the blanket, watching the way his strong body flexes and relaxes, the muscles ripping as he moves. The summer sun has tanned his arms a beautiful golden brown.

He wanders around to lay behind you. “Let me in, honey.”

You let go of the blanket so he can slip under, his warmth immediately sinking into you, heating your sore and achy body all the way to the bone. “You’re practically naked under here, Little Dove.”

You sink back into his heat. “Don’t look, I’m wearing the worst granny panties and one of those super pads.”

His hands trail around your slides, a large palm resting on the very bottom of your belly where the cramps are, hand sliding under the band of your incredibly unattractive panties. “You’re sexy to me no matter what you wear.”

Joel begins kneading the muscles of your lower abdomen, simulating the contracting of your uterus and the pain begins to ease. You moan and relax more into your perfect man.

“That feel good?” He says in a deep, gravel filled whisper.

“Mm-hmmm,” you hum, closing your eyes and finally feeling relief from the debilitating cramps.

Joel pulls you in tighter and kisses your shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re suffering, baby. I’m going to take care of you. Anything you need, I’ll do it or get it.”

“DAAAAAAD!!” Sarah and Ellie call in unison from the couch. “PIZZAAAA!!!”

You snort a little laugh. Poor Joel, having to deal with all these uterus’s.

“Pizza party?” You ask.

“Anything for my girls.” He hums, stubble grazing the shell of your ear.

“Anything?” You say mischievously.

“You’re not painting my toe nails again”

“Damn. I have this new hot pink that I think would really suit you,” you tease.

Joel’s quiet for a moment, still kneading the muscles absentmindedly, but with incredible care and precision. “I’ll lend you my favourite sweats and t shirt if you stay away from my toes.”

“Deal,” you say with a wince.

“What’s wrong?” Joel says, pulling you onto your back so he can look you over. Concern etching his eyebrows.

You reach up and rub the creases spot with your thumb, his eyes meeting yours. “Butt hole cramp,” you say flatly.

Joel smirks down at you, at this angle your swollen, heavy breasts are on display for him. “Want me to kiss it better?”

“You’re a menace, Joel Miller. And our daughters will riot if we don’t get them pizza soon.”

Joel lends you his clothes and helps you get dressed before sliding on his jeans and t shirt. He kisses your forehead and helps you to the lazy boy chair, brining your king sized duvet with him to wrap you up.

“I’ll be back with pizza,” he says to the group.

As soon as he’s out of ear shot Ellie pipes up, “do you think if we play this up we can get him to let us paint his toe nails again?”

#joel miller #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #soft!joel miller #joel miller fluff #nikki answers

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ghouljams · 10 months

Note

you cant just say how cowboy konig is lowkey a stalker in your tags without expounding on it. ELABORATE PLEASE RRAAAGGHHH (affectionately)

More Nasty boy, he's so dreamy, I'm unwell.

König hears you swear over the receiver, loud and visceral as you drop whatever you were holding. He'd been having a lovely morning with you, he wondered what happened. He glances out his kitchen window as he listens to you hustle around and slam your door. Oh good, Honey jumped her fence again. He smiles a little to himself and grabs his bandana, switching the receiver off to go retrieve her.

"Honey please," You whine after her, "Please be good just this once." She hops excitedly, just bouncing with joy at her naughtiness. She's not even waiting for you to catch up to her, a much more difficult feat due to last night's rain. She's going to twist her ankle or something, and you really can't deal with her dramatics a second time in so many days.

You're starting to see the drafts meandering the pasture, and you really hope she isn't going to try bothering them again. You both see it at the same time when she books it towards König's house. You groan seeing the man himself just coming out his front door. Honey jumps another fence to greet him. He holds his hand out for her and she snuffles it, letting him pet her like she's the most docile horse in the world. Horrible, wicked, spiteful creature.

You continue tramping through the mud to retrieve your stupid shitty horse, pouting and miserable. König coaxes Honey back into pasture and starts leading her towards you. You were really hoping not to see him, you're not exactly dressed to see the guy you're crushing on. Your boot sticks in the mud and you fall flat into a big puddle, barely catching yourself on your hands and knees. The splash sprays you with muddy water and you figure this is just perfect.

König's hands slip under your arms and pick you up, this is really becoming a habit. He looks like he's trying not to laugh, sounds like it too when he asks, "Are you alright, Schatz?" You both look down at the mud covering your front before he sets you safely away from the puddle and recovers your stuck boot.

"God," You groan, shaking the mud off your hands, "I swear I am not this much of a mess." König hums, he knows you are, he's heard you. It's cute, you need someone like him looking after you.

"It's fine, I don't mind helping." He tells you, giving your boot a good shake to dislodge the mud. He crouches down to help you slip it back on. "Let's get you cleaned up," He says as he stands, nodding his head in the direction of his house.

"Oh, no, no I couldn't impose." You tell him quickly, holding up your hands to wave off the idea. König shrugs.

"No imposition, my house is closer, you are dirty, my shower is your shower." You hesitate, something smart in your stomach warning you against taking up strange men on offers like this. Then again, König has really been nothing but nice and helpful to you. It's really the squirmy gritty feeling of mud sticking to you through your shirt that makes up your mind.

König gives you a bag to put your dirty clothes in, lends you a spare shirt and some shorts(both of which are way too big for you), he's even kind enough to show you how the shower works and point out the lock before he leaves you in his tidy bathroom. This is some real fucking southern hospitality from a man who is absolutely not southern. It makes the butterflies in your stomach all the worse that he's so nice.

"I'll wash everything and give it back," You tell him, sitting at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee between your hands. You feel so warm and soft, just swimming in his shirt, you're trying to extend some hospitality of your own.

"No rush," He tells you, leaning back against the kitchen counter, "I'm just trying to be neighborly." Besides he's already collected payment in the form of your panties. Neatly swiped from your bag of dirty clothes and stuffed in his pocket for later. You really are too sweet for your own good.

"What's this?" You ask, fingers pressing the switch on the receiver on the table. Static fills the kitchen. König leans to switch it off, it's just dead air without your voice filling it.

"An old radio, I've been trying to fix it without any luck I'm afraid."

#cowboy!König #hot mess darling is really so fucked #she doesn't even notice anything missing #just throws her dirty clothes in with the rest of the wash none the wiser #it's fine she keeps his shirt #that's sort of the same thing right?#cod x reader #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x you #reader x König #learning a lot about ghoul today with these

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halfmoth-halfman · 8 months

Text

the willow maid

Pairing: Kyle “Gaz” Garrick x F!Reader Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: implied smut, blood, death, loss, bittersweet ending Prompt: Fairytale!AU & “It was the biggest mistake I ever made.” & the song, the willow maid by erutan Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: here it is!!! the final fic for @glitterypirateduck’s GazFest 2023!! i hope you guys had as much fun with gazfest as i did!!! and thank you to the amazing glitterypirateduck for putting it all together!!!!! 💜

The tavern is nestled on the far edge of town, a barely held-together building run by an even more decrepit barkeep. Half resting on the edge of the forest, half consumed by the rich greenery, vines and roots split through the walls and upend the cracking cobblestones around it. The windows are covered in a layer of dust, door hanging on by a single bolt, entrance covered in years of muddy boot prints. Every imperfection is only amplified under the light of the early morning sun.

They’re given bread while they wait, circled around the lopsided table pressed up against the clean window, and MacTavish is the only one brave enough to try it. It’s good, if a bit off in a way he can’t fully describe; it’s sweet and light, but there’s a bitterness lurking on his tongue when he swallows.

The ale arrives and, with it, their long-awaited companion.

He’s quiet, Simon notices. There are only two other people in this tavern, a shifty-eyed child with no shoes and fidgeting hands and a cloaked figure lying with their head on the bar, but Simon hadn’t seen their newfound friend approach. It sets him on edge, more than usual.

(It had been MacTavish who found him, bursting into the inn they'd been staying at with a wide grin and a piece of torn parchment.

“Got a lead on the flower,” he’d said, handing Price the scrap to let him examine the hastily drawn map. “Met a man who claimed t’ have seen th’ bloom himself. Said to meet him there in three days’ time, jus’ after sunrise.”

Price had been skeptical, but it’d been weeks since their last lead dried up, and their gold was beginning to run low.. Desperate times, and all that.)

MacTavish told them everything he knew about his mysterious contact, but they hadn’t expected him to be so young.

Barely a year older than MacTavish, the man sits across from them with a polite smile and his hands clasped on the table where everyone can see them.

Everything about him is dark. His skin, his hair, his eyes. Even his cloak is a deep plum material, unpatterned and plain.

There’s nothing particularly special about him at first glance, but they know something’s not quite right about this man.

He’s too…clean, too put together. There’s no mud on his boots, no signs of hardship or travel, and his clothes are too purposefully plain despite the high quality of the stitching. His movements are too practiced, too elegant, as he takes a slice of bread and fills his cup with manners befitting someone of a far higher station. There’s not a mark or scratch on him, save for the single scratch across is left cheek.

This man is not what he seems.

“Your friend tells me you’re looking for the Willow’s Wail,” the man speaks, polished, measured, curious.

The three straighten at the mention of the flower.

It was supposed to be a myth, an old wives tale to tell your children when you put them to sleep. A story about a powerful Fae and a cunning boy who outfoxed her, obtaining a single seed from her garden as a reward.

But the boy, in his excitement at besting the Fair Fae, didn’t notice he’d dropped the seed just before leaving the fae realm. When the boy finally realized and returned to retrieve it, it was too late. The seed had fallen on the wrong side of the barrier between his world and theirs and he was forced to watch it grow until it bloomed a beautiful, glowing white.

The boy had one night to admire its beauty before its petals began to fall and the flower wilted. The wind carried the drifting petals, spreading them far and wide to bloom across the mortal realm. The boy was lucky enough to catch one, and it was said that the magic from that single petal granted the boy his heart's desire.

There were countless names for it.

Moondrop. Angel’s Kiss. Ghostheart. Star Rose.

It changed over the centuries, varying region by region, along with the story, but the details stayed the same.

A glowing, white flower that blooms for one night with enough potent magic in a single petal to keep you safe and sated for the rest of your life.

So many had claimed to have seen it, to have picked an entire bloom and reveled in its sweet scent. How many of the rich and mighty claimed to have one hidden in their vaults? How many urchins kept themselves going with the hope of one day finding a bloom, and pulling themselves from poverty?

How many rumors had their own merry little group chased, claiming to know where to find a moondrop or angel’s kiss or ghostheart?

Though, Simon’s never heard someone refer to it as the Willow’s Wail before.

“You know where to find one, I take it?” Price asks. The man nods through a mouthful of bread, taking a sip of the spiced honey ale before he answers.

“Not just where to find it,” he hums, picking at the crust of his bread. “I know how to grow one.”

That’s new.

There have been plenty who claimed to have found a petal. Even some who’ve said they’ve made their own deal with the Fae from the story.

But there’s never been someone who claimed to have a seed before.

The man says it so casually, Simon is almost inclined to believe him.

“S’pose ye’ll be wantin’ a trade for it?” MacTavish chuckles, already bracing himself for what will either be an absurd amount of coin or a request for a near-impossible task.

“Of sorts,” the man shrugs.

Simon does not like this, and one glance at Price tells him that the older man feels the same.

Price folds his arms across his chest, metal bracers clinking against his chest piece. “What’s your price?”

“A story,” the man simply says.

“You want us to tell you a story?” Even through the shrouded mask, the disbelief is clear in Simon’s voice.

This has to be a trick. The man is clearly a swindler, wasting their time to get a free meal.

“Quite the opposite,” the man laughs. “I’d like to tell you a story. One about how I came across this flower, and, if you manage to make it to the end, I’ll tell you how to grow the flower for yourselves.”

The trio shares a look of wary skepticism, knowing they all share the same thought. Something isn’t right here. It can’t be this simple, this easy. Not when they’ve spent months exhausting every resource, every contact–from officials in the high courts to the lowest of street urchins–available only to come up empty-handed.

This man is bold, brazen, and a liar. On that, they can all agree.

But there’s something about the way he’s so casually confident in his words. Something simmers just beneath the surface with this man. Something strange. Something…sad.

He may not be telling the truth about the flower, but they’re sure he has some information that could be valuable to them.

Price looks to the other two, brows raised in question. Simon and MacTavish each give him a single, reaffirming nod.

“Alright,” Price sighs, leaning back in his crooked chair. “Tell us your story, Mr…”

There’s an awkward pause when Price realizes MacTavish never gave him this man’s name, made only more awkward when MacTavish’s eyes widen as he realizes he doesn’t know the name, either.

The man takes it in stride, a soft chuckle as he tells them, “Garrick. Kyle Garrick.”

An old name. A rich name. A name written in royal histories about the first kings.

The name of a family that’s been dead for over a century.

There’s a hum around the table, a low buzz that sinks deep into their bones and weighs down their limbs.

Kyle sets his plate aside, staring them down with a toothy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something flashes across his face, a brief flicker of silver barely caught in the sunlight. There are no words spoken, but they all know–

They are trapped here.

“We’ll start with something familiar, then,” Kyle hums, sharp eyes sliding over to MacTavish. The look of someone who’s obtained a victory.

“Once upon a time…”

…There were no kings or queens to rule over the land.

No kingdoms, or even cities.

There was simply the Village and the Forest.

It was a simple exchange, a simple harmony between the two. The Forest would provide food, lumber, livestock, and protection so that the village could thrive, and the villagers would take only what they needed. No more, no less.

The villagers did not ask where these things came from. They did not demand to know the name of their benevolent caretaker. They said their thanks, made their offerings, created festivals to celebrate their Forest.

They were grateful.

Until the night of the full moon, when a young man, drunk from a week of celebrating the harvest, wandered into the trees. It had been a dare, a test of bravery from the woman whose hand he sought.

“Name your price, and I swear to you, I’ll provide it!” the man had foolishly declared, loud enough for all of his friends to hear.

The woman had no intention of marrying him, desperate to be rid of his affections as she preferred another, richer man. She smirked at him, nose high in the air as she told him, “I’ll take your hand and name, but three things you must bring me. First, a ring made from the brightest star in the sky. Second, a dress sewn from the silk of the sea spider queen that resides in the lake–”

Already an impossible task, a joke made of the proposal and the man.

But the woman was not finished, her grin cruel as she spoke her final request, “And last, a cloak made from the hide of the rarest creature to dwell in the Forest.”

Where there had been laughter, silence now loomed.

To go into the Forest…

It had never been done, an unspoken rule passed down through generations. They were only meant to take, to thank, to leave. Never to enter.

But the man would not be deterred, a dangerous mix of love and liquid courage coursing through his veins.

He turned on his heels, picked up his bow, and marched straight into the Forest.

It didn’t take long for the noises of the village to fade behind him, and the world to grow dark. The trees were too thick for the moonlight to reach, plunging him into unfamiliar darkness.

But the man would not be discouraged. He pressed forward, walking until his legs shook and the drink wore off, determined to find his rare creature.

And a rare creature he did find.

After hours in the black of the Forest, the man heard a voice. A sweet song, drifting through the leaves to reach down into his very soul. He felt light, the pain in his muscles fading as it lured him deeper and deeper and deeper.

–Into the very heart of the Forest.

A weeping willow larger than any tree he’d ever seen resting in a ring of red toadstools. So large was it, it broke the canopy of the Forest, its weeping white blooms glowing in the pale moonlight. Soft petals and catkins drifted in the gentle breeze, littering the pale blue grass beneath his feet.

And there, in the gold of its branches laid her.

Skin textured like bark, clothed in a dress of draping pale petals, hair so long it wound high into the branches, the Willow Maid sang into the warm, night air.

Entranced by her voice, her beauty, her presence, the man abandoned his bow. His proposal forgotten, he stepped forward eager to hear more of the maiden’s song.

Unable to keep his arms from her ethereal form, he unwittingly stepped over the threshold of toadstools. A gust of wind carried the last of her song, as she turned in her branches to stare down at him.

A piercing gaze, ever-shifting through the colors of the rarest gems. She watched him, staring into him, around him, through him.

Cautious. Curious.

So overcome by her beauty was he, the man spoke without thought, “Fair Willow Maid, I would seek forgiveness for interrupting your lovely song.”

A dangerous thing, to be indebted to her, but the man did not care.

“Then my forgiveness is granted,” she said, voice echoing in the drifting of leaves and waves of the grass. “But it is not forgiveness which brought you to my willow bed. You seek the hand of a woman. A love to be bought and born of my demise.”

“A hide,” he corrected, flinching under her accusation. “Of the rarest creature to dwell in this Forest.”

“What is rarer than the Forest’s own master?”

The man could not answer, stunned by this revelation.

Master of the forest, of beasts, and of men. And he had sought to kill her for a love unrequited.

“You will return to the object of your desires, a failure. My hide is mine own, and I will not allow it to be taken by a love-sickened hunter.”

Foolish and guilty the man may have been, but he was also clever, and a solution quickly came to his mind.

He could not return with the hide, but that did not mean he had to return empty-handed.

“Come with me, dear maiden,” he called into the branches. “Come from thy willow bed, and meet those who would worship at your feet.”

There was no anger in her, no offense at the thought she would be so vain as to want of worship, but instead peace.

Calm.

Serenity.

A gentle, pitying smile, her voice soft as the moonlight, “I cannot leave this place, daring hunter. Instead, I may present you with a parting gift.”

The winds shifted, drooping branches caressed his face.

The man blinked and found himself at the Forest’s edge, staring out at the sun rising over his village with his bow in hand. Around his neck hung a locket of pure gold, a glowing white willow carved into the center.

“I give you this gift,” her voice drifted into his ears, faint and distant. “Proof that you have been blessed by my forest. You may return if you’d like, but I warn you. Don’t ask me to follow where you lead.”

Kyle pauses to take a drink, his attention elsewhere long enough for their limbs to loosen slightly.

“Tha’s quite the tale ye have,” MacTavish says once he regains control of his mouth.

“So, the flowers are Fae magic,” Price hums. “Guess the stories were right about that.”

“More than you’d think,” Kyle sighs, a bitter chuckle as he sets down his cup.

“Forests are all cut down and contained now,” Simon says, cold, calculating eyes kept on Kyle.

“Aye, and th’ Fae Folk are all but gone,” MacTavish adds. There’s a grimace on Kyle’s face, a flinch that he covers by pretending to rub at his eyes.

“The flowers must be left over from the willows, then?” Price deduces, his head tilted towards their storyteller. Kyle shrugs, with a noncommittal nod that sets off alarms in Simon’s head.

“Where did you hear this story?” the masked mask asks. “We’ve heard all of the tales, the bedtime stories, the songs. Yet, I don’t think we’ve ever heard of a Willow Maid.”

“Very few have,” Kyle says simply. “For good reason.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Simon scoffs. “A man we hardly know, telling a story no one else has heard of, about a flower that might not even exist.” He looks to Price, the request clear in his eyes.

This is a waste of time. We should leave.

“The deal wasn’t for you to believe me.” Kyle’s voice is sharp, a dangerous edge laced across the tight smile on his face. “The deal was for you to listen.”

The word hisses from his mouth, and Simon feels his muscles tighten painfully. MacTavish groans next to him, and Simon knows he and Price are feeling the same. A weight holds them down, keeps them in their chairs, unable to move or look at anything other than Kyle.

Kyle simply smiles.

“If I may continue?”

…The village had hailed him a hero.

To have gone into the Forest, and emerged with its blessing? There was no higher achievement, no feat more accomplished.

They showered him in gifts, in favors, in endless wealth.

The woman whose hand he sought all but threw herself into his arms, so proud to accept his proposal now.

Yet, he denied it all. He did not want gold nor gems nor silks. He did not care if he had the biggest house, the fattest livestock, the fullest larder.

His heart’s true desire rested in the heart of the Forest, nestled safely in her tree.

He visited the Willow Maid often, disappearing into the Forest trees for weeks at a time. Others tried to follow him, tried to gain the Forest’s favor just as he had. All but him were spurned, led into the depth of the trees only to be twisted and turned and led back to where they had started.

The woman he once sought grew so green with jealousy, she marched into the Forest promising to find what had stolen his affections with a sharp knife and bundle of matchsticks. She never returned, and the Forest refused to provide until the man visited again to apologize on the village’s behalf.

They stopped following him after that.

The man was not bothered, content to be left alone with his Willow Maid. He enjoyed his time, resting in the shade of her tree, listening to her sing or telling her tales from his childhood. He spoke with her, laughed with her, learned about her and her Forest and her creatures.

Years passed, and his visits grew. He had befriended her, treasured her, loved her.

And she loved him in return.

The village was alight with rumor and speculation when the man walked into the Forest, dressed in his finest with a bundle of fresh sunflowers in hand.

Unwavering faith. Admiration. Sincerity.

To love until the end.

A proposal with the highest affections.

He stood beneath her willow and wrapped the flowers in the moonlit branches. They carried the fresh blooms to his love, his declaration loud for all of the Forest to hear–

“You’ve captured my heart, my sweet Willow Maid. With your Forest’s blessing, I would be honored to be your groom.”

She smelled the sunflowers, cradling them in her arms like the most precious of gifts. She released them to the branches, watching them drift high into the willow, out of her sight and out of his.

The wind whispered across his cheek, blossoms shrouding the maiden before she appeared before him at the base of the tree. He took her into his arms, holding her close against him. Everything about her was perfect, the velvet soft petals of her gown, the radiating warmth of her skin, the smell of ambrosia in her hair.

There would be no other for him, in this life and every life.

His heart was completely hers, just as hers was his.

“My dear, darling hunter,” she spoke, her hands a soft caress on his cheeks. “I can wed you never. Not near, nor far, nor soon.”

A heart-shattering rejection that would have ruined him for love eternally had she not looked so mournful. So regretful.

“Why?” he begged. “What is it that keeps you from me?”

A hand on his heart, the other on her tree he feels the pulse–the life–thrum through her fingertips. “I told you, I cannot leave this place.”

He grasped her hand in his, his voice a sweet murmur as he gave her his solution. “Then don’t.”

A long-awaited kiss, and an even longer-awaited night possessed by the feel, the touch, the love of one another. A promise of dedication, of ever-lasting love. Whispers sewn into the infinite roots of her willow.

They rested against her tree after, pressed against one another as she traced along his chest, a glowing willow forever marked over his heart.

“The Forest is not your home, my lovely hunter, and I would not be so cruel as to bind you to it. You may come and go as you please. I will always be here, awaiting your visits, but you cannot ask me to follow where you lead.”

A plea unheard, falling deaf on sleeping ears.

The barkeep comes to refill the ale, and the pressure releases as Kyle thanks him with a smile.

“This is startin’ to sound…personal,” MacTavish jokes, and Price is thankful for the man’s sharp eyes and unrestrained tongue.

Kyle murmurs something they don’t catch, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Perhaps it is,” he shrugs. There’s something playful in his tone. Mischievous. As if he's proud of their keen attentions.

“Laying with the Fae’s an awfully bold thing to do, but promising yourself to one?” Price lets out a low whistle.

“Foolish, more like,” MacTavish chuckles.

It wasn’t unheard of. There were stories of humans being whisked away in the night to live a life of comfort and luxury among their Fae lovers. They were mostly fairytales, told to satisfy young children and hopeless romantics, as most of those who’d grown already knew of the dangers of the Fae.

They knew the true nature of the Fae, and that a mortal’s comfort often went hand in hand with servitude. Wealth and luxury were rewards for proper entertainment and could be stripped away at a moment’s notice. The Fae were as cruel as they were kind, and their promises were not to be taken lightly.

“Maybe a little of both,” Kyle hums. “Love makes fools of even the best of us.”

“I’ll drink t’ tha’!” MacTavish laughs, and the pressure in his limbs loosens enough to allow him to toast his cup against Kyle’s.

“So,” Simon speaks up, flexing his hands as a test of mobility. When he’s given range, he leans back his chair, one hand resting around his cup. “What happened next?”

There’s something mournful in Kyle’s smile. A pained regret they very easily recognize.

They’ve all known that sting of loss.

“What happened next…”

…It was the tree.

The willow–her willow–kept her bound to the Forest, away from her love. She had tried everything in her power to make it see reason, to let her wander from its ring of toadstools.

She made offerings, formed new creatures to take her stead, begged at its roots.

It denied her every time.

The man tried to stay with her, but I–he could not thrive in the moonlight alone. He could not live off of Forest’s magic as she could. He had to return to the village.

They were resigned to spend their years as often apart as with each other. Not a moment together was wasted. Their joinings were beautiful–soft and tender and full of love–and their partings were miserable. They mourned in their time away, grief-stricken and sick with yearning for their other half.

Five years of this unending misery, and the man had had enough.

He stormed through the forest, a fury of determination. The trees parted for him, in fear of the sharpness of his eyes and of the axe in his hands.

He was going to take his faerie—his wife—and free her from her prison. They were going to be happy together, raise their children together, live their lives together as they were meant to.

He did not waste time when he reached the clearing, did not give her warning before his first swing.

The roots sprung forth, ripping through the earth to lash at the hunter, striking across his face to draw blood from his cheek.

Still, he did not stop.

Neither did the tree.

The Willow Maid dove from its branches, shielding her hunter’s body with her own, taking the strike in his place.

The willow halted its assault, axe planted firmly in its trunk.

She stumbled to her feet, the split across her back dripping into the pale grass, staining its blades a shimmering gold. She stepped a sure foot forward, crushing the toadstools beneath her bare feet, and took the axe in hand.

The echoes of her wailing melted into the cracking of the wood.

The cry of her willow as it fell would haunt the forest for a millennium.

She collapsed into sobs, but it was not for her willow that she cried. She cradled the bloodied body of her poor, dear hunter close to her chest. Hair falling around them, its long tendrils soaked by the sweet smelling blood-sap oozing from her tree.

She wept.

For him, for her, for their freedom and love.

She wept.

Her willow personified.

She waited until he was strong enough to stand, to face her, to hold her. A kiss over the cold corpse of her once caretaker.

He led her back through the forest, hand clasped tightly around hers, ready to bring her home. His home, her home, their home.

When they came to the forest edge, she gasped at the sight of the village. The burning orange sunset streaked across the fields, the speckle of lights from their windows against the darkening land, the sound of cheer and laughter and freedom.

Her smile was bright enough to rival the stars, eager to start her new life with her love eternal.

Two steps past the forest edge.

That was as far as she got.

Two steps beyond the threshold and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hunter held onto her, lowering her into the warm grass. Her body seized in his arms, barkskin peeling and flaking into thin wood chips. Cheeks sinking in, hair thinning into long blades of grass, petal clothes wilting against her body.

She pawed at his face, eyes wild with fear and confusion. Her whimpers and wordless pleas broke his heart, begging every god he could think of to fix his sweet Willow Maid.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She was supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be happy. Together.

He felt her fade, her body melting in his arms, and a shrieking lament tore from his throat as he lost his one and only love, left with only her dim golden blood sliding through his fingers.

The sun set, the moon taking its place high in the sky.

The wind whispered across his skin, a fresh sting against the cut on his cheek, carrying with it the voice of her fallen willow.

“You’ve stolen from me that which is most precious. Don’t you know that pain you sow is pain you reap?”

The Forest murmurs, trees rustled in the growing moonlight. Shimmering silver growing and growing from the dense woods, until it was almost blinding.

“You have taken but you have not given in return, and so I make this trade instead. I will take from you what you took from me.”

The golden blood began to glow on his hands, glow on the ground, glow in the moonlight, light rising and rising and rising. It skimmed petal-soft across his hands, slinking into the grass where the dirt drank and digested it.

There was shouting from the village as the lights crescendoed into one final, blinding beam then faded entirely. Everything was left in muted, dull tones as if the color was stripped from the world, the Forest silent and still for the first time since its conception.

He knew that the Forest would provide for them no longer.

All that remained was a beautiful, glowing flower. A moon-white blossom, a cruel reminder of what he had done.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet, one last biting sentence from the willow.

“You can not take from the Forest what was never meant to leave.”

Kyle finishes his tale with a sigh of longing.

“It was the biggest mistake I ever made,” he says, eyes cast down at the table.

“A cruel lesson,” Price laments, eyes full of sympathy for the young man.

“And one repaid in blood,” Kyle sighs grimly. He takes a deep swig, setting his cup aside as the pressure lifts entirely from the group across from him.

“The flower wilted by morning, taken from me forever, and I…did not respond kindly. I took up arms against the Forest’s creatures, hunted them to near extinction, and cut down every tree in sight. The magic was gone, but my people rejoiced. They named me Garrick, Spear King.”

The table goes still.

They’ve heard of the Great Spear King. There’s not a soul alive who hasn’t. The story of how he founded the kingdoms, brought the world to rule under one benevolent ruler, was taught to every child, passed on through every generation.

There were holidays named for him. Parades in his honor.

Respects paid to his burial chambers every year.

Kyle watches the realization wash over them, the skepticism, the caution. He stands from the table, a small gesture out the window.

“The ruins of my village lie a tenday’s walk in that direction. Just beyond the flooded river, in a deep valley. There are remnants, sometimes, when the moon is brightest. You may not get everything you wished for, but there is power in that soil.”

“And that’s what the others found? Is it truly soil that they keep hidden in their vaults? Is it dirt that they credit their wealth and power to?” Simon scoffs.

“If it is, it’s not from the Fae,” Kyle shrugs. “There’s nothing left of their magic in this world. I made sure of it.”

“Then, why tell us?” MacTavish questions. The once-king shrugs again, adjusting the fastening of his cloak.

“Curiosity? Boredom? Or perhaps, I just wanted someone to know the truth, and you lot seemed trustworthy enough.”

It should be a compliment, the highest honor given from the man who founded their nation, but it feels…sad.

“I wish you luck, travelers. It is a rare day indeed that I find myself so open to sharing secrets.”

Kyle doesn’t wait for them to say their goodbyes, or say anything really. He gives them a curt nod, and turns to head up the stairs to the tavern’s second floor.

They wait until nightfall to leave, making their way down the path under the shroud of darkness.

Kyle watches from the window of his room, sitting tucked in the windowsill. His cloak abandoned on the uneven bed, he smooths his thumb over the well-worn metal of the locket around his neck. The tree’s glow is dim, barely noticeable unless he cups his hands around it, but it’s there.

He waits until the trio fades from his vision, shifting against the rotting wood to sit up straight. The moonlight casts its shine down through the foggy panes, but it’s enough light to satisfy him.

Pressing his fingers into the sides of locket, he holds it under the light as it opens with a soft click.

Petals burst from the seams, throwing the locket open to release a beautiful, bountiful white bloom. The flower soaks up the moonlight, waves of golden light pulsing over its velvet petals.

For one moment, he is that young man again, no longer carrying the burden of loss in his eyes, or the torment of a man who has been granted the curse of eternal life.

He presses a tender kiss to the flower. “I’ve missed you, my love.”

The flower glows just a bit brighter.

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz #mw fics #moth writes #tw: blood #tw: death #tw: loss #private

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silent-raven13 · 8 months

Text

Silent Treatment

Miles normally don't get upset, he's a very forgiving person and is willing to let his anger fade out. BUT! When he does get upset, he will give anyone the silent treatment. Especially today when his boyfriend made him very upset.

Gwen and Pav noticed Hobie following Miles from a distant. They thought this was weird, because they are always side by side. Pav asked, "I wonder what happen?" He quietly gasps, "Did they broke up?"

"No, maybe Hobie is gonna surprise him." Gwen said to her friend, "But... why he's not scaring him already?"

The noticed Miles by himself, "Hey, where did Hobie go to?"

Hobie appeared behind the two, "Actually, mates... Miles' is giving me the silent treatment."

The two were startled causing Gwen to scream, "How did you get here?"

"Ahh, don't do that!" Pav shouted.

"Sorry..." Hobie mutters feeling all gloomy.

"Dude, what did you do to piss him off?" Gwen asked, with her arms crossed.

Pav nodded, "Yeah, he never gets mad."

"I... Hmm, how do I put this?" Hobie explains they had a fight about him bringing mud into Miles room through the window. It's a habit of the punker have dirty muddy boots, sometimes dragging a lot of mud through Miles' window leaving stains on his window seat.

Well, this time Miles got super upset because he told Hobie to clean his boots before entering! He just finished cleaning his room, which meant he scrub the stained window seat and window frames very clean. Took him a good thirty minutes or more. When he was finished everything look so much nicer.

Just then Hobie came through the fire escape window, stepping on the cleaned window seat with his dirty muddy boots. Miles came back to the room seeing the trail of mud after he finish scrubbing the floors! An anger that swept into the nineteen year old, that he told Hobie, why didn't he listen to him? Hobie merely stated he forgot.

Miles told to leave before he starts cursing the hell out of him. So Hobie thought his Sunflower would cool down for a day or two, but Miles had responded his text back. He felt upset, terrible... a little annoyed since he forgot.

"Ahhh, didn't you guys always have a fight about that, tho?" Gwen asked.

Pav nodded, "Yeah, I even wrote it on Spder So-City's Punkflower Blog. See!" He holds his Smartphone up to show his blog posts.

Hobie sighs, "I didn't think he would be so upset, and now he's ignoring me." He hunched over being depressed.

Gwen said, "Just go apologize. I would be mad too if I spend the whole time cleaning on my Saturday, then somebody messed it up."

"Yeah, Hobie. Just say your sorry."

"I'll try."

The three went to find Miles at Headquarters study hall, since a lot of Spider-heroes are teenagers, Miguel made a special place for them to study. The black Latino sat on one of the chairs with a large table while reading a book for his English class.

"There he is! Okay, go." Gwen whispers to her punker friend.

Hobie had cold feet. "Wow, you're never afraid." Pavitr gawks at him.

"It's just... it's just- what if he dumps me?" Hobie on all fours being on the ground looking pathetic.

"Oh come on! One fight isn't the end of the world!" The blond young woman picks him up, "Just go over there and talk." She pushes him toward Miles' direction. "Go!"

Pav nodded, "Yeah, go!"

Hobie stood a few steps behind Miles, then he hunched over in defeat. "OH COME ON! YOU DIDN'T SAY HELLO!" Gwen shouted out loud.

"Shhh!" All the younger Spider-heroes hushes her.

"Sorry." She whispers feeling embarrassed, then glares at Hobie.

Hobie casually went up to Miles trying to be cool. "Hey, luv." He said calmly.

Miles ignores him. Hobie hunch over the ground with all fours feeling so depressed his beloved Sunflower ignoring him. Pav being dumbfounded, "Wow, he really pissed off Miles, huh?"

"I guess so." Gwen said.

"Ahem, hey Sunflower!" This time Hobie said it loud and clear.

Miles ignores him again, a young Spider-man passes Miles, "Oh hey, Miles. Working hard?"

"Oh hey, Peter. Yeah, gotta catch up on my homework." Miles happily said.

"Say, who is that behind you?"

"Oh, no one." Miles smiles.

This send jabs into Hobie's heart. He quickly hugs Miles legs being all teary eye, "Sunflower! It's me, your baby!"

The young Spider-man looked confused, and Miles merely smile, "Don't worry about him. Anyway, I gotta finish reading."

"Okay, see ya later." His friend left to go back to studying the other side of the room.

Miles smiles then he looks at his boyfriend who's resting his head on his thigh, "Hobie..."

"Hmph?"

"I'm still mad at you." Miles huffs as he continues to give him the silent treatment.

Hobie whines, "Lllluuuuvvvvvv, please don't ignore me. I'm sorry! It was an accident. Pleeeaaassseeee, Sunflower!"

His boyfriend stays quiet still ignoring him, Hobie acted like Billie when she has her tantrums or fits. Good thing, he can handle it. Hobie kept saying, "I'm sorry, darling. I am! Do you need anything? I'll get you lunch or flowers or we can go to that Indian restaurant you always wanted to try in my world. I'll do anything for you! Anything."

"Anything?" Miles asked as he closed his book.

"Yes."

"I want you to leave me alone, Hobie. I'm still mad at you." Miles turns his head to him being serious.

"But darling!"

Miles ignores him with another huff. "Hmph."

Gwen said to Pav, "He's very mad at him, huh?"

"Yeah." Pav said.

Through out the evening, Hobie clingy on to Miles the whole time. He even slouches on Miles' back being dragging by him all around. Gwen and Pav watches how needy Hobie became for his boyfriend.

"I swear, Hobie was never like this." Gwen said.

"Yeah, he use to be all I-Don't-Give-A-Shit attitude and would walk away." Pav said in a tough voice. "Maybe they been together so long, y'know."

"Yeah, I agree. Hobie is more relaxed and always wants to make his boo happy." Gwen giggles. "But..." Their eyes saw how Hobie being depressed without Miles' attention.

"This is really sad..." Pavitr being lost for words.

Miles sighs look at his boyfriend on the ground, "Hobie, I told you to leave me alone."

"No!" He said in a childish manner. "I wanna talk about this. I said I was sorry." He pouts being upset.

Miles sighs then noticed other Spider-heroes looking at them. "Ugh, fine! Come on," He took his man's collar vest dragging him to a table in the courtyard up on HQ. Gwen and Pav follow with their own milkshakes for them and the gang.

"Well?" Miles asked his boyfriend.

"Darling, I'm sorry. I forgot to clean my boots. I didn't mean to."

Miles slurps his milkshake, "Okay."

"Okay, so that means you forgive me?"

"I'm still mad at you, Hobie. I told you many times to always clean your shoes," Miles pouts, "and you always forget. And I took my Saturday morning cleaning my room because I taken the day off as Spider-man! Once I finally made my room so clean, you put mud through the whole room like you didn't give a shit. That hurt my feelings. So, yeah I'm still pretty pissed off." He slurps his milkshake.

"Is there anything Hobie can do to fix it?" Pavitr asked.

Miles took a moment, "Hmmm."

Gwen giggles, "Come on, Miles. Look at your baby, he's been so depress without you."

Hobie hugging Miles being all sad and depress. "He's acting like Billie. He'll be fine." Miles said.

"Don't be cruel to me, luv. Let me make it up to you." Hobie frowns. "I am sorry."

"Well, you pissed off the wrong Latino, bae. So hmph." His beloved Sunflower giving him the silent treatment.

"Luuuuvvvv!"

The silent treatment went on for three more days, and Hobie was able to lighten up Miles' mood by cleaning his room. He scrubs the dirty stained window seat and floors, while Billie watches having her sippy cup filled with juice. She made sure Hobie clean the floor spotless acting like the boss, "Oi. Oi." She uses a fake deep voice acting like a tough guy.

"Where did she leave that?" Hobie asked out loud as he scrubs Miles' floor.

Miles grins widely having to finish typing his book report, "She's watching One Piece with me, and Adobe Asobase."

Billie huffs, "Clean!" She commanded Hobie. "Baka!"

Miles laughs with amusement, "Wow, bae. You must really miss me, huh?"

"Your mood is better." Hobie smiles happily, but Billie shoot her web shooter at his face, "Darling, that's cheating."

"Clean." She demands being tough, "Baka!" Sipping her juice, she proudly grins at her big brother. "Good?"

"Yes, mi bebé! You're doing a great job." Miles smiles widely making his little sister happy. "Besides, she likes being in charge."

Billie giggles rushing over to her older brother's leg, "Up!"

"OKay, Boo-boo." Miles picks her up to snuggle her.

"Awe, what about me?" Hobie cutely pouts going over to snuggle with his Sunflower.

"No, baka!" Billie pats him away.

Miles giggles feeling his boyfriend's kisses on his cheek, "Fine, you get this chance, besides I'm not mad at you. But I still want you to finish cleaning up."

"Oh I will." Hobie blew raspberry kisses on his Miles' cheek.

"Ah, bae. That's gross." Miles giggles.

"I need to give you all the lost love from your cruel punishment, darling." Hobie buries his face into Miles' neck, somehow he found a way to have his Sunflower sit on his lap.

"Maybe next time listen to me." Miles said as a matter of fact.

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #across the spider verse #spider verse #spider man #miles morales 1610 #miles morales 42 #miles x hobie #hobie x miles #flowerpunk #spiderverse

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rottenpumpkin13 · 4 months

Note

I think the moment Seph discovered pasta salad was a thing and he tried it, it would change the directory of his life

Cloud throws open the door frantically, running into the house. His mother looks up from the pot she's stirring, ready to reprimand her son for not taking his muddy boots off, but stopping when she notices the expression of panic on Cloud's face.

"Ma!" Cloud pants. "Sephiroth locked himself in the Shinra mansion's library! We think he's going insane!"

Claudia puts her wooden spoon down and reaches for her recipe book. "Say no more."

(Later)

Sephiroth is shoveling his ninth helping of pasta salad into his mouth at rapid speed. Claudia stands behind him, tying his hair up and out of his face.

Yellowed texts and old books are strewn haphazardly across the table, discarded in favor of the ginormous pasta salad bowl in the middle.

"—and now how am I supposed to go on with the knowledge that I'm barely a human being?" Sephiroth chokes through mouthfuls of pasta. "That I've been fed nothing but lies my entire life?"

Claudia hums. "Sweetie, maybe if you feed yourself good things from now on, you can revert the pain in your heart."

Sephiroth continues chewing, pensively. "I don't believe that food can fix any of this."

Claudia finishes tying his hair. "Would you like to try some cheesecake next?"

Sephiroth stops chewing. His pupils expand, he sits up straight and nods eagerly.

Zack and Cloud stand in the library's doorway watching all of this.

"I can't believe we didn't think of this earlier," Zack says, smiling.

Cloud frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can't believe you were stupid enough to tell her that he hasn't eaten in months."

"So?" Zack frowns. "What's the problem with that?"

Cloud frowns. "She's going to put him in a food coma."

"Nice!"

#ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth #ff7 crisis core #ff7r #cloud strife #zack fair #writing

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areyoudreaminof · 2 months

Text

Pork and Beans: WIP

In which Jurian tells Elain’s pet pig he’s going to eat her.

Lucien heard the shrieking beneath his feet before he saw anything. Looking down at the mud, a small pink piglet screamed at his boots. Her rump was covered in caked dirt as she posed to strike, her curly little tail thumping away. The piglet bucked on its haunches and zoomed around his legs with fury.

They didn’t have a pig, he was absolutely sure of that.

Dodging the squealing little demon, he shook off his muddy boots. “Would someone be so kind as to explain to me why there is a piglet in the yard?” Lucien asked the moment he crossed the threshold.

Elain and Jurian looked up from the papers spread out on the table. Elain’s eyes were wide with something like guilt, while Jurian’s lips were spread into a shit eating grin.

“So you’ve met Beanie, huh?” Jurian asked with a maniacal breath.

“If that’s the pig squealing in the mud, then yes I’ve met Beanie.” Lucien said, stunned. “But what’s it doing here?”

“We’re not calling her Beanie!” Elain snapped.

Jurian snorted, “Sure we are, because we’re going to eat her with beans.”

Elain huffed and tossed her hair and grumbled something. Lucien, still slack jawed, stood in the kitchen waiting for an explanation.

“You remember Lady Brighton? The widow who’s providing a fleet and has been using her sons to smuggle Scythian’s out of prison? Well, her grandson raises pigs, and he very kindly gave us one. We’re going to fatten her up and eat her.” Jurian said, smacking his lips for effect, “Some juicy, crispy bacon with eggs.”

Elain spun with fury, “We are not eating her. I am going to train her to hunt for mushrooms. Pigs are some of the most intelligent creatures!”

“Bacon also goes great with mushrooms.” Jurian shot back.

“Did someone say bacon?” Vassa’s voice beat her to the kitchen as she entered, wide eyed. “I haven’t had bacon in months.”

“Give it a few more months and we will have a whole store of bacon, my Queen.” Jurian said with a smug grin and a wink.

Elain turned her nose up, steadying her breathing as she put her hands on her hips. “There will be no bacon unless you go buy it somewhere else! Poppy is off limits.”

“Oh no, not a name! You actually didn’t name the food supply!” Jurian howled with laughter while Vassa swayed between them, deciding whose side she should take. Lucien still stood in the kitchen, utterly confused as Elain stopped past him into the yard where she began to coo at the little piglet.

“It is cute,” Vassa said with some uncertainty, “and pigs are quite smart.”

“Piglets are cute,” Jurian said with an air of false authority, “but pigs are tasty when they’re full grown. Honey bacon and beans over a fire?” The Mad General sighed like a boy in love.

“I should go check on Elain,” Lucien mumbled as he shuffled towards the back door once again.

The cool summer breeze met him again as he found Elain sitting cross legged on the muddy ground, the little piglet in her arms, scratching it’s neck. The little piglets eyes were closed in ecstasy, its curly tail wiggling as Elain mumbled to it.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing? We won’t eat you.”

Lucien knelt beside her, kissing her neck. “I know we had planned to wait, but I suppose we’re pig parents now.” he teased as he gave the pig a little scratch. The animal gave a satisfied little snort, and Lucien could swear he could see a smile on its face.

“Jurian is an idiot,” Elain huffed, “he actually giggled when Colin brought him over, and said she smelled tasty. Poor boy looked like he was going to cry. Send him over to Tamlin, it would do him some good.”

“Jurian would eat every morsel in the Spring Court,” Lucien laughed, still scratching the wiry white fur on the piglets neck. “Not much of a punishment.”

“Then I’ll put him on compost duty,” she sniffed daintily.

#elucien #band of exiles #Jurian is a menace #but so is elain #Jassa

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twostepstyless · 1 year

Text

Let It Settle

Fic Advent Calendar Day 2

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

SFW

Author's Note: It's tree buying day and just because it was dry doesn't mean it wasn't muddy. Harry demands they let the tree settle and wants a practice run for the mistletoe. As always, likes, reblogs, feedback of any variety is accepted and encouraged, loves ya - G x

Word Count: 1.9k

***

Harry, if you wear those, they’ll get so gross,” Y/N peered down at his white shoes, granted they weren’t perfectly white, they’re definitely worn in, but his thought process of deciding to wear white trainers round a muddy field was blowing her mind a bit.

“It’s dry outside, it surely won’t be that bad,” Harry groaned as he stood up from his seat on the stairs where he was tying his shoelaces, before taking a quick look out the window to see an overcast day, dry but still a little bleak looking.

“Harry,” she deadpanned, “it’s rained for the last week before you came home, the fact it was raining so hard was the reason you were delayed so much coming home.”

God, he hated admitting she was right, in fact not even that she was right, more so that he had been too stupid to think of it himself. So, he sighed, turned and went back upstairs to their walk-in wardrobe and returned with a pair of welly boots in hand that he’d worn maybe 3 times max. He’d bought them for a trip to Glastonbury festival years ago and they never saw light of day when the festival was uncharacteristically warm and dry that year, so they’ve lived in the closet ever since.

“I’ll stick’em in the boot, if it’s that bad when we get there, I’ll put them on,” Harry resigned as he left the boots by the door before approaching Y/N who seemed to be fighting with her coat and helped her adjust the lapels before fastening the button for her with a short kiss that he couldn’t help himself from stealing from her when he was so close to her lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his lips before breaking away and slipping her feet into her own wellies as Harry raided through the drawer in their entry table for the set of car keys he wanted. Finding the keyring for the Range Rover, he pulled it out and dangled it in front of Y/N’s face.

“You driving or am I?” he jingled the keys while Y/N gave him a blank stare before adding a quirk to her eyebrow. “Right, stupid question,” Harry huffed out a laugh. Y/N hated driving, despised it really. She passed her test and had her own car and would drive if absolutely necessary and she had no other option but to be perfectly honesty, she’s a proud passenger princess, and Harry loved driving, so who was she to take away to great joy he got from chauffeuring her around.

“Let’s get a move on, eh?” Harry headed to their front door with a quick slap to her bum on route, looking back over his shoulder at her with that signature smirk she loved but also wanted to slap off the side of his face sometimes.

***

They pulled into a space at the tree farm, and Harry had to admit the place did look muddy. He watched Y/N unfasten her seatbelt and jump from her seat in the car, then sink another 2 inches shorter than she would usually stand as her welly-clad feet sank into the mud. “Bet you’re glad I made you bring those wellies now,” Y/N called back into the car where Harry sat as she wriggled her right foot out of the mud that gripped her shoe.

“Baby, can you please bring my wellies from the boot round to my side?” Harry pouted.

“Nah, get them yourself, see what happens to your white trainers,” she snickered, as she went to slam her door shut.

“Sweets, please!” Harry called as the door shut. He watched her through the window and then the wing mirror as she made her way round to the boot, she was, of course, going to get them for him, but she liked to wind him up just a little bit.

Closing the boot over she made her way round to the driver’s door and popped it open, wellies under her arm, “want me to untie your laces for you too?”

“Right, cheeky,” Harry reached forward and pinched her hip before grabbing the boots, kicking off his own trainers and shoving his trouser leg into the wellies as he pulled them on and got out the car and into the muddy field.

***

“Welly boots really don’t scream sexy, do they?” Harry asked looking down at himself, his trousers were a bit baggier and hung over the edge of the boots.

“I don’t know, I think you wear it well,” Y/N said grabbing his hand to interlock them as they walked into the main Christmas tree farm.

“Don’t lie,” Harry shot her a look of amusement, if she genuinely thought he was anything close to sexy right, he’s concerned for her welfare.

“No, you’re like a high fashion farmer or roof thatcher or something,” she giggled pulling him along to the little pop-up stall that was selling hot chocolate and bags of reindeer dust for kids.

“A fucking roof thatcher?” Harry exclaimed pulling Y/N backward when she tried to keep walking when Harry stopped dead.

“Aw you know what I mean, like a sexy roof thatcher,” she giggled, “y’know like… country, walking in nature, working with the land, rugged,” she listed off and pretended to fan herself with her free hand.

“You’re a menace,” Harry pulled her into his chest quickly holding both of her hands before bringing his lips to hers, open-mouthed and soft-lipped, he kissed her delicately but still conveyed every drop of love he held for her.

“Mmm, talk gardening tools to me,” she moaned under her breath as he parted from her before they both burst into a fit of giggles.

“Piss off and pick the bloody tree,” Harry laughed dropping her hands and turning her body by her shoulders towards the trees, “I’ll get the hot chocolates. Cream and marshmallows?” he asked her over his shoulder as he walked up to the stall.

“Yes please,” Y/N smiled sweetly before going off to get lost amongst the trees.

***

Who knew it was so easy to lose someone in a Christmas tree lot? Harry had been walking the aisles for nearly 10 minutes with the near scalding hot chocolates burning his hands through the flimsy cups.

“Y/N/N!” Harry called again, as he entered another row of trees.

“M’here H,” she called back, her voice sounded closer this time, but he still didn’t have an eye on her.

“Saying you’re here, doesn’t help when I can’t see you m’love,” Harry replied as he paced along that aisle of trees, the pine scent combined with the biting cold doing an outstanding job of clearing his sinuses.

“Follow my voice then. Should we play Marco Polo?” Harry heard the grin in her voice as he turned onto her row, seeing her looking up at a tree, inspecting its branches.

“Marco,” he called almost taunting.

Pol-OH! There y’are, gorgeous,” she turned her back, jumping at how close he was to her, as he handed her the hot chocolate, that she clutched with both hands to warm her chilled fingertips. “Mm, thank you,” she sighed after taking a sip letting out a hearty sigh as the sweet liquid warmed her through.

Harry wrapped his free arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side under his arm. “Y’welcome sweetheart, s’this the one then?” he asked looking up at the tree she had stopped in front of.

“Think so, does it look the right height, not too tall, right? I can’t really judge it,” she looked up at him, as Harry took them a step backwards so he could size it up.

“Hmm, yeah, I think so, looks like it’ll go through the front door at least. Nice an’ full too, innit?” Harry responded.

“Well, y’know I’d never pick a sparse tree,” Y/N nudged his hip as they both finished their hot chocolates.

“Want to wait here, then? I’ll go get the guy to give it the chop,” he widened his eyes at the last bit as if they were committing a brutal murder on the tree as Y/N nodded as Harry left to try and work out the maze to find the man with the axe.

***

“Imagine it falls off the car on the drive home,” Y/N snorted from the passenger seat.

“Y/N!”

“What?” she was in fits of laughter at Harry’s face at her comment.

“That’s one of those thoughts that should’ve stayed in your head, let’s not speak it into existence, yeah?” Harry rolled his eyes, before reaching over and squeezing her knee, which he knew she hated as she screamed and slapped his hand off her knee.

“Would be funny, though,” she muttered, side-eyeing him.

“I’m sure it would be dead funny when I leave you to pick the tree up off the road,” Harry shot her a faux glare.

“Hysterical ‘cause you’d be the one picking it up, every last needle,” she grinned before reaching over the centre console to press a wet kiss to his cheek with a loud ‘mwah’ to coincide with it as Harry playfully wiped her kiss from his face.

***

“We’re decorating tomorrow, yeah?” Y/N asked Harry as she shuffled into the living room in her slippers seeing Harry cutting off the last of the wrapping round the tree. Harry had this thing about letting the tree ‘breathe’ over night before wrapping it in lights and baubles.

“Mhmm, I’ve got m’last meeting of the year in the morning, then we’re going all in on the Christmas decorating. I’m talking lights, tinsel, garlands, a shitload of mistletoe kisses if I’m feeling lucky,” he listed off, finishing with a wink before he threw himself down in the couch before reaching for his love and tugging her down between his legs.

Her back hit his chest as his chin hooked over her shoulder as they both stared at the tree that took up the entire window of the living room. If they’re being honest they both misjudged the height of the tree and it barely got through the front door and they did have to give the top a little snip if they have any hope in hell on getting a star on top tomorrow.

“I think y’could be lucky,” Y/N smiled.

“Yeah?” he turned to look at her, his nose brushing her cheek.

“I’ve not got any mistletoe but y’can have a practice now if you fancy,” she turned to face him bumping her nose against his.

“Oh, I fancy alright,” Harry smirked as he crowded over her, lips reaching for hers, tongue tracing her lip as they parted, opening up for him instantly. His tongue caressed hers, pillowy lips moving softly, but no less bruising. He knocked her breathless, as her fingers scrunched his t-shirt pulling him impossibly closer. As she gasped for air, Harry was insatiable as his lips travelled. Stopping at the corner of her lips, her cheek, under her ear and settling with languid licks and soft suckles to her neck.

“Mhm, good practice run, great job,” she panted, fingers coming up to tangle in his hair as his teeth scraped the sensitive skin of her neck. As they were embraced in the scent of fresh pine, if you listened close enough, underneath the pants of their breathing, you could hear the needles of the tree drop against the floor as the tree settled.

***

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Full Masterlist

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #Harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #harry imagine #Harry styles #harry styles oneshot #one direction fanfiction #one direction #harry styles christmas #twostepstyless advent calendar

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drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

Text

July 3: Fruit Stand

Harry hadn't ever skived off of work. He'd never called in sick (even when he was), he'd never taken a mental health day, never even used a day of vacation time.

But when he woke up this morning, he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't go into work for another day, couldn't listen to stories of heart ache and misery, couldn't keep fighting the darkness like there was nothing else left in the world.

So he called in sick. It was surprisingly, ridiculously simple. They didn't even ask him any questions.

As soon as he got off the floo call, he put on a pair of muggle skinny jeans and plain black t-shirt. He pulled his hair up into a messy bun, put on a pair of sunglasses, and got into the convertible he'd purchased on a whim three years ago.

With the top down, Harry took off down the road, music blaring as he drove wherever the roads took him.

He ended up driving along the dirt roads in the country, hardly wide enough for two cars. The fields and the sun, the dirt and the humid air, it made him all but giddy.

And when he saw a fruit stand off the side of the road, he couldn't resist pulling over to see what they were selling. He parked and meandered through, touching the veggies and fruits, sniffing the bouquets of fresh flowers.

The sound of a crate being set onto the table behind him startled him and he turned, ready to greet the person who'd come into the stall only to be struck mute instead.

And for a moment, Harry was certain that it couldn’t be Draco Malfoy unloading mason jars onto the table. Draco Malfoy would never be caught wearing dirty jeans and a white tshirt with a hole in the side. He couldn’t have imagined that Malfoy would have hair long enough to braid, but that strands would slip messily out of the braid. There was no world in which Draco Malfoy would be caught wearing muddy work boots, or that he’d have dirt streaking his forearms all the way up to his elbows.

The other man was still adjusting the glass jars when he spoke and Harry was positive it was Malfoy, "Good morning," he started, "sorry I wasn't here when you-" he turned and caught sight of Harry, "Potter?" he asked, taking a startled step back. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I don't even know where here is," Harry confessed. "I just started driving-"

"And ended up at my fruit stand?" he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he replied, “As unbelievable as it sounds.”

Malfoy blinked at him, seemed to weigh that information in his mind before nodding once, "fine."

"Fine?"

He shrugged and went back to pulling the glass jars out of the crate he'd brought over. "What else am I supposed to say?"

And when Harry actually thought about that, he supposed that was fair. What had he expected? "Maybe you'd like to insult me, for old time's sake," he offered.

Malfoy snorted, "I'm more self aware than I was at 13."

Harry cocked his head at him, finger idly tracing the fuzzy skin of a peach in the basket in front of him, "What does that mean?"

"That I can recognize that I was a gay teenager, desperate for attention."

Harry laughed, couldn't help it. Malfoy's eyes flashed but Harry spoke up before he could say anything, "It's funny because that was one of the first things I realized after I realized I was bi."

Malfoy's shoulders eased a bit, he gave Harry another long assessing look and seemed to decide to hold his tongue. "Those peaches are good, by the way."

"Are they?" Harry asked as he lifted one from the basket.

The other man hummed, "I have it on good authority that they're the best batch of peaches I've ever sold."

"Good authority, huh?" Harry said as he pulled out his wallet.

"First one's on the house," Malfoy said, waving away the money Harry was trying to offer him. "And yes, Martha has been buying my peaches for her pies for years. She just won the county pie baking contest yesterday and told me that she was certain it was because my peaches are to die for this year."

"Only one way to find out, I suppose," Harry replied as he brought the peach to his lips and bit into it. Flavor burst across his tongue, juice dripping down his chin and fingers, and he couldn't help but let out a soft groan at how good it tasted.

"Told you," Malfoy said with a pleased little grin as he watched Harry.

He swallowed the bite, "Merlin, Malfoy," he said. "That is the best thing I have ever tasted. I want to buy an entire bushel."

"I'll make a deal with you," Malfoy said, "If you help me with carrying up some crates from my barn, I'll give you an entire bushel."

"Alright," he replied around another mouthful of decadent peach, because he honestly couldn't see a downside to that.

Malfoy grinned at him, "Come on then."

He followed the other man toward the barn, tossing away the pit once he'd finished the fruit. Malfoy pulled the door open and Harry was met with the sight of more crates than he'd ever seen in his life. "What in the name of Merlin-"

"I don't grow all of my own fruit, obviously," Malfoy said. "So I trade with other farmers. I have lots of crates to return," he added.

Harry laughed, "I'll say."

"I just don't have time-" Malfoy started, "And they all have families to help them-"

He softened, he understood that sentiment well, "I'll help," he said quickly.

Malfoy gave him a grateful little smile and Harry wondered at it for a moment, until Malfoy started giving him instructions. "It's pretty simple," he said earnestly, "Just sort them by their marking, we'll make stacks out by the fruit stand so that we can trade back."

"Got it," Harry said as he started to pull crates down.

There was the sound of crunching gravel as a car pulled up, "Sorry-" Malfoy started.

"It's fine," Harry said, waving him off, "Go ahead."

Malfoy gave him a grateful little smile and headed over toward the fruit stand once more. Harry watched him go for a minute before turning back to the crates and starting to sort once more.

-----------------

It had taken him a couple of hours, but he'd managed to sort everything and bring the crates up to sit beside the fruit stand. In return, Malfoy had given him a bushel of peaches for his labor.

That had been five weeks ago and Harry had found himself driving back each week on his day off. To buy more peaches, of course. Not because he wanted to help Draco.

Only, there was something about Draco's smile when Harry asked if he could trade him some labor for peaches that made his stomach swoop.

"The DMLE really must not pay you all that well, if you're here looking to work every week," Draco teased that afternoon after Harry had finished helping him sort the crates and fill them with the peaches and honey that Draco was trading with them.

He hummed, "I think it costs me more to work there than I actually make," he muttered darkly.

"Say more about that," Draco murmured, shoulder brushing against Harry's.

Harry closed his eyes and let the sun soak into his skin, "I feel like everything is dark there," he said, which he knew sounded like bullshit. "I'm constantly fighting wave after wave of people doing evil or idiotic shit and it just-" he broke off, shaking his head, "You start to forget that places like this exist. That sunshine and fresh air are easily accessible, that there's hard work to be done that's meaningful and life sustaining in it's own way."

Draco hummed, "Maybe you should look for a new job."

They might have said more but one of the neighboring farmers pulled up with his rusty old pick up and they were swapping out crates of produce.

Still, the thought echoed in Harry's mind when he went to bed that night, not quite able to shake it.

--------------

When he returned the next week, he was a bit worse for the wear; the last case he'd been on had gone horribly wrong. His magic going haywire in self defense had been the only thing that let him make it out alive. He was hobbling a bit as he got out of his car and made his way around the trunk, wincing as pain tugged at his ribs.

"You look like shit," Draco said when he looked up and caught sight of him, but the concern in his voice and in his eyes belied his words.

Harry hummed, "Being cursed repeatedly with experimental curses will do that to a person."

"What?" Draco asked, rising to his feet and moving to Harry, fingers fluttering over Harry's neck as he looked at him.

And it felt so good, to have someone care, to have Draco's tentative fingers brushing his skin as though he wanted to fix something, that his eyes welled up with tears, much to his mortification.

"Hey," Draco said, hands gripping his shoulders a bit more firmly as he drew Harry into his embrace, "Are you alright?"

"Sorry," he said, trying to pull away, "It's stupid."

"Hush," Draco replied, keeping Harry in his arms, "Tell me you're alright," he instructed.

Harry nodded against his neck, letting himself relax in Draco's arms, "I'm okay. I'll be okay," he clarified, "Just sore still."

"Okay," Draco murmured, his hands rubbing soothingly over Harry's back. "Okay," he whispered again.

When they drew back from each other Harry rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry-" he tried again.

"For what?" Draco asked, as he went back to putting fruit into the display cases. "Having human emotions? Not being unbreakable all the time?"

He huffed, "You didn't sign up to help me get over being a basket case."

"First, you're not a basket case, you've experienced trauma" he said, with the air of someone who had repeated that phrase over and over as he tossed Harry a peach. "Second, who has signed up for that job?"

"No one," Harry said through a mouthful of fruit. "Who would want to?"

Draco turned and looked at him, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen out of his braid behind his ear, "I would."

Before Harry could even think to respond, Draco was transfiguring a basket into a chair in the corner of the room between the peaches and the honey jars, “sit,” he instructed.

“I’m here to help,” Harry protested.

Draco nodded, “Great. Then sit down,” he repeated.

With a huff, Harry collapsed into the chair.

"Have you ever collected honey from a honey comb?"

"Is that a serious question?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Draco shrugged, "Well you know what they say about assuming things."

Harry laughed, "No, Draco," he said. "I've never collected honey from the comb."

"Well," Draco said, dragging over a box and placing it beside the chair Harry was in, "I was going to work on it today anyway. But you can work on this and since I have you here, I'll work on boxing up more jars of honey."

"Alright," Harry said, "What do I have to do?"

Draco patiently showed Harry how to use the uncapping comb to take the wax off of the honey comb that blocked the honey, then how to carefully load the honeycomb into the extractor. Harry diligently filled the extractor with the honeycomb, then, per Draco's instructions, started to hand turn the extractor. It was surprisingly difficult, hand turning the extractor, spinning the comb to get the honey to come out. But when he'd finished he felt pride swell under his breastbone and he looked up to see Draco watching him from the corner where he was putting flowers into vases, a little smile at the corner of his lips that he didn't bother hiding.

He came over to where Harry was still sitting and handed him a pail that he covered with a cheese cloth, and showed Harry how to drain the honey from the extractor and separate the wax. Then he handed him a pail for the wax, explaining that he'd make lotions, soaps, candles, and even lip balms with the wax later.

And Harry couldn't help but feel even more amazed at this version of Draco who'd learned to do so many things by hand, the muggle way. who was patient, and diligent, and hardworking.

The day went on in much the same fashion, Harry continuing to extract the honey and strain it. He helped to cover the stand when people stopped by while Draco went back and forth from the barn, bringing up crates and filling them. Draco tossed him peaches to eat throughout the day and Harry found himself staying longer than he normally would and feeling glad of it.

When Draco was closing up the fruit stand, Harry stood, covering the last bucket so it could sit for 48 hours and allow the wax to rise to the top. Draco had told him that he'd skim it off the top with a metal spoon. He stretched and winced as it pulled at a bruised rib.

"Come in for dinner?" Draco offered.

Harry blinked at him, not having expected such an invitation.

"It's nothing fancy," Draco hurried to add. "Just some beef stew that's been simmering in the crockpot and I was going to throw together some biscuits," he shrugged, "but there's enough for two. If you want?"

"I'd love that," Harry said eagerly, "If it's not too much of an imposition."

Draco smiled at him, open and easy, "Not at all. Come on," he said, nodding toward the house.

Like a stray in need of a meal, Harry followed at Draco's heels and sat at the counter, eating fresh strawberries from the carton while Draco talked about his bees and made baking powder biscuits. And Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content.

Maybe he never had.

He stayed late, they'd moved onto Draco's porch, drinking a raspberry lemonade that Draco made himself and chatted as the stars came out and the cicadas began to sing.

After a comfortable moment of silence, Harry sighed. "I should go," he said, ankle knocking against Draco's where they're resting on the porch railing next to each other.

"No you shouldn't," Draco said, turning his head to look at Harry and Harry turned to look back at him. "You should quit your job and buy a farm."

Harry laughed, "I couldn't possibly own a farm, I wouldn't know where to start."

"I didn't either," Draco said softly.

"Yeah, but you're-" he broke off, not sure how to finish that thought.

"I'm?" he prompted.

He licked his lower lip, "Resilient," he murmured, "Brilliant," he added and watched as Draco's cheeks flushed a pretty pink in the pale light coming through the kitchen window, "too stubborn for your own good," he teased.

Draco huffed a laugh, "Isn't stubborn your middle name?"

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I'm not brave like you."

"Harry James Potter!" he all but shouted, swatting at him, "you take that back, you absolute pillock. You are literally the poster child of Gryffindor bravery and heroics."

"But it's different, isn't it?" he asked softly. It was something he'd been thinking a lot about since he found Draco here all those weeks ago.

"What is?"

He shrugged, "I've been brave in all of the ways I was expected to be. I've followed the rules and guidelines laid out for me and have been the perfect storybook hero."

"Right, so bravery is also your middle name."

He laughed, "that's a lot of middle names," he teased and Draco rolled his eyes. "But it's different to be brave like you've been," he said seriously. "To try something new, something off the beaten path, to do something that no one is asking of you, to start again with no support." He shrugged, "You're really brave."

"I might kiss you," he said, eyes dropping to Harry's lips.

The smile that threatened was too big to be contained, "I might let you."

Draco was out of his seat slipping his knees on either side of Harry's thighs, and they were laughing a little breathlessly as the rocker made it an extra challenge for him to straddle Harry. Draco paused inches away from Harry's mouth, meeting his eyes, and all of the laughter drained from his body.

He carded his fingers through Harry's curls, slowly combing them back from his face as he looked at him like he was intent on memorizing every freckle. Then he carefully slipped Harry's glasses off, to allow his fingertips free access to carefully traced his temples, his cheekbones, nails scraping lightly against Harry's beard.

And Harry could barely breathe, could barely move, too afraid that if he shifted he'd break the spell and Draco would realize that it was Harry that he was touching with such reverent care.

"You've no idea just how exceptional you are, do you?" Draco asked softly but before Harry could answer, Draco's lips were brushing over his, the lightest, barely-there pressure before he drew back again.

"Draco," he rasped, "Please."

The other man groaned and cupped Harry's face as he brought their lips together once more, applying more pressure this time, and Harry's head was swimming at the contact. He gasped into the kiss and his fingers clenched in Draco's t-shirt, pulling him closer. Draco obliged him, sinking lower into his lap so he could get a better angle.

He had no idea how long they sat on the porch kissing and kissing and kissing, but he knew he was dizzy with it when Draco drew back to press their foreheads together.

He skimmed his hands along Draco's sides and Draco shuddered. "You're so sensitive," Harry murmured, and he was sure the awe in his voice was a tangible thing.

Draco swallowed and Harry nudged his chin back with his nose so he could trail kisses along the pale column of Draco's neck. Draco let out a soft whine and Harry's blood sang. "I've never-" he started, then broke off to whimper when Harry's scraped his teeth lightly over his adam's apple.

"Never?" he prompted.

"Done this," Draco whispered, like the confession terrified him.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck, fingers clenching in his shirt, "Yeah?" he asked.

Draco nodded, then hastened to add more like he thought Harry needed a justification, "I just never-"

"You don't have to explain," Harry said, lifting his head and drawing Draco's mouth back to his own, to kiss him lingeringly.

The other man sank into the kiss again and Harry wanted to do so many things, wanted to deepen the kiss, wanted to slip his hands under Draco's shirt; wanted to touch him and kiss him and hold him until he was shattering, until he was falling apart, and the only thing holding him together was Harry.

He pulled back, "I should go," he said.

"That's a terrible idea," Draco replied, leaning in to steal more kisses.

Harry groaned and slid his hands into Draco's hair, undoubtedly making a mess of his braid. "I should go," he murmured against Draco's mouth.

Draco shook his head, and let out a petulant and needy whine, and Harry almost caved.

"Draco," he murmured, cupping his cheeks and pulling back far enough that he could get him to look at him. "I want to do this the right way."

He pouted at him, "What's 'the right way'?" he asked, making air quotes around the words.

"I want to take it slow," Harry murmured, kissing his pouting lower lip. "I want to kiss you, and hold your hand, and take you to dinner," he said as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. "I don't want this to be just one heat of the moment encounter. I want you to want this-"

"I want it," Draco whined. "Trust me."

Harry chuckled and sucked Draco's lower lip into his mouth, "I want it too," he said when he pulled back again.

"Then stay," he said, hands rubbing over Harry's shoulders.

"I want you to know I'm serious," he said. "I don't want you to think I'm not in it for the long haul."

"I promise not to think that," he said, fingers toying with the collar of Harry's shirt.

Harry groaned, "You are making it very difficult to be a gentleman."

"Good," he replied unrepentantly.

He laughed, nose brushing over the spot between Draco's neck and ear and making the other man shiver. "Anticipation is a good thing," he murmured directly into Draco's ear and his entire body shuddered. "Trust me."

"Are you really going to leave?" he asked.

Harry nodded, sucking his earlobe into his mouth.

"Fuck," Draco cursed, pulling out of his arms and off his lap. "If you are leaving, you need to do it now, or I swear to Merlin I will not be held accountable for my actions."

He laughed and held his hands up in surrender as he stood out of the chair, groaning as his sore muscles stretched. "Besides," he added, grinning with mischief, "I want to be in tip top condition, not grunting and groaning every time I move, like an old man," he said as he stepped down off the porch.

"Best not wait too long, then," Draco replied snarkily, following Harry to his car.

When he reached the car, he turned and wrapped his arms around Draco one more time, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too," he said, hands lightly trailing over Harry's chest. "Let's do it again sometime."

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

Draco smiled, "You tell me," he said. "You're the one with the plan to take it slow."

He laughed, "I'm just thinking that I've got some vacation time I haven't used. Have any use for an extra set of hands around here?"

"Plenty," Draco said as his thumb honed in on Harry's nipple.

He grunted in surprise, "You're a menace," he said, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin.

Draco caught his face and kissed his lips again, soundly. "You are welcome to stay," he said.

"Tomorrow," Harry promised, kissing him once more before starting to de-tangle himself.

"Tomorrow," Draco repeated.

Harry grinned at him and climbed into the car, he leaned over the side and gave Draco a wink. "Sweet dreams."

As he drove off, Harry couldn't help but think that he was more excited for 'tomorrow' than he could remember being in a long time. The next morning he started to call in to use vacation time, but ended up quitting instead.

Within the month, he'd moved in with Draco and there they stayed, happily farming peaches and keeping bees until the day they died.

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July 2: Garden Hose | July 4: Radio