every year—stupidly early—joaquin shakes you awake, already fully dressed and eager to drag you to the orchard many miles out of town
whispering that the early bird gets the best apples
which, you remind him, isn't a thing
you're dozing off when you arrive at your destination, whining at joaquin when he opens your car door, exposing you to the cold as he unbuckles your seatbelt
he buys a hot cider for you to sip before nudging you into the endless rows of greenery
all of it beautiful and calm under pale morning sunlight
joaquin sneaking long, smiling kisses or playfully pinching your butt whenever the coast is clear
he repeatedly offers to carry the basket, but you refuse
you like watching him
when he's in that soft blue flannel and knit hat, his dark curls sticking out the front
and he's cheesing at you from up on his tip-toes, all blushy from the cool breeze
you're an absolute goner, and you know you'd get up at 5:30am again, or feel your arms strain with the weight of two dozen apples, or really whatever
he just has to ask, and the answer's yes.
YOU ARE READING
rodrikstark's headcanons (part 1)
Fanfictionheadcanons from tumblr. personal favorites will be marked with a * [cross-posting from my ao3]
