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wackapedia · 3 months

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The Farm Opens At Six

Pierre Chavanges x reader (Swann Arlaud in Petit Paysan!🐄) Coming home from Paris to your little town, you encounter your childhood friend and discover something that's always been there before. Word count: 3,216 (whoa?!) Warnings: Canon-typical violence, spoilers for the movie

The blue lights of the bowling complex make you feel even more dizzy after a couple of drinks. The Cow Prince Pierre Chavanges all of a sudden invited the boys (and yourself, by extension) to hang out, just like you guys used to hang out in high school. The oddest thing about this was that it was Pierre himself who initiated it.

Several rounds of bowling and even more rounds of drinks later, Pierre and JD have a heated argument in front of the alley. You're not sure who's angry about what, but Pierre walks out of the bowling complex after rolling his final ball.

He's been out of himself lately; the former gentle-hearted man has turned into the most anxiety-loaded, stressed-out dairy farmer in all of France. You follow his quick strides and knock on the passenger window as he pulls his truck out of the parking lot

"Hey, can I get a ride?"

"Ask Fabrice." He frowns before changing gears, keeping his eyes straight.

"No, he's drunk." You get in the passenger seat, not waiting for an answer.

"Your house is far out of my way." He sighs.

"That's fine; I can walk from your house." You try to get comfortable on the seat. Vincent doesn't answer. The truck is now on the road, driving steadily back to his family farm.

"Or I can stay over-" You begin, but he cuts you off.

"No."

A good distance from town, you continue to observe Pierre. He has dark bags under his eyes and a crease on his forehead. He's had a stick up his ass since this week, and he hasn't told you or anyone anything. He's driving flat out through the dark road, and you're worried he's going too fast, especially because he had a couple of drinks.

"I know there's something going on, Pierre. You can tell me. I can help." You ask with a gentle tone this time.

"No." He shuts you down.

"Is it me? Are you mad at me?" You attempt to make him spit out the truth. Pierre chuckles. "Did Paris turn you into a narcissist?" He asks. It stung, but you ignored it to get to the bottom of his sour mood. "Well, is it the farm?"

You just don't give up. Pierre grunts because he's annoyed that you're snooping into his business. He wishes you'd go back to your big city and forget about him like you did when you left after high school. He angrily scratches at the back of his neck, not noticing the skin there is bleeding. He snaps out of his trance when you yell out his name. He feels your hand grab the cold skin of his arm, pulling his hand away from his neck. Pierre immediately steps on the brake, and the car halts a few paces from his house.

He looks at you and sees the fear in your eyes. He immediately feels sorry for putting you through all that. Pierre tries to run his hand through his hair, but your hand stops him from moving.

"Don't scratch it; it's bleeding!" You hold his arm tighter, afraid he might hurt himself again. "Is it your health? Is that what's bothering you? Are you sick?" You ask, fearing for his answer.

"I'm alright. Please let me go." He sighs and gently pries your hand off his arm. He's no longer angry. All that's left now is sadness and distress. He avoids your gaze, knowing you're about to cry about him.

You slowly let go of him. You're scared for your special friend. He was always the quiet one in school, standing on the sidelines and joining in on the laughter when something was funny. He was that lanky kid who knew a lot but never really overachieved anything. He was the forgettable type. All the other batchmates from school don't remember him well, but you do. You came back to your little town to see how the youngest Chavanges kid is faring, and you've heard from the baker's daughter that Pierre is doing okay.

He still doesn't say anything, and now you feel like you've crossed the line. You sling your bag on your shoulder before moving to open the car door. The lights on the porch of his house illuminate the truck's interior when you notice something. You look to your feet, and then to Pierre's, and then you laugh.

"What's wrong with you?" Pierre sounds exhausted. You kick your feet up on the dashboard to show him what's funny.

You were still wearing the bowling shoes, and so was Pierre. He regarded you as if you had the worst case of insanity possible before giving up and chuckling to himself as well.

You're sure you weren't laughing about the shoes anymore, but something was funny because Pierre was laughing too, and oh, his laugh. Was it the porch light, or did the world suddenly seem a bit brighter? Pierre looks at you and pulls out a cocktail umbrella from your ponytail. You both laugh again, and it feels like you were both fifteen all over again.

A few minutes pass as you wind down, still chuckling and giggling. He leans his head on the steering wheel, and he keeps his eyes on you. Both your faces were flushed with the drinks, the laughter, and maybe something else.

At least he's smiling now, you note to yourself.

"Will you please tell me what's bothering you, Pierre?" You gently ask, slowly moving your hand to his.

Pierre's smile fades. He's reminded of the dead cow stored in the milking shed. The sadness in his eyes returns, and you don't miss the shift in his mood. The crease on his forehead comes back, but in his eyes, there's only confusion. The same look he used to have back in high school when the lessons became too difficult. He exits the truck, his movements rushed but careful. He then enters the house, leaving the door open. An invitation.

This was progress, you tell yourself. You get out of the truck and land on the rented bowling shoes, not entirely missing your Dior sandals. As you enter the house, you are filled with a sense of nostalgia for your younger days when you would visit the Chavanges house during the summers or after school. Pierre comes out, dressed in work overalls and holding two pairs of boots.

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You stand next to him inside the milking shed after swapping the bowling shoes with the work boots he left for you. He stares at the dead cow, rigor mortis kicking in. On it's head was a gaping hole. You are left to piece these facts together when Pierre begins roping the cow's feet, dragging it out, and tying it to the tractor.

He comes back a while later to clean the shed. This time, he lets you help with scrubbing the floors and disinfecting the railings. He chuckles to himself when you clumsily knock over a bucket.

"Do you remember when we were eight, you said you wanted to be a dairy farmer's wife?" He asks while draining the blood from the floor.

"Um, yes..." You wonder where this conversation is going, ignoring the splashes of blood and soapy water on your Balmain shirt and jeans.

"That's unlikely for you now, is it?" Pierre is smiling. The whole situation is confusing you.

Your favorite dairy farmer finishes up by spraying disinfectant in the shed. You stand outside just as the sun comes up, waiting for him to finish.

"You can't go home looking like that." Pierre comes out of the barn, carrying a calf in his arms.

"Oh, look at that! He's so cute!" You ignore what he said and begin petting the calf as Pierre walks by to the house, still carrying the calf. Weird, but okay.

"What's going on? Why are you bringing him into the bathroom?"

"He needs a shower." Pierre answers plainly, as if it explains anything that has happened in the past 24 hours.

He still hasn't kicked you out of the house, which was a good sign. You observe him gently bathing the calf. Pierre lets you reassure the distressed animal as it attempts to leap out of the tub. The calf seems to favor you when you pet him and let him sit in the tub while Pierre rinses the soap out of its fur.

"So, to answer your question, yes, I am still qualified to be a dairy farmer's wife." You chuckle while running the towel down the calf's body.

"Not in those clothes, missy. You smell like a whole manure pit. No farmer would want you." He smiles teasingly as he takes off his work suit. You spot the wound on his neck. There are also red stains on the back of his shirt where patches of the wounds bleed through. The teasing mood doesn't last.

"Your turn in the tub. Let me put antiseptic on that." You sternly tell him as you point at the wound on the side of his neck. Pierre wanted to protest, but he was exhausted, and the look in your eyes made it seem like you would not take no for an answer.

------

You return to the bathroom as soon as Pierre calls you in. He sits inside the tub, his bare back facing you.

"I think you just want to see me naked." He mumbles, trying to make jokes to distract him from the sting of the antiseptic that you were pouring.

"I'm building up my farmer's wife qualifications." You play along as you pause, letting the pain abate for a bit. After a few seconds, you pour over the last patch on his shoulder. He grunts at the pain.

"Also, Pierre? Don’t flatter yourself. It's not that impressive." You say it jokingly as your gaze points to between his legs. He gets mildly offended and shoots off playful insults. Pierre's face flushes in embarrassment and annoyance, but at least not in pain.

He lets you take a shower and lends you some fresh clothes after he finishes. You catch him on his laptop when you walk out of the room, wrapping a towel around your hair. Biniou, the calf, lays comfortably on the sofa. Pierre doesn't move away when you sit next to him. You were hoping he'd watch football or some TV show, but he's watching a news report. His attention is laser-focused. His hands fiddle with the collar of his shirt, trying to stop himself from making the wounds worse.

"A disease?" You ask, trying to follow through with the report while taking his hand away from his shoulder.

Pierre hits pause and sits up to face you. Your hand remains in his, like its the most natural thing in the world. He begins explaining to you the whole cow disease debacle. His eyes hold your gaze as he passionately explains what he had thought. You tried your best to follow through with what he was explaining because surely you were getting lost in his eyes.

"Do you understand? I'm trying to save the herd." Pierre finishes. Both your hands are in his much larger ones now. He looks down and takes in your soft hands, contrasting his rough and calloused ones.

"Pierre... I don't think..." You don't think this is salvageable. He thinks so too, but he's got to try. He nods, fully understanding what you mean.

“B-but what about you? Those... on your back?" You stutter, fearing his answer.

"I'll be okay." He smiles slightly. Somehow, the warmth of his hands bring comfort to you.

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"You skipped breakfast..." You appear in front of Pierre as he works on the pulsator of his milking machine. The usual crease on his forehead is there again. You refer to this as Pierre's work-mode face. He lightens up a little when he looks up and sees the plate of bread, eggs, cheese, and meat you brought for him.

"Oh, you can just put it inside. My hands are still greasy." He shows you his hands.

You shrug and lift a forkful of scrambled eggs to him. He stares at it, feeling hesitant.

"Come on! Do you want me to make train noises? Choo choo!" You laugh. He obliges you with a bite. His face flushes with playfulness and laughter.

"I'm not a child!" He chews his breakfast.

"I know. But someone has to look after the farmer while he's looking after his cows."

Pierre's face flushes, overwhelmed by the feeling of love-

"Oh! Bonjour, Pascale!" Your first impulse interrupts you as you watch a silver Opel pull up. You immediately regret waving at her because Pierre's sister is now eyeing you suspiciously. You? Alone with Pierre at this time of the morning? Wearing clothes that are obviously not yours?

In your defense, you were worried for Pierre. Although his back was beginning to feel a little better, he needed your help putting cream on his back before bed for the last few nights. You also helped him make healthy meals while his parents were away. He lets you sleep on the couch with Biniou, which was rather comfy. Pierre stacked you with soft pillows and blankets to make sure you're warm and comfortable.

Pascale walks into the tool shed and pulls Pierre away as they have a serious conversation. You return to the house and hang out with Biniou for a bit, waiting for Pierre to come back.

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After Pascale leaves, Pierre is back in his dour mood. You hoped he'd be chatty today. He had a great sense of humor, and his voice always made you feel at home.

Huh, you never expected to feel at home with Pierre. Over the past couple of days since bowling night, you hadn't returned to your family home. No one cared to look for you, which was good because you were enjoying your time with Pierre, reliving your childhood together.

"Can I come in?" You knock at his bedroom door. Every night, you help him put cream on the healing wounds on his back. Most of the time, they sting, but you make sure to go hard on the teasing just to distract him.

Pierre doesn't seem to be in a teasing mood when he opens the door. His shirtless form sits on the edge of the bed and hands you the cylinder of cream.

He doesn't react when you make contact with his warm skin. You are grateful that it doesn't bother him anymore and the wounds are beginning to scab.

"Pierre? You okay?" You wanted to ask what Pascale had told him. He sighs.

"It's over." He's given up.

You don't know what to say. The farm is his life, and now that he's forced to give up his life's work, you're afraid it might take a toll on him.

"Will you stay with me?" He asks, taking your hand after placing the cylinder on his bedside.

And, of course, you stay.

His bed was a lot cozier than the couch. A lot warmer too, with him next to you.

He falls asleep first, his head turned in your direction. You see him as a child again—the boy who has never cared about making it big. He was always so perfectly content with his life in the countryside.

"I'm certain that you're going places." Your teacher once told you back in grade school. She was right; you made it in Paris and maybe beyond, but at that moment, you confidently told her you'd rather be a farmer's wife while eyeing Pierre next to you. The entire class laughed. Pierre felt embarrassed. The teacher took it as a joke, but it was what your heart longs for and where your heart belongs. To be with Pierre.

In the morning, Pierre wakes up, mildly startled to see you asleep so close to him. Your head rests on the same pillow as his, and he notices his arm slung around your waist. It feels like the most normal of things. The natural order of your relationship. It has been weeks since he slept this well. Pierre observes your face, which is so gentle and peaceful. He wonders if you're dreaming, and if you are, is he there in your dreams?

Then, as if your minds are one, he sees your eyes shift under your eyelids. Unconsciously (or not), you snuggle closer to Pierre. His heart melts. Then, your eyes open to see his face so close to yours.

A moment passes, and you don't know how long. You lose yourself in his eyes.

"Good morning," he whispers, making sure to keep the peace in the early hours.

You smile. "What time is it?"

"A bit over eight..." He glances at the wristwatch he wears, even when he sleeps.

"Aren't you supposed to check on the cows?" You wonder. He's normally up at six, sometimes before sunrise.

"No." He answers, and his arm tightens around your waist. You presume there was something about the conversation he and Pascale had yesterday. You let Pierre enjoy this calm morning, which you know is a very rare thing for him.

Little did you know that this would become a regular thing.

Gravel crunches outside as cars pull up at ferme Chavenges. Police cars. They have come to put down the whole herd of "infected" cows, leaving Pierre with nothing.

"Hey, stop, wait!" You try to stop the cops, but even Pascale couldn't do anything. At least they let Pierre milk the cows one last time. He takes you back to the house. Someone knocks a while later and takes the calf too.

You were too distraught to notice the time. The sun had set. You were still on the couch, with Pierre holding you. You felt incredibly sad about the whole situation.

That night, Pierre takes you to his bedroom. Just like last night, he lays you gently on what is now your side of the bed.

"Maybe you should head back to your folks tomorrow. You're headed back to Paris on Saturday, yes?" He asks, caressing your hair gently.

You nod.

"Okay. Get some sleep." Pierre kisses the top of your head and turns the lights off.

On your last morning at the farm, you wake up before Pierre. It was still a bit dark outside. You hoped it was raining so it could wash the stench away and save Pierre the effort of cleaning up.

Oh, Pierre.

You look down on him, sleeping next to you. His gentle lips are parted as he snores lightly. It makes you chuckle. You can't leave. Not now, not ever.

"Pierre?"

He snores.

"Pierre? I need to tell you something."

"Huh? What?" He says, keeping his eyes closed.

"Can I stay?"

"What?" He opens one eye.

"I think I want to start my internship here."

Pierre opens both eyes now. He is very confused. "Are you sleep-talking?"

"I said I wanted to be a farmer's wife. I'm ready to start training today, if you'll have me."

It takes a moment for Pierre to understand. He chuckles and then pulls you back to bed, snuggled close to him. He brings up the covers and wraps his arms around you.

"The farm opens at six."

#swann arlaud #petit paysan #bloody milk #pierre chavanges #pierre chavanges x reader #vincent renzi x reader #vincent renzi

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callme-darling · 3 months

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take care of you

or; promising pierre a family after he worked so hard — partly inspired by this anon 🤍

word count: 1.5k

warnings: smut, fem reader, spoilers for ‘bloody milk’, cursing, p-in-v, riding, a hint of a breeding kink, porn with plot lmao, not proofread

a/n: y’all, this turned out so much softer than i was planning😭

“come to bed, dear.” you urge gently, voice quiet as you hook your chin over his shoulder.

his eyes were glued to the laptop screen, as if in combing through multitudes of official and unofficial documents would somehow grant him a miraculous insight he has overlooked previously.

he didn’t move, nor make a sound of any kind. his eyes remained focused, as if in a trance that allowed the rest of the world fall away. your heart ached for him, it really did. in one fell swoop, his livelihood was torn away from him, all despite his best efforts.

“pierre.” whispered, like an ancient beckoning—warm, promising, and void of the familiarity of desolation.

this time he hums, a noncommittal sound, but an evidence that he was present, at least relatively.

you bring your hands to his shoulders. start slow, you remind yourself. ease the burden from his shoulders, find the space to allow yourself to carry it for him, even just for a little while. “pierre,” you whisper again. “the room is cold without you.”

“in a minute.” he responds, dragging the cursor on the screen to click on an article he had already read thrice before.

your heart clenches as you watch the man you love try to make sense of the devastating lost. wordlessly, you step to his left. you’re mindful not to disturb him often, but tonight you felt the ache was almost palpable.

prompting his arm to raise slightly, you duck under his elbow and gingerly crawl onto his lap, your chest against his as you tuck your face into his neck.

you breathe in his scent, a mixture of his minty shampoo and him. he doesn’t shake away your touch, and you instead feel him slowly relax beneath you. taking that as a sign, you wrap your arms around his waist, your hands rubbing along the faint ridges of his spine and latiss.

“i love you, pierre.” you murmur against the warmth of his neck, the hair at his nape tickling your nose as you breathe softly.

his chest rises against yours with a deep inhale. then you feel warm palms on your hips, his fingers tickling your ribs as he holds you closer.

the embrace was what he wasn’t fully able to communicate into words yet. ‘i’m sorry, i’ll do better. i’ll figure this out. for you, for me. i’ll fix this.’

you lift your face from his neck, hands on either side of his head as the pads of your thumbs stroke the skin beneath his ears. “let me take care of you tonight… can i, please?”

he seemed almost taken aback by the sudden determination in your eyes. but his hands held you all the same.

“it’s okay, you don’t-“

“but i want to.” you cut him off. “i want to make you feel better, even just for a little bit.” when he doesn’t respond right away, you tilt your head slightly, pretty doe eyes blinking into his, “please, let me love you.”

“oh, honey..” his hands ran up and down the expanse of your back, fingers bunching up the material of your tshirt.

a soft smile started to crack through your lips, “is that a yes?”

he sighed, eyes searching yours for a quiet moment. “you could do whatever you wanted to me, and i would never object.”

you smile softly as you press your lips to his, finding a tender rhythm. you shift in his lap, knees pressed on either side of his hips. with smooth movements, you begin to softly grind against him, feeling the faint bulge beneath your core.

your hand finds the back of his head, fingers raking through his hair as he stares up at you, lips parted slightly. his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts as he brought his lips to yours again.

a subdued moan slipped into your mouth as you pressed down more attentively on his lap, your fingers tugging at the roots of his hair with a teasing gyration of your hips. you jumped faintly when a warm hand dipped into the back of your shorts, dragging the material down your thighs and revealing you bare.

“no panties?” he hummed, half to himself.

you grinned, teeth biting your lip as a quiet whine threatened to rise from the back of your throat. “figured i wouldn’t be needing them.”

“you little minx…” he sighed, bordering on admiration.

you could feel how wet you were, how worked up you were quickly becoming. a steady hand tested the waters as you reached between your bodies, fingers grazing over the growing bulge in his jeans. you felt it twitch under your fleeting touch.

pierre huffed as your featherlight touch quickly became more confident, assured. he head fell back against the chair, his adam’s apple bobbing. “fuck…” he cursed with a guttural groan, “you don’t know what you do to me.”

you press a trail of warm kisses to his throat, tongue teasing the skin every so often. “then why don’t you show me?”

as if to reinforce your words even more, you slide off his lap. he looked as if he was about to protest, but as he watched you slide your shorts completely down your legs, any complaints quickly died in his throat. you return to straddle him, but this time you worked the facet of his belt open. your mouth was on his as you slipped a hand into the front of his pants, moaning softly against his tongue as his cock twitch in your palm. you free his length from his jeans, the tip blushed a pretty red as you let your thumb run over the slit and down the length of it.

pierre let out a shaky breath. it’s been too long, you thought. too long since you’ve last had the chance to take care of your lover.

he helps line himself up with your entrance, both of you eager to satisfy that hungering lust.

as you sink onto him, your eyes flutter shut. his hands grip your waist tightly, fingers sure to leave bruises as you clench around him.

“easy,” he prompted softly. he shifts in his seat so that he’s reclined slightly, giving you a better angle. his blue eyes stared into yours as the pads of his calloused fingers gently began to massage your hips. “take it slow, yea?”

you’re mindful as you begin to find a rhythm, the small room quickly filling with the soft acoustics of breathy pants and whispered moans.

he could feel you clench around him sporadically, a telltale sign you were close. your forehead was on his shoulder, fingers gripping onto his biceps for stability. his hands fell to your hips. with an effortless grip, he took control of your movements, working you along his length with steadied ease. his lips pressed to your face, hoarse words warming the shell of your ear, “fuck- just like that dear, you’re so good-“you felt his teeth nip at your earlobe, “gonna make me come.”

you felt your breath stutter, whole body warm and alive with an all-consuming need. “in me,” you gasp out, “please come in me.”

his grip on you tightened, but his words were quiet with uncertainty, “you sure?”

“shit- yes, please pierre, please come in me.” you beg again.

the shift in his demeanor was evident as he fucked into you with a newfound vigor. “gonna fill you up, fuck-“ he growled, “so fuckin’ tight.”

you came with a pitched whine, eyes clenched shut and mouth agape. your body shook lightly in his grasp as you felt his cock pulse in your cunt, a new heat filling you from the inside out.

you both stayed quiet for a moment longer, panting softly.

his hands soon began to rub small, nonsensical shapes along your back. his lips pressed soft kisses along your temple as you brought a hand to the side of his neck, your fingers playing with the hair there.

his raspy voice broke the silence. “so.. is this your way of telling me you’re ready for a family?”

you could hear the smile in his voice. your own smile grew. “i just think that maybe.. it’s time for us to start a herd of our own.” you nearly cringe at your own words, but when you pull away to look at his face, any thoughts of doubt were stripped from your mind.

a lovesick smile tugged at his lips, his eyes searching yours with a warmth not found in words. he presses a tender kiss to your lips. “i think that’s a lovely idea.”

#♱₊˚✧ filth .#swann arlaud #petit paysan #bloody milk #pierre chavanges

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