#so its one big tent and a little tent for emergencies and Time Outs

[bahrtofane]

Jude misses his spanish class, and that somehow ends with the both of you stuck in a dark elevator, legs tangled and annoying each other till help comes

Word count - 3.5K+ 

Watch it - ur trapped in an elevator with jude, lights go out, you accidentally sock him, fluff tho hehehe

a/n - shout out to my bff best plooki for sending me the last jude pic, its what inspired this whole thing. nmout 3lik kho

—--

Jude is late to spanish class (again) so he's forced to sit for the staff ones instead. his mom will kill him if he misses any more, and his teammates will only tease him more. With the amount of promotional content and youtube videos he has to film soon, he literally doesn’t have the time to skip another class. 

The only open seat is by you in the far corner, so he slides in as discreetly as he can. Which turns out isn’t all that discrete when all eyes are on him from the moment he steps into the room but it’s whatever. He'll live. 

He pulls out his ipad and takes notes like the good student he is and pretends not to notice your gaze on him. He sits like such a teenage boy, legs spread and arms dangling over the table. 

You haven’t been with Madrid all that long, you came along as an intern, eager to find your footing. Having one of the players all up next to you during class was not something you saw coming, you’ve met maybe one or two of them, after you got lost and ended up in the training facilities and they so graciously led the way out of the maze. 

You’ve honestly been so busy with just getting settled you completely forgot the players existed. And here Jude is.

You stick your head back to your notes and hunker down for the hour left of spanish.  You don't miss his stray gazes that land on you. 

-----

Jude is a quiet guy you learn. He chews his bottom lip and blinks a little harshly at times. He's a pretty standard run of the mill guy and you try to treat him as such. He leaves you be, letting you have your space and pays attention to whatever the professor is saying in favor of talking to anyone. 

When class is over you gather your things, slipping out from behind him and head to the elevator. Why the class is on the top floor you have yet to figure out. You like this elevator anyway, it's down the hall from the main big one that everyone crowds into, usually empty. Even though it lacks the big windows that overlook the pitches.

You see Jude jog to the elevator, you slide your hand out ,holding the doors open for him and he smiles at you in thanks, you smile back. It's silent save the hum of the elevator moving down.

Until it screeches to a halt, jolting the both of you so fast you land on the floor, legs tangled, things strewn all over the floor. Jude looks away while he picks himself up, helping track down your pens that roll across the floor. When you smooth your clothes down and find your footing, another jolt rocks the small metal box you're in. 

Jude instinctively reaches out to steady himself, his hand landing on the railing beside you. You lurch forward and almost land right on him again. But you manage to keep your composure, and footing. Thank god. 

"What in the world?" Jude asks, brows furrowing. 

"I... I'm not sure," you reply, your heart still racing from the amusement park ride you never signed up for. Does Madrid not keep their elevators up to date on what is going on. 

You both glance around the elevator, trying to assess the situation, and half waiting for another lurch. It's eerily quiet, and you notice the emergency button panel is dimly lit.

"Should we... press the emergency button?" you suggest tentatively, eyeing the panel.

"Probably our best bet" Jude agrees, reaching out to press the button. After a moment, a crackly voice comes through the intercom, 

"Hello? Is someone in need of assistance?" a nasally voice comes to life. She sounds like your aunt kinda.

"Yeah, the elevator stopped suddenly, and we're not sure what's going on," Jude explains.

“Ah okay, which elevator? There should be a number and letter over the doors.”

“2C.” you real aloud.

"Perfect thank you. We’ll have people get to you as soon as we can. Please remain calm and stay where you are," the voice responds before the intercom falls silent again.

You exchange a look with Jude, both of you silently hoping that help arrives soon. The minutes tick by slowly, and the silence in the elevator becomes almost suffocating.

"So... Do you have any plans for after this?" Jude asks, breaking the silence. Even if its a little awkward.

You shake your head, grateful for the distraction. "Not really. Just some studying, I guess. What about you?"

Jude shrugs. "Probably just head back to my place if they don't need me. Training was pretty intense this morning."

You nod, "Sounds hectic."

"Yeah, it can be," Jude admits, scratching the back of his neck. "But it comes with the territory, I guess.

You fall into a silence again, playing with the hem of your shirt. Jude tucks his ipad under his arm and sighs deeply. Now that you take a good look at him, it looks like he booked it right from training. Slides and socks on, madrid shirt and shorts. Interesting. 

You move to push the button again after what feels like ages, but this time the voice doesn't answer. 

“What the..” you mumble. You reach for your phone but as luck would have it there is no connection. 

Jude slides to the floor, sitting criss-cross applesauce and trying his luck on his phone. 

“No signal either huh.” he grumbles.

“Nope, we really just have to wait on them then.” 

“I hope they hurry it up, no offense.”

You shrug, ”none taken.” sliding to take a seat on the floor opposite to him. 

Little do you know you're about to spend the next 4 hours in this elevator together. 

—-

It turns out there is only so much small talk you can make in an hour with a total stranger. Trust, you know. 

After telling your life story, and him his, you’ve both run out of things to say. So you sit, drumming against the metal walls, taking turns pressing the help button and being greeted with the sweet sound of silence each time.

“What the actual hell are they doing.” Jude groans.

“Ignoring us.” 

You just might lose your mind. Your legs are starting to go numb, and you watch Jude  grow more agitated as time presses on. Thankfully there's been no more lurches downward, a win is a win. You get up periodically to stretch your legs out, checking your phone, reorganizing your bag, playing rock paper scissors, telling each other stories.

Jude is a silly guy, very competitive even after your 10th round of tic tac toe. 

“I win again.” He cackles. 

You wave him off, “Yeah yeah it’s just luck.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he smiles. 

He goes back to the red button, and once again there’s no answer. You’re half way to losing your mind. How do they just forget about you here? You try texting people, and nothing goes through. Jude walks around the little space, arm raised and pointing his phone up in hopes of catching a signal. 

“Oh wait I think- never mind. Not even one bar will hold in here.” He slumps back down against the wall. 

“I actually can’t believe they’re not answering.” You groan, head in your hands. 

“Me neither. “

You resort to looking through your phone for any games to pass the time. But you need a signal for just about all of them. Might as well clear out your photos right? Jude joins, scooting next to you.

“Don't mind if I watch?”

You shake you head, “nah, just getting rid of old pictures.”

He nods.

Now you just have to be triple careful of not accidentally swiping through any embarrassing pictures. You don't thankfully, instead your room back home pops up, after you redecorated it. Zidane jersey hanging off your wall.

Jude perks up at this, “Zidane fan?” 

“Very big one.”

He smiles, “me too.”

“I've heard. What's he like?”

“Zidane? Hm, he's well, elegant. Classy. He's a calm guy.”

You nod, tucking your phone back inside your pocket, turning to face him, “have you seen him play in a charity match with ronaldo?”

He laughs ,”yeah the one with that insane title, fat old ronaldo does hat trick.”

You giggle, “that's the one.”

He hums, leaning his head back on the wall and you fall into silence again. 

More time passes and you don’t think you have it in you to reorganize your bag for another time. 

“I have an idea.” you declare as you move into the second hour.

Jude raises a brow.

“Might as well do our Spanish homework right?”

“I might die.” he dead pans.

You roll your eyes, “its better than doing nothing.”

“Nu uh, no way. I choose nothing.”

“Suit yourself,” you shrug.

10 minutes later Jude sits down next to, pulling his ipad out and getting to work. You smile, “see, I told you.”

“Yeah yeah,” he grumbles, “can you help me on number 4?”

You do, leaning against him and walking him through the conjugation of each word, your fingers brush against the iPad screen and you hope he doesn't notice how you blush. 

Hours in an elevator with Jude bellingham what is this a bad fanfic plot?

You end up finish the pages of homework side by side and Jude smiles

“That wasn't half bad actually, thanks for the help.”

“No problem. We make a pretty good team huh?” you tease.

He snorts, “I guess so.”

It turns out Jude is really bad at staying in once place, he does anything but keep still, throwing his slides at the buttons periodically, and one even hits the help button, this time the voice answers. 

“Hello?” it's a completely different voice his time, male. 

“Thank god hello.” Jude scrambles to get up properly, and you follow suit, leaning closer to the little speaker. 

“I'm sorry?”

“We've been in this elevator for what, 2 hours now and no ones been answering the call button? Fucking ridiculous.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience, we've been short staffed and I clocked in a few minutes ago.”

“For fucks sake, thats great and all but can you get us out?”

There's a pause, and for a second you think they're going to hang up and there will be no hope. You will die in this elevator. 

Luckily for you the voice comes to life again, “would you like us to call the fire department?”

“What do you think?” Jude dead pans.

“We will keep you updated, but for now it's looking like a wait time of 45 minutes to an hour. “

Both of you groan, dramatically falling to the floor.

“You'd think Madrid would have better staffing,” he rubs his eyes.

“You think.” you agree. 

“Im so gonna complain about this.” he squints his eyes at the buttons, almost like he's threatening them.

“Hey it could be worse, you could have missed a game.”

“Very true.”

He chews his lip before turning to you, a glint in his eyes, “Wanna play hot hands?” he tries.

“Sure why not.”

You shuffle so you're facing him once again, You're up first, palms up while Jude hovers his hands palm down over yours, and wow are his hands huge, completely covering your own. The name of the game is to manage to slap his hands faster than he can move them away. 

And so it begins. 

Unsurprisingly, Jude has keen reflexes, and you only shake your head at him. 

“I'm at an unfair disadvantage, whereas VAR.”

He giggles, “VAR or no var, you're losing,” he shrugs.

It's just enough of a distraction to get you your first win.

“Lets gooo.” you celebrate. 

“VAR immediately, time wasting, yellow card, red card, extra time.”

You smile, “you're just mad I won.”

“Yeah you won unfairly. “He sulks.

“Yeah yeah, your turn.”

He sighs dramatically, but puts his palms up regardless. 

You're too focused on his hands, skittering at any movement, so much so you end up jumping and throwing your hands out so fast you slap him. Uh oh.

“Oh my god i'm so sorry, are you okay.” you reach out and cradle his face, a little red but nothing too bad thank god. You almost took out Madrid's star boy, you're just an intern, you do NOT have the money to fund any legal cases. 

You don't even notice he's laughing, giggles bursting from his lips while you watch on. His eyes are big, oh my god, he's got those big brown beautiful eyes. People weren't kidding. He's even more handsome in person. You want to kiss him. Oh yeah you're holding his face, you drop your hands away and roll your eyes, trying to play off the blush that's spanning your face. 

“I'm fine, don't worry. You got a mean arm, ever think of being a goalie?” he teases. 

“I'm going to be Barcas goalie. How about that.” you shoot back, though there's no real bite to your words. 

He only laughs harder, “hot hands really makes you competitive huh.”

“It wasn't my fault okay, you moved too fast.” 

He only shakes his head, “I think you're the sore loser.”

“No but seriously, are you good?” 

He waves you off, “nah i'm good seriously, you're fine.”

You sigh in relief. 

He snorts, “no more hot hands for you.”

You squint at him, “I'm going to sleep.”

You make a pillow out of your bag and try to nap. Might as well at this point. Jude seems to share a similar idea as he lays down opposite to you, tucking his arms under him and screwing his eyes shut.

It turns out sleeping on the floor on an elevator is extremely uncomfortable, and you get about 5 minutes of shut eye before Jude somehow has his legs rolled into yours.

“ ‘M Sorry,” he mumbles. But you don't say anything, wiggling your feet back under his and trying to get some shut eye. 

—--

At the turning of the third hour you get woken up by the crackle of the magic voice in the wall, “the wait is up about an hour to an hour and a half.”

“What's taking so long,” you huff, eyes still blurry from your sleep.

“We apologize for the delay but there's a back up in call logs and-”

“Yeah we get it you're understaffed whatever. Just please hurry up.” Jude bites back, nearing closer and closer to you. 

The voice fizzles away and the sleep has worn off you, enough so to realize he's almost spooning you. You sit up, but Jude remains as he is, breathing soundly as he uses his hands to cover the harsh elevator lights that beat down on him. You're surprised the lights haven't- 

You spoke too soon. Way way too soon. The lights go out within an instant and you almost scream, jolting against Jude.

This stirs him awake again, and he's oh so confused at the lack of lights. The secondary elevators are great, but there are no windows. Just solid metal on all ends. Leaving the two of you in complete darkness. 

“Jude?’ 

You hear shuffling, “Yeah, I'm right here don't worry. “

“This is kinda freaky now.” you trail off.

“Hey, we'll be fine. Look on the bright side, it's easier to sleep.”

You snort, “Yeah guess so,” But the ease doesn't wear off of you. 

“Here,” you feel Jude’s hands reach for yours. Feeling for them in the darkness till they're laced together. “Now it's not so bad right?”

You can feel your face heat up,“Not bad at all.”

“How sick would hot hands in the dark be? Just think-”

“Absolutely not.” you sigh.

He giggles again, teasing you is surprisingly very very fun for him. This is the most fun he's had all day. Every time you turn away while you blush only fuels him to tease you more. Out of all the people to be stuck in here with, he thinks he got pretty lucky with it being you. 

But as sweet as you are, the situation only seems to get worse. He uses his free hand to feel for the button again, and the voice comes back.

“The lights just went off. I hope they're on their way.“ Jude speaks.

“The wait is about an hour.” the speaker says.

“My fucking god.” he sighs. 

“Were supposed to wait in the dark, for an hour?” you can't believe it.

The voice mumbles another apology and Jude only tells them to go away if they’re going to be completely and utterly useless. And alone you two go. 

—-

You start singing by the fourth hour. You're completely tangled in Jude’s legs, unable to even see what's in front of you in the pitch black darkness, but you can feel him. And it keeps you grounded, keeps away the panic. He pats your back while he sings stupid songs, trying to cheer you up and mind off of the situation as much as he can. The teasing doesn't stop, and you're starting to like it. (You liked it from the beginning).

If someone told you you'd be cuddling Jude Bellingham on the floor of an elevator in the darkness after class, you're pretty sure you'd call the nearest psych ward. But here you are. You think you’re sitting sideways on his lap, while he sits back to the wall, your arms tangled. You've started to trace shapes on his arms.

Who knew an elevator would be the perfect place to bond.

“You smell nice.” Jude mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You hum,” thank you.”

“You know, this is pretty nice. You're a good cuddler.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. my rooms a better spot though.”

You try not to freeze up too much, but you're sure he can feel you go rigid next to him.

“I bet it is,” you mumble into his shoulder 

He laughs, easy and light, “You’re pretty cute too.”

“You cant even see me it's literally pitch black in here.”

“So?” 

“You're silly Jude.”

“So i've been told”

You get comfy again, sliding a hand to his back and scratching lightly. 

He melts within an instant, “that actually feels really nice…” he trails off, leaning against your shoulder. 

“You’re like an overgrown puppy, “ you laugh. 

He only snorts, leaning forward to allow you better access to his back.

—--

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the voice comes to life, and Jude is not in the mood. 

“What is it?” 

“The wait is now 10 to 15 minutes, please step back from the doors and do not be alarmed when the fire department needs to possibly force the doors open.”

“Finally.” You sigh, squishing your face into his neck. 

“Finally.” He confirms. 

After a few minutes. You hear the sound of footsteps outside the elevator and voices chattering. 

“Alright guys, sit tight, should be a few minutes and you’ll be outta here.” A voice says on the other end. 

“Alright.” Jude replies, gently getting up and separating from you. 

“We’re gonna need you guys to step back.”

You do as much, trying to feel for your bag to kick it away from the door. 

Jude rests a hand on your hip and you smile, even if you can't see it you bet he's doing the same. 

The doors are manually pried open, and you're greeted by the sweet sweet faces of firemen and security. 

"Are you two okay?" the fireman asks, helping you both out of the elevator.

"Yeah, we're fine. Just glad to be out of there," you say with a sigh of relief.

As you step out into the hallway, you and Jude exchange grateful smiles. Unsurprisingly people crowd to him and make sure he's all good. He waves them off instead pointing them in your direction. You insist you're all good, no injuries. After thanking everyone you slip away and begin walking down the hall. After all, you don't expect him to actually mean anything there. You just got stuck together for a while, and got comfortable. That's all.

You think this is the 4th floor? Down the stairs you go. 

The man is full of surprises. He catches up to you, shouting your name and closing the door to the stairs behind him.

“Had enough of me?” 

“Eh four hours seems like enough.” you shrug. 

He rolls his eyes, “so you don't give me your number then if i ask?”

“Only if you ask nicely. And I don't even have a Spanish number yet, I'll have to get yours.” 

(you want his number sooo bad you might explode, this can't be real.)

“Would you like to get my number then?” he scratches the back of his neck, suddenly shy, ‘only if you want you know you don't have to just because the whole elevator thing i mean-”

You cut him off with a kiss to the check, “I'd love to get your number Jude. And thanks for being so nice in there.” 

He looks to the ground, playing with his hands, “yeah anytime.” 

You hand him your phone and he takes a contact picture right there, with the most obnoxious contact name to match. 

‘the best elevator buddy Jude <3’

You smile, “I'll text you when I can, yeah?”

He hums, waving you off, slipping the door open with his foot and setting off in the opposite direction. What a day huh?

#jude x you #jude bellingham #jude x reader #jude x y/n #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham imagine #jude fluff #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham fic #football headcanon #football imagine #football fanfic #footy fic #i missed doing longer fics this is fun #bahr footy #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer x you

[dimepdf]

★  𝐆𝐎 '𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃, 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐈𝐓 + 𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐑

masterlist. / taglist. / any request? synopsis. sometimes its alittle hard to get it on with your boyfriend Eren has trouble not sounding like a modern day porn star.

─── ☆ notes. eren yeager brainrot goes brrrr .

─── ☆ length. 1.9k ( 15 min read ) .

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni,  established relationship, sub!eren, soft dom!reader, mommy kink, teasing, petnames, oral sex (m), teasing, vocal sex, grinding, clothed sex, unprotected sex, cowgirl, begging, consent is sexy, so are whiny men, pee after you're done y'all pls, taiyo supports the practice of safe and healthy banging, reader got that million dolla pasayyy | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

When you first met, the first thing you noticed about your boyfriend Eren was that he was very awkward and skittish. 

Despite being taller than everyone he encountered, he had a bad habit of not being able to maintain eye contact.

He also bit the tips of his glasses when he was anxious and flinched at literally anything, such as if he were a cat with its fur sticking up when frightened.

Given that you were a naturally loud and touchy person around the people you felt more comfortable with, you had found his difficulty to become not startled at literally anything quite annoying.

However, as you were able to help him emerge from the small shell he had created for himself, you began to love all of his qualities and found them to be even cuter as the months of your relationship proceeded, especially when it came to his responses in more private situations.

Eren found it to be more of a problem because he noticed how much you enjoyed agitating him to see what would happen.

It was his fault for not actually telling you about it since he had secretly liked the attention, instead just turning it into the endearing little dynamic you two would adopt, always having him flustered over every little thing that you would do.

Given that you were his first (and only) girlfriend since middle school, it was just in your nature to make him blush for your own amusement since you knew Eren wasn't the most experienced man when it came to the romance or sex scene. 

The extent of his sexual experience is limited to him spending a lot of lone time holed up in his room seeing how many times he could make himself cum with just his hand to keep him company and the secret nsfw Twitter account where he would post audios of him whimpering on. 

Another thing you had noticed about Eren was how easily he had seemed to melt under your touch, with big dark heart eyes and a small exhale of contentment from his lips.

That was how you knew that you had him wrapped around your finger.

He would frequently find himself trying to stifle the stream of uncontrollable groans coming from his mouth by biting into the arm of his sweatshirt.

Of course it was all your fault—like it always is—the effect of your alluring compliments and nudging sexual bluntness, knowing just the right things to say would tent an erection in the poor boy's sweatpants.

Your eyes were glued to the issues, even with your hand pressed right against him, stroking him by the hilt as your fingers continued to entice every little noise that passed from his lips. 

It was becoming more difficult for Eren to not announce to his poor roommates that he was not only breaking curfew by having you over but also in the middle of trying to handle his needy girlfriend, who just couldn't seem to keep her hands to herself.

"Maybe we should do this, ah—another time, lovebug?" Eren muffled through his sweater sleeve, he pleads as you had him with his sweaters tugged down resetting in his boxers laid snuggly in between his parted legs. 

His other hand fisted into his comforter, trying to focus his strength in one place, with his hair disheveled from you shoving him against his mattress the second that he had managed to shut and lock his bedroom door.

"Why, what's wrong?" With your lips pouted you ask out in a false naive tone, chuckling as Eren shuddered at the feeling of your warm tongue swiping up the underside of his dick while not breaking eye contact. 

“Um, I don't know—it's just my roommates are home.” he whined. 

You hummed attention flittering from his face to his dick, your thumb dragging over the precum that oozed from his tip feeling pride in the way you had made his thighs twitch, sending a spark of pleasure down his spine straight to his dick.

"And?" You meant no real harm by it, not being able to keep track of how many times you and Eren had fooled around knowing that his roommates had been just behind the door. 

You also had nothing against his roommates and thought Levi and Armin were good people, but right now you only had one thing on your mind.

You had a committed desire for the sexual hunger that told Eren that you were only minutes away from destroying him, and who was he to deny you of what you craved so eagerly? There was a dark glint in your eye to prove it, that told him all he needed to know.

"You need to take responsibility you know, looking like that just to rile me up." You purred, and Eren knew he was the one not being fair in the first place. 

The second he had stepped foot out of his room to see you with his shaggy long dark hair tied up away from his face with one of your brown hair clips to show off the naturally sculpted face now displayed in full view for the world, it was as if Eren hadn’t noticed his true beauty.

"Plus," you smirked, sitting up to crawl up his legs to hover on top of him just above his pelvis, with your palm pressed flat against his needy erection. "I’m not the one being loud now, am I?"

You wanted to laugh at the struggling exhale that parted from Eren’s mouth, looming over him with such majestic beauty that he couldn't even comprehend how to form anything but a cute whimper, his hips lifting farther into your touch, his body reacting for him.

Eren's body was just so red and flushed with heat, not to mention how chastising your touch was against his skin, that he felt as though he had walked into an open flame. 

His body shook with each tease of your fingers, from the pale pink kiss against the spread of his cheeks to his dark blown-out pupils glittering with lust. 

Eren looked up at you with nothing but utter admiration in his eyes.

You attempted to conceal the fond smile that was sure to appear on your face at the sight of your boyfriend trembling by tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. 

Eren clamped his hand over his mouth, pressing his fist against his mouth, his teeth grazing against his pale knuckles as you guided his tip between your thighs, grinding against his full hardness.

A struggling noise comes from his throat, and you quickly rid him of that privilege by removing the palm planted against his torso to instead pin his arms beside his head. "P–please, I can't if you keep teasing me, mommy."

Eren chased after the tempo of your hips after you cut him off, grinding against him with just the layer of your underwear slid to the side out of the way of any interruption. 

Your mouth parted as you finally took him inside, sliding him into your bundle of nerves with a wet sound as you slapped down with a bit more rough force against his lap that made him want to drool. 

Eren's intention to keep quiet to avoid attracting the unwanted attention from his poor roommates vanishes as he relaxes against your touch and leans back against his pillows while cowering out your name as if pleading for you to spare him from your chaos.

The pressure of having you hold him down as you shift your weight up and down on his length completely destroyed his composure as your scorching insides melted what was left of his sanity.

Because you wanted to milk Eren for all that he was worth, you weren't one to show him mercy, but that didn't stop you from ruining a perfectly good orgasm for a little bit more teasing.

You were a brat at heart.

As Eren sighed idly, his brows furrowed and his eyes shimmered with threatening tears, you withdrew your hand from his wrist and firmly steadied yourself against the headboard.

"If you're really that worried, I guess we can just stop if you want to?" You cooed, with a small roll of your hips.

Eren wanted to sob, but not in a really sad way; rather, I'm convinced my girlfriend might be some type of succubus way that had him rutting against your still hips shifting under your weight. "No, please, I wanna so bad mommy. I need you, please."

“Hm, I don't know, the last thing I ever wanna do is make you uncomfortable baby.” You had the audacity to say as if you weren't just purposely clenching around him. 

“Please, I'll be good,” Eren whined, pitching his hips up, his hands trembling as he seizes you by your hips changing the pace of your moments to something more tolerable. 

“I just want you to fuck me.” and just that easy had he flipped a switch in your brain, your hands settling pressed against his chest to keep your balance as you followed through with his wishes the squeak of his poor mattress springs not even being able to cover up the sounds of poor sounds. 

It was an agonizing pleasure to still himself as you rode on top of him, holding back from messing up your steady rhythm with the absolute feral feeling that he had built up in his system. Devoting the rest of the control that he had left in his body to cover his mouth, struggling to hold back every gasp and moan praying that his roommates would spare him with mercy the next morning.

“Aww poor baby.” he shivered at the proud smirk on your face, “want me to help?” Eren could only nod obediently, completely had he lost control of his voice not trusting what noises would part from his lips next.

The hand resting against this torso trailed up to grip around his neck leaning down to kiss him, deciding that covering his mouth with yours was a more effective way to muffle him.

Eren responded enthusiastically, allowing his body to melt under your kiss, falling intoxicated to the feeling of your body grinding against his, the amount of friction and ecstasy happening to his body enticing his orgasm closer and closer, panting under your soft lips. 

You were the first to come undone, it was common with all that teasing would you always be the one too excited to hold yourself together in the long run.

The stutter of your hips and the tight clench of your muscles making his brain switch into faulty mod.

Just seconds after had Eren let out a whine of pleasure, you leaned back holding onto the headboard lazily as his hands moving to hold you into place the sound echoing through his shoebox size of a room. 

The noise was definitely heard by the dorm's other occupants as they could only hold so much strength in the trust of a wooden door between them. 

Post-nut clarity hitting Eren like a bus, the sound of your laughter being the first thing he could process after his string of groans. His hands instantly went to cover his face as you snuggled closely against him, giggling at his shy reaction.

“You did that on purpose,” he murmured, mentally preparing himself to have to face the awkward eye contact he would have to endure getting up and walking to the bathroom. 

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ] #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren smut #eren yaeger smut #aot smut

[meowpupp]

repost, im sorry. dunno what happened to the og

tw//: male oral receiving, noncon, crying, uhh i dunno

your life is practically perfect. every day you wake up and get taken care of by an owner who adores you. price gives you everything- warm meals, a comfy bed, a roof over your head. you couldn't have asked for anything better.

in the short time he's had you, he's improved your life tenfold. and so it's no surprise when he gets a call from the shelter, asking if he'd be interested in an emergency placement. 

its for another pup, a male this time. unlike you, who price assumes is a mix of a golden retriever and a german shepard, this new pup is a belgian malinoises. the lady thoroughly explains the hybrid's history. ex-military, highly trained, and extremely high needs. it would be a challenge, but one that price would be suited for. 

and so, two weeks later, your perfect little life is disrupted. price brings the new hybrid home. price brings kyle home. 

you’re not allowed anywhere near him. price has kyle locked up in the garage, keeping you two completely segregated. 

“he’s dangerous sweetheart. needs some training,” he explains when you ask. apparently, despite how good kyle tries to be, he still can’t help from being a little… rough. 

it’s torture. everything about kyle is so interesting to you. the only things you know about him are his name and his scent. 

his scent alone is nearly enough to send you into an early heat. musky, masculine and strong- gunpowder, fresh earth and something you can’t quite place. it makes your head spin and your cunt throb. 

you spend hours sitting at the garage door. hoping that if you’re sweet enough price will cave and give you what you want- it’s how it normally goes anyways. 

except this time it doesn’t work. 

days go by, then a week, then two. and in all that time, you still haven’t even seen kyle. it’s only a matter of time before you crack. 

you wait for price to fall dead asleep, then move quickly. sneaking down the stairs, and rushing to the garage. for a moment, you stand and think over your decision.

what if kyle is dangerous? what if he’s huge, with sharp teeth and mean eyes? he might just be waiting to get his hands on something sweet and pretty like you. he might hurt you 

you should turn back. but you don't.  

as you step into the garage, everything is still. there’s no noise, no movement. all you can see is prices car and some storage tubs. 

you step further inside, driven by curiosity as you look around. there’s a little bed in the corner, soft sheets and a nice pillow. you notice one of the blankets is yours. price must have been starting the process to introduce you two. 

you feel some guilt, suddenly realising just what you’ve done. not only have you disobeyed your owner, you’ve stolen his keys, broken into the garage, and led yourself into danger. 

before you can even think of darting out of the room, running to prices bed and acting like nothing happened, you hear movement. 

your body freezes, ears perking. the garage is cluttered, blocking your view as you glance around. you have no idea where kyle could be. you have no idea if its even him who made the noise. 

but all your thoughts are interrupted as a hand covers your mouth, another pulling your body into one behind you. your nose fills with kyles scent, and your brain switches off.  

every instinct to run, to kick and fight, to claw out of his grip is shut down. all you can think of is kyle. the way his hard chest presses against you, how big his hand is on your face, the sheer warmth of his body. 

he growls, the sound low and deep, “why’re you here?” you can feel his tent press against your ass. he doesn't give you an opportunity to answer, hand still covering your mouth. the other trails up your body, following your waist, pushing up your shirt. “you must be the other hybrid… price always tells me how good you are, so why don't you show me?” 

his hand gropes your tits, massaging the fat flesh. he groans, dick only growing harder as he grinds against your ass. he drops his head, nosing your neck, inhaling your scent. you're so small to him, so weak. he's trained to kill, to hunt, and in this moment you're his prey. 

kyle snaps, forcing you onto your knees. he moves to stand in front of you, your face level with his tent. “you've broken the rules, haven't you?” a smirk spreads across your face, grinning at the conflict of guilt and lust that spreads over your face, “shhh, i wont tell, okay? just gotta let me do one thing first…” he mumbles, eyes growing half lidded. his thumb swipes across your bottom lip, “let me fuck your throat raw. wouldn't want you to slip up, accidentally tell on yourself.” 

his smirk only grows as you hesitantly nod, parting your lips. 

he takes his time, slowly inching his way down your throat. he forces every inch of his thick, veiny shaft into your mouth. kyle isn't like price, he doesn't have the same control. he tries, he really does, but the way you gag and choke around his cock is too much to bare. 

the only sounds that fill the garage is his strained grunts, and the wet gagging noise you make with his every thrust. he takes what he wants, using you as nothing more than a toy. holding you in place, he fucks your throat ruthlessly. 

by the time hes done, tears are streaming down your face. he pumps his load down your throat, directly into your tummy. he denies you the privilege of tasting his cum. instead, he uses his dick to smear your drool all over your face. he tucks himself away, smirking at the way your face glistens with tears and spit, how swollen and red your lips are. 

as he leans down, he gently cups your face. his lips brush against your ear as he speaks.“go run back to daddy now. and remember, not a fucking word of this.”

follow up; here.

#mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #price x reader #john price x reader #price x chubby!puppygirl #price x female reader #price x reader smut #gaz x reader #gaz x reader smut #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader smut #female reader #repost #im making a pt 2 so i NEED to repost this #sorry for clogging your feed

[immajustvibehere]

Amidst a Crashing World (4/5)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: You follow Arthur back to camp, who isn't so happy about the decision. Yet, you are convinced that you have to be there for the last train heist of the van der Linde gang.

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

8000 words

You tried to take your time while following Arthur's tracks. A ride through Murfree country never had been one of your favourite past time activities. Since you had to ride through the territory to reach Annesburg, you were familiar with all its paths and knew where Murfrees could hide; but the familiarity didn’t change the fact that you just preferred to not be in danger. If you had a job to do in Annesburg and had plenty of time to spare, you would ride around the territory, but if you had to be quick, you always had your rifle and gun ready. Today, you’d rather be quick and follow the tracks directly. Arthur had a decent head-start and there was no way you would arrive at camp simultaneously.

Soon, you heard noise in the distance that you immediately associated with camp life; the clattering of plates, mumbling, occasional shouts. The noise was still muffled because of the forest. It was eerie, really. Despite the sun being high in the sky, it seemed to be misty and dark. If you had still been with the gang when the decision was made to camp here, you surely would have protested.

Already, you were awfully close to camp, but there was nobody standing guard. Maybe things had significantly changed since you last were part of the gang, but you wondered...because back then, when their bounties were still low, there still was someone keeping watch pretty much all the time. You rode along the earthy path and tents appeared. You scanned the campgrounds to look for someone familiar.

It didn't take long before eyes were on you. Javier was the first one to approach, greeting you in a friendly manner while you dismounted. Soon, a small circle had formed around you. Miss Grimshaw with mixed feelings about your long absence and sudden return; Tilly and Mary-Beth who wanted to know what you'd been up to; Karen who offered you a beer. Through the crowd of people, you saw Dutch and a sleazy blonde guy emerge from the darkness of the cave while Arthur put his head out of his tent to see what the commotion was about.

You couldn't dwell long on Arthur's expression, his mouth slightly open, fists clenching, while you walked past his tent to approach Dutch, who strolled towards you with open arms.

"Miss y/l/n!" Dutch greeted you, his big hand taking yours and shaking it as if you were business partners meeting to discuss a scheme. His hand was warm and slightly moist, which disgusted you, but you forces yourself to put on a grin. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart beat up to your throat, you were this anxious not to reveal that you had Arthur had reconnected.  

"Dutch," you nodded. You weren’t sure if more formalities would have been appropriate, but you had never called him “Mr van der Linde” and you saw no reason to start doing so now.

"Good to have you back! I had sent for you a while ago...", Dutch locked eyes with Arthur for a moment, who still stood by his tent, flabbergasted, "Rumour was you were dead."

"Well", you smiled charmingly, "I didn't want to be found just yet. I had some loose strings to tie up, wouldn't have wanted to get the gang entangled with my private business."

Dutch looked at you with a touch of doubt. So did the man with the blonde hair, you didn’t appreciate how he checked you out. Not just to find out if you weren’t a trap and had the law behind you, but purely sexual, trying to determine what you hid under your clothes. His gaze was unsettling.

"Anyways", you continued, "I read the paper recently and figured you'd appreciate an extra gun."

"How did you find us?", the blonde guy interrupted.

"Some of you guys can be tracked down quite easily", you smiled sympathetically, "I had some work in Annesburg and...well, your grocery runs..."

You'd rather blame Pearson for leading you to camp than Arthur. As far as you were concerned, you hadn't seen Arthur since he had broken your heart a year ago.

Dutch chuckled and it sounded strangely cold and tense, "Good to know we've got you back. We wouldn't want you as our enemy."

"Never", you smiled honestly, "Just tell me what needs to be done, I'll do it. I owe you for letting me roam for a year."

Dutch put a hand on your shoulder, then invited you to get comfortable. The remaining day was spent with talking to people, putting down your bedroll and sneaking some spices into Pearson’s stew. It was a matter of getting accustomed to camp life again, and frankly, you enjoyed having other people around. The only thing you avoided doing was getting close to Arthur and he didn’t seem keen on approaching you either.

By far the best aspect of being back at camp was catching up with everybody. You hadn’t realised how much you had missed all those familiar faces. Whenever you did a chore, you actually felt helpful, because there were people that needed and depended on you doing your part. Playing with Jack for an hour was rewarded with Abigail being thankful and looking way more relaxed. Putting some more spices in Pearson's stew was appreciated with winks and relieved smiles. But you never forgot the purpose of your return. Three days had passed, and still, not a single word had passed between you and Arthur. Your worry grew that the man might be seriously angry at you. 

While you thought about this on your third night, tending to the camp fire while everyone else was slowly retreating to their bedrolls, you saw Micah approach. It was his low chuckle that made you look up.

Now, three days had been plenty of time for the girls to warn you about him and his two suspicious companions. Apparently, he managed to sneak them into the gang without getting Dutch’s actual approval first – and you knew that wasn’t exactly a simple thing to do. Your muscles tensed as Micah closed the distance between you.

"Miss y/l/n", he made a half-assed bow before sitting down on a chair close to you, "I think we never had the pleasure of a proper introduction."

"You know who I am, I know who you are, Mr. Bell", you said coldly, focusing on the flames, "I don't think we need more introducing."

"It's just…", the man uttered and made some weird noises with his mouth, as if he was licking his lips, but you weren't looking at him, "I don't know if I can trust you. You just appeared, all of a sudden."

Raising an eyebrow, you responded: "You mean like your pawns? Joe and what-was-his-name? Pete?"

You observed Micah shift uncomfortably in his chair before replying: "Cleet and Joe know how to fight."

"So do I", you shot back sharply. Finally, you looked the man in the face. The warm, flickering orange of the fire cast him in a light that made his features look more intense than they were at daylight. The shadows danced menacingly across his face. You hadn’t quite made up your mind about Micah Bell, but you knew Arthur didn't like him, neither did Abigail or Mary-Beth...or anyone, really.

Micah made the mistake of placing his hands on the table and leaning in, his voice dropping to a whisper: "Women like you-"

But you swiftly interrupted him, drawing your hunting knife and driving it into the table next to Micah's hand. For a fleeting moment, his eyes gleamed dangerously and you feared he'd take the knife and gut you. Instead, he leaned back casually with a chuckle: "Yer a feisty one, aren't you?"

You swallowed, unsure if you were brave enough to continue this conversation. Making an enemy wasn't exactly your plan, especially if Micah could, in any way, become an inconvenience for your little escape plan. But you sighed, stood up and said with the steadies voice you managed: "I recommend you don't find out." You left the knife in the table, just to spare you the embarrassment of failing to pull it out of the wood smoothly.  

You turned your back and strode away, your stomach churning with the adrenaline of the confrontation. Normally, you wouldn't be so bold…but "normally" you didn't have to deal with guys like Micah. Sure, the gang had seen their share of members that were disrespectful, especially towards women – but never like this. Micah’s aura alone made you shiver.

Making your way to your horse, you soothed your nerves by tending to the animal, offering it a few carrots and stroking its mane. Patiently, you waited until Micah retreated from the fire and went into the cave. As the camp settled into quiet stillness, only disturbed by the rustle of leaves and the sound of your horses’ hooves, you retrieved your knife and headed back.

As you passed Arthur’s tent, you caught a whisper of your name. You paused, curiously.

The flaps were partially closed, but when you peeked inside, you saw him standing next to his table, the warm light of a lantern warmly filling the tent. It almost looked cozy, certainly better than your bedroll on the dirty and hard ground. Arthur’s gaze was intense as he looked at you. You asked "Yeah?", hoping he’d clarify if he wanted to talk or something, but Arthur didn’t reply.  Hesitantly, you stepped inside his tent, your hand still holding the canvas open, just in case you read the situation completely wrong.

It was only when you came closer that you saw his features were irritated. He approached you with a big step, grabbed you by the arm and pulled you further into the tent, so nobody outside would see that you’d just entered

"What the hell were you thinking?", Arthur spit at you, eyebrows furrowed and the grip around your arm tightening.

"What I was thinking?", you tried to speak calmly.

You knew exactly what he was referring to. Arthur had picked up the conversation as if you had just walked into camp five minutes ago and not like three days had passed already. You continued: "That I won't sit tight for a week and wait to see if you've made it out."

"Y/n...", Arthur sighed disappointedly.

"Arthur please", you wailed, trying to loosen his grip around your arm. He let go, not before his thumb lightly caressed the area his fingers had been digging in, as if to apologize.

You looked the man straight in the eye. He was still somewhat angry, but so were you. Though you found your anger insignificant under the scorn of this big man and you hated being on the receiving end of it.

Arthur finally averted his gaze: "I can't save you too."

"You won't have to", you replied sternly.

Arthur sat down on his chair, sighing as if he had just been told his mother had died. He didn't look at you, standing there like a scolded child.

"Did you read the note?", Arthur asked after a while, referring to his good-bye letter that you had crumpled and disappear under your bed, before your eyes could read any sorry, love-sickening words or promises that wouldn’t be kept.

"No!", you replied quickly, "I saw you left one, I didn't bother."

"Look, Arthur", you tried desperately to get the man on your side again, "I don't know how the train heist'll go. Maybe you die, maybe I die. Maybe we'll fail to safe whoever needs saving. But then I got at least...four days left to spend with you."

Arthur looked at you sadly.

"Because I won't go back to my fucking cabin and mourn you like I've mourned you the last months. I'll keep you alive. Or I die trying, I don't really give a fuck", tears pricked your eyes. Gosh, this place was depressing. You wished you could speak more calmly, more put together...but you understood why everybody behaved like a nut-case around here. Somehow, the forest sucked out all the joy you have.

"Okay", Arthur sighed, and he looked like he could understand or was at least ready to end the discussion. He opened his posture a little, nodding towards him as if to invite you. You approached slowly, not quite sure of what he expected you to do.

"Come 'ere", he mumbled. You sat down on his lap, snaking his arms around his body while he did the same. The two of you had been close when you made out. There had been barely any distance between you, when you had cut his hair. However, this was different. You nuzzled your face into his neck in the silence of the night, with no other intention but to be close to him. Finally, you had time to bask in his scent.

It was a calming scent, familiar somehow. Homely, in the best of ways. It calmed you down. All the while, Arthur enjoyed your closeness just as much; pressing you tighter to him, enjoying the proximity he had denied you when you had asked if he wanted to sleep next to each other’s. He didn't know how much he had needed that. A warm, loving body in his embrace. He felt your fingers restlessly scratching his jacket, as if they tried to complain about the extra layer. He felt your breath down his neck and your body squirming on his lap.

The two of you sat like that for a while. Arthur started to caress your hair, letting his fingers run through your strands while he waited for you to calm your breathing.

Arthur realized that he was making a mistake. He loved the way your body pressed down on him, loved how your body moved and reacted to his subtle touches. He absolutely feared and hated that he would crave the feeling forever. He had denied sleeping next to you only a few days prior because he knew both of you would suffer if either one dies. It’s similar to being parched, only to be allowed a small sip of water. Enough to satisfy you for the moment, but making you realize how much you really craved water. This embrace was the same.

"Can't stay here, can I?", as if you had read his thoughts, you smiled sadly and peeled yourself off Arthur. He moved his arms reluctantly from your body and glanced to his cot.

He'd prefer it too...to have you lie on top of him, sleeping peacefully.

You spoke again before he could answer: "I always fear that this camp'll be overrun by Murfrees at night."

"Charles 'n I killed probably most of ‘em. There wouldn't be enough to bother us", Arthur tried to reassure you. His voice was a little dreamy, as if the image of you two sharing a cot was still very vivid on his mind.  

"Yeah...", you replied and stood up. Arthur's hands slid into yours, so that you now were holding hands as you stood next to him. The affectionate gestured surprised you a little, it send a pleasurable tingle into your stomach.

"Good night, then", you sighed and brushed your thumb over Arthur's back of his hand.

"G'd night, darlin'", Arthur mumbled. He might have been disappointed that you came to camp but softening him was as easy as putting old bread in a bowl of soup. And there he was, all soft and soggy after five minutes intimacy. Admittedly, you felt softened and calmed down too. You wouldn’t have been able to sleep after your little run-in with Micah, if it hadn’t been for the fact that you and Arthur had now made up. Your goal and purpose was in clear sight again; somehow protect this man and be there for him, in case Dutch or anyone else betrays him again.  

Satisfied, you walked to your bedroll and crept onto in, falling asleep quiet easily.

-

Nothing much would be happening until the train job in a few days – at least, that was what you believed. Of course, you were wrong.

The next day, you had volunteered to go on a grocery run with Uncle and Pearson. You had never been particularly close with them, but it wasn’t a detective’s job to see them whisper about something behind your back. While you waited in front of the grocery store and watched the young boys that helped out load your carriage, the two men walked off to the train station. They gave you some mumbled excuse, you had barely understood what they had said, but now you watched them in the distance as they ran their fingers over the train’s schedule. On their way back to you, you could pinpoint the precise moment they realised your eyes were on them, because they straightened their backs and put on innocent smiles. You gave them a sympathetic smile in return.

On the ride back, there was an uncomfortable silence between the three of you, before Pearson finally asked: "Why did you come back, y/n? You said you saw the papers...you should know that this won't last much longer..."

"Well…”, a quick grin hushed over your face before you forced yourself to sound more serious, “I said I would be back. And I'm loyal to Dutch." As soon as the word “loyal” had left your lips, you saw the men stiffening, Uncle shooting dangerous gazes to Pearson.

You let them hang in suspense and fear a few moments longer, before you smiled and snorted: "Oh, relax. I'm just fucking with you."

The flabbergasted faces of the men made you laugh.

"I came back to help Arthur to get everyone out before it's too late", you said truthfully and before you could add something, Uncle laughed triumphantly: "I knew it! Mary-Beth will be so happy to hear that you two are together!"

Your cheeks grew warm so quickly, you had barely registered Pearson’s words. Then you fumbled with the reins and tried to put some force behind your words: "I never said anything about being together with Arthur."

"But you were in his tent yesterday, weren't you?", Uncle asked in a manner that suggested he already knew the answer, and so did the girls and whoever he gossips with, apparently. So, you didn't say anything and chewed your inner cheek.

This was the perfect moment to change the topic and make the men aware that you figured they want to leave camp. You would help them - this was why you were there, after all.

Finally, you managed to swallow and said: "Anyways...I have guard duty from 2 am until the morning. You can slip away during that time...if you're in Annesburg before the sun's out, you should be in the clear", you said, eyes on the road.

"You're a good one, y/n", Pearson said happily, "Though I don't quite agree with the way you overseason my stew-"

"I can't overseason what's not seasoned in the first place!", you interrupted loudly, but it was in a friendly manner.

They briefly talked about what they'd take with them, that Mary-Beth would join them and you listened, already coming up with excuses on how it could happen that three people disappeared while you had guard duty. It felt like you had it all figured out. It was a relief to know that three people would be taken care of by tomorrow. The harder was the punch in the face when you arrived back at camp and found most of the men missing.  

The Indians had come and asked for help at the oil factory, and Dutch had jumped at the opportunity. You had a terrible feeling, but you knew that riding after them wouldn't make much sense, so you bided your time until most of them returned...without Arthur and Charles, that is.

The question burned on your tongue. Where was Arthur? Was he okay? But as far as you were concerned, officially, nobody knew that the two of you were on speaking-terms. You couldn’t exactly walk up to Javier and ask him where your lover was. Maybe, you could have asked John, but you would have felt like an idiot for being so worried after only a couple of hours.

Arthur returned at sunset, grumpy face and slouching shoulders. When you approached him, he shot you a warning gaze. Not a dangerous gaze that made you think he was mad at you, but a silent warning, a peep at Dutch, and then he disappeared, walking off to eat an apple at the outskirts of camp. Charles hadn't returned, so you thought something might have happened to him, but Sadie finally filled you in on the details. The chief's son had been shot, was probably dead now, but nobody in the gang had been hurt, as far as she knows.

You waited a few more minutes, before you stalked after Arthur, finding him sitting in the dirt and watching the river in the distance.

Arthur briefly twisted his head in your direction as if to make sure that it really was you. He gave you no sign of recognition or invitation to join him, you simply heard a sigh, then saw some more smoke puffing from the cigarette between his lips.

"Dutch…he…He saw that a man was about to gut me, and jus’ walked away”, Arthur stumped his cigarette on a tree like an angry child would kick a stone, “Eagle Flies’s dead, 'cause of me…"

You weren’t quite sure if you understood what had happened at the oil factory, but you sensed that Arthur was extremely upset about it. Somehow, you couldn’t just say something bad about Dutch, because it didn’t matter if he had left Arthur – you hadn’t been there to begin with. Yet, staying at Arthur’s side was the sole reason you now sat down in the moist earth of this unsettling forest. Even now, you though you heard somebody scream in the distance and the darkness swapped places with the setting sun quickly spread throughout the woods and distorted shadows in the distance.

There was only little space left between you and Arthur, as you sat next to each other, watching water flow down the river. If anyone from camp saw you like that, they could probably put one and one together; but right now, you couldn't care less.

Had you ever seen Arthur so hurt and unsure of everything? You remembered, unfortunately quiet vividly, how under the weather the man was when Mary had to reject him or when he heard that she had married another. Back then, the whole camp felt Arthur’s sour mood and had done its best to offer distraction and ease the burden he normally carried a little bit. Today, you were the only one who seemingly had noticed that he wasn’t feeling well. Given the hostile mood at camp, this was probably for the best.

"He was a good guy, then? Eagle Flies...?", you asked quietly, sensing that Arthur would like to say a few more words about it.

"Yes. Hot headed and easily twisted by Dutch's speeches, unfortunately. Dutch did more damage to the tribe than..., well, I don't know. He was the chief's only son. And Rain Falls is...maybe wiser than a fool like me can ever hope of becoming", Arthur was brabbling, mumbling his words, making them tricky to follow. You tried your best, nonetheless.

"Thought I'd stay with 'em. Help 'em bag and leave...", Arthur admitted, his fingers brushed over the soil, picking out dried blades of grass, "Charles sent me back 'nd said there's people here needing me."

This caught you off guard. Leaving with the tribe would mean leave you behind with this mad bunch of degenerates, with Micah and his companions that looked at you like they just waited for an opportunity to catch you alone. Could you blame him, though? His father figure and mentor was ready to let Arthur be killed off.

It was at this point that you truly realised: The gang would be no longer.

Also, Arthur had no obligation nor responsibility for you. It had been your choice to leave your comfortable home to try and protect him here. Maybe it had been a bad idea to begin with. You should have stayed at your cabin and prayed or asked witches to bring Arthur back to you. The two of you weren't a couple. Arthur might have admitted to feel something for you, but that didn’t have to mean anything…not in the world he lived in.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn't realize Arthur was leaning in before he pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple.

"I love ya", he mumbled.

Your heart skipped a beat. Or several, actually, and your mind was blank.

Two minutes of quietly trying to convince yourself that the outlaw next to you, can’t possibly commit to anything, that the last time you spent together at you cabin and made out could have been a dream, and now he straight up told you that he…

It was your surprised and blank face that prompted Arthur to say: " 's okay. Ya don't 've to say it back. Or feel the same. 's just...almost dying...", Arthur swallowed. There was something like fear in his eyes, like he was rethinking his entire life, regretting the paths he had walked, the people he had killed. And not having told you sooner.

"You won't die. Not if I can help it", you assured, those were the only words you managed to say.

Arthur chuckled sadly: "Bullets travel fast."

You looked at each other as if you had walked into a dead end. Arthur had just told you that he loved you and you couldn’t say it back…or were afraid to say it back? You had already said something similar, a few days back, why did this feel so much more important?

Then you shared a hesitant smile.

"Oh, yeah”, you started again, “Pearson, Uncle and Mary-Beth are thinking of leaving tomorrow at dawn. I'm on guard duty, so they'll have safe passage."

"Okay", Arthur nodded, "come 'n see me at night before ya take yer post. I got s’mthing for yer..."

You nodded confusedly, but with peaked interest.

Nobody had to wake you at 2 am, because you had barely managed to fall asleep. It would be another half an hour before you swapped with Javier, so you took your time to warm up some coffee. Cup in hand, you sneaked into Arthur’s tent.

The man was completely knocked out and snoring on his tiny cot. As much as you loved the idea of sleeping in his tent with him, both of you would never fit on it. Arthur slept peacefully, sprawled out and without fear that someone hostile would sneak up on his. And yet, here you were. Disturbing him felt like a crime, but he had practically told you to wake him.

"Arthur", you whispered and put your cup down on the table, lighting the lantern so he'd see you when he woke and not get startled. When he didn’t react, you repeated his name slightly louder.

Nothing. You thought hard; was it really that important to wake him up? Couldn't it wait until the morning? If anyone, Arthur really deserved his sleep. The curiosity though...

"It's me," you said, now lightly touching his shoulder. This did the trick, Arthur opened his eyes and shot up. It reminded you of trying to pet a cat when it was asleep – it would always wake up as if you had stepped on its tail.

"Oh", Arthur's shoulders relaxed when he realised it was you. He pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, adapting to the dim light in the tent and groaned, "Gimme a second."

"D-don't worry", you stuttered, now definitely feeling bad for waking him.

You watched as he stretched his legs and ran his hands over his face, trying to shake the sleepiness. After a few more moments, he stood up and walked over to his wardrobe chest. With an aching and tired groan, he pulled out a holster and a gun belt which was already dressed with bullets.

"I wore this when I was 'bit smaller", Arthur commented, his voice deep and gravelly. He walked up to you, placing the holster on the belt and then gently putting it around your waist. Though sleep-drunk, Arthur tried his best to not touch you anywhere inappropriate. You smiled affectionately as Arthur closed the belt buckle and mumbled: "I won't let you go in a fight with your gun crammed into yer pants."

That being said, he pulled your gun out of your waistband. You didn't stop him, as he briefly inspected the weapon, finding it in acceptable condition and dropping it into your new holster.

"Might need to adjust it, t’have it sit right. Guess you got the rest of the night to figure out which height you wanna wear it", as Arthur's raspy sleep voice faded, you noticed a sad undertone.

"Thank you, truly", you said, rattling the belt lightly to make it sit better.

"Sure", Arthur tried to crack a smile.

You held eye contact for a few seconds. Something needed to happen. Either one of you had to admit that they were deeply worried the other one would die later tonight or a hug, a kiss...anything. You knew that Arthur felt the same, that he was itching to break the silence, but neither of you found the courage.

"I'll...go on guard duty now. Wouldn't want to see Uncle and the rest try'n slip away with Javier still keeping guard."

"Sure", Arthur repeated and sat down on the cot, more than ready to go back to sleep, "Call on me if there's trouble."

You nodded, took your cup and walked out the tent.

The swap went smoothly, as were the first one and a half hours and then you heard something in camp stir behind you. About quarter of an hour later, Uncle, Pearson, Mary-Beth and Karen stood before you. Well, Karen was lying on a waggon, snoring. Uncle had mounted the horse that was pulling the little waggon and the other two were on foot, smiling at you hesitantly.

"You've got some money on you?", you asked, almost in a whisper.

"God damn it, we should have known that she wanted something for leaving us go!", Uncle cursed, and you couldn't quite tell if it was being sarcastic or not.

"No, you idiot", you complained, as friendly as you managed, "Money for your train. For a life afterwards, I don't know...to get a some fucking distance between you and this rat hole."

"Oh", you heard Uncle mumbled and it irritated you that he really believed you would want them to pay.

Pearson answered: "We got a few bucks. Should last for at least one or two stations."

You shook the head and pulled out a ten-dollar bill – your savings and the only money you had taken from home. "Take some more then, and hurry. I'll sweep the tracks behind you. Stay on the main road", you quickly rambled because you realized the sooner they leave, the better.

It was dark, the light of the moon barely reached the ground and the dim lantern they had was soon swallowed up by the trees. You grabbed an old broom and swept away their tracks for about 50 yards before you went back to your post.

Before most people started rising, you put on some coffee and used the last bit of porridge that had been in a big sack at the supplies pile to make some proper breakfast. For one thing, nobody would start wondering about Pearson's absence as quickly and for another, you might as well use the last pit of porridge, ideally, you won't be here tomorrow to suffer from its absence. You'd either be long gone or lying dead in a ditch as food for ravens - either way, the porridge won't be of any use for you. Neither would it be for Jack, John, Abigail, Arthur...and the other half decent people that were still here. Ideally.

Nobody seemed to notice that people were missing, expect for Miss Grimshaw - but she kept quiet for some reason. Arthur gave you a knowing smile when he passed you to get some coffee, as you retired again to catch up on some sleep.

Your nerves woke you some time before noon. The men were loading their weapons and brushing their horses. The suspense in the air quickly got rid of your remaining tiredness. This was your first big job, after all. Every moment your brain woke up from its slumber, you realised that you had never done anything similar before. You had robbed the odd fella and held up a couple of waggons…but robbing a train with army pay roll? You wondered if you hadn’t overestimated yourself.

As you stood up and got dressed, you noticed Arthur standing close to the cave and having a discussion with Dutch. The cold glares they exchanged sent shivers down your spine.

As you passed Arthur’s tent, a letter caught your attention. It was, besides the lantern, the only thing that occupied his table and you were sure that it hadn’t been there at night. You wouldn’t have though much of it, hadn’t you caught the name “Mary” on the cover. A quick glance at Arthur reassured you that he was all packed up, now somewhat agitatedly walking to his horse with the rest of the men. You made a couple of big steps, grabbed the letter and you eyes passed quickly over the lines “From Mary, To Arthur” before it startled you that there was something besides paper in this cover.

This was when Dutch’s shout: “Let’s ride!” echoed through camp. You slipped the letter into your satchel and joined the others.

You would never have admitted it, but you were anxious. Again, in your mind, you went through the clientele that you had robbed before. Drunk fools, rich looking travellers that weren’t significantly armed…any situation where you clearly had the upper hand. when you ran with the gang. Alone, you had stopped one or the other rich looking traveller. This, however, would be a battle for survival. Ideally, you had the money and would slip away before anything happened, but everyone knew that bullets would be flying sooner or later.

While riding, you stuck close to Sadie. You craved talking to Arthur, hell, as much as a comfort-providing look would have been great...but there wasn't any. Your anxiety only rose when he rode off with John to get some dynamite and you were stuck with the rest...You knew Sadie was fine, the others were not entirely trustworthy. Micah used the absence of Arthur and John, maybe the only men who would have been ready to defend you, to fall back in the group and make some “small talk”.

"You sure you're ready for this? Fine lady like you shouldn’t play outlaw with the men", Micah chuckled sarcastically. You were glad when Sadie interrupted him and threatened to cut his balls off, if he didn't shut up. You couldn't have come up with a witty reply for the life of it, you worried way too much about how the next two hours would turn out. The feeling of having to throw up was somewhat overwhelming, had you opened your mouth, you doubted something good would have left it.

Only when Arthur and John rejoined the group, you calmed slightly.

Things took their run. You had to ride hard to catch that train, your mind going crazy about the commands Dutch yelled every opportunity he got. You didn't understand why he wanted you to board the train - Sadie and Cleet were to board the train half-way, John, Arthur and you should jump on at the end. There wasn't any time to talk back or complain, even though Arthur didn’t seem to agree with that either.  

You steered your horse closer and closer to the waggon as Arthur rode up beside you: "Jump!" he yelled, because he had noticed you hesitated for a few seconds too long. You sent him an unsure gaze, which he took as a sign to board the train first. He made it look easy, jumping on a train that was going at the speed of...well, a train. Your horses had trouble keeping up.

But as Arthur extended a hand to show you that he'd catch you, you inhaled, untangled your feet from the stirrups and took a leap of faith. Unceremoniously, you crashed into Arthur, who did his best so you wouldn't fall over. You had barely collected your bearings, when John yelled at the two of you: "Come on, push!"

The thought that this has been a terrible idea crossed your mind multiple times as you struggled to keep up with the two men. It was them who shot most of the enemies, you were happy with sometimes hiding behind a corner and aimlessly firing at the guards, so they'd have to hide and give John and Arthur the time to reload. Hunting unsuspecting deer and rabbits did not compare to shooting at humans, you concluded, as you missed three shots. But your attempt was enough to make the guard hesitate before aiming his weapon at John, which was the split second that Arthur needed to gun him down.

This game continued for a couple of wagons. You jumped over crates and climbed on the roof of wagons that you were surprised of how much your body was capable. Your only goal was to not get left behind by the two men. Arthur sometimes turned around to make sure you were still following properly, but both of you were so out of breath, that it wouldn’t have worked to exchange a few words.

You didn't know how or why, but all of a sudden, the wagon in front of you had caught fire. John was quickest to react to Bill's yell to jump on his horse. Arthur looked anxiously between you and Dutch, who now called for him to jump on his. Riding behind Dutch was your last available option for a lift: Micah. Arthur was about to open his mouth, but Dutch pressured him to jump already. You whirled around and almost jumped happily, when you saw your horse straining to keep close to the train at the other side.

You whistled and it understood. Not even thinking about not making the jump really helped. You simply jumped, almost slipped from the guardrails but somehow grabbed onto your horse. Your fingers tightened around its mane, the reins fluttering around too vividly to catch it. Clutched your legs around the horse as tightly as you could, your spurred it on to skip the burning waggon. You stopped fearing for either your or Arthur's life at this moment. Hell, your only loyal companion the last couple of years had been your horse and you swore if a bullet as much as grazed it, you would find the gun that had done it and kill the owner barehanded, if needed.

Arthur was already on the next waggon and as he shouted at John to uncouple the burning one before it blows up the train, he positioned himself again, ready to catch you if needed. It was a smoother boarding than your first try, Arthur only gripped your elbow so you wouldn't topple over.

Arthur's eyes were already fixed on the gatling gun, then he pointed at  acouple of crates: "Hide there!"

Arthur shoved you behind the crates and you saw a panic in his eyes as everyone noticed a man on a cliff in the distance that alarmed everyone of the crime in act.  

Suddenly, everything happened awfully quick. Arthur had just finished putting the gun together and John had manged to unhinge the burning wagon. Three seconds later, it gave a loud boom and the waggon toppled over. For a few moments, you heard nothing. Your ears tried to adjust from the explosion to the constant noise of the train rattling through its tracks, when one gunshot pierced the air. John fell off the train like a sack of potatoes.

You hadn’t even seen where the shot had come from, but the man was dead before he could fire another - Arthur had been quick to draw his gun.

"I'll get John! You protect that money!", Dutch yelled, he and the rest of the riders turned their horses around. Looking at Arthur’s sceptical face, you knew that he didn’t believe Dutch would actually look out for John.

"I'll go stop the train!", Bill yelled.

Arthur spun around, carrying a case with ammunition for the gatling: "Whatever you do, do not stop the train! You secure up ahead but keep us movin'! I'll deal with the patrol when they come through!"

While the others ran off, Arthur rpinted towards you: "Go collect John. I don't trust Dutch to not jus' leave him."

"He's probably dead! I won't leave you too-", you quickly answered, out of breath.

"No!", Arthur interrupted, "You go collect him and I'll meet ya at yer cabin with Abigail 'n Jack!"

"I can't just-"

"Yes! You can god damn it!", Arthur was irritated. You were running out of time. The first bullet of the patrol hit the waggon, "Listen t' me. Yer gonna be fine and I'm gonna be fine. Here-"

Arthur took of his hat and pressed it onto your head.

And that didn't feel right. It was like he gave up his most prized possession. It didn't even fit but wobbled uncomfortably on your smaller head.

"No", you croaked. Your throat became dry from all the yelling, otherwise you wouldn’t understand each other because of the noise. Not again. Not again this “good-bye” scenario. He couldn't leave a letter, so he left you with his hat?

"It’s a promise", Arthur explained, "I'll get my hat back, understand? You jus’ take care of it for now."

You shook your head violently, the hat wobbled: “Take care of your hat, take care of your journal! I don’t want to-“

"If there's as much as a scratch on it", Arthur tried to joke, but it didn't sound like a joke. His voice was serious and stern. Then he grabbed you by the collar and lifted you up from your cowering position behind the crates. He lifted you like one would lift one’s opponent in a fight, just to have them on eye-level before delivering the punch to their face.

"I'll meet ya at yer cabin", Arthur promised again, and his face was so close, you thought he might kiss you, but then another bullet from the patrol splintered the wood of the crates you had sat behind a moment before.

Arthur said something that confused you: "Watch yer head" and before you could make sense of the words, Arthur pushed you against the shoulders and you went flying off the train. The second before you hit the ground, rolling along and crashing into a tree you remembered to keep your head up and it might have prevented you from dying, because the impact was brutal.

When you crashed into the tree you thought you were dead. You couldn't breathe. Everything went black for a few seconds before your body spasmed up in panic, trying to get air into your lungs. It didn't happen.

You were going to suffocate. You struggled for air until you were too exhausted to try. You were lying in the dirt, your whole body hurting, with no air in your lungs.

In the last possible second, when your vision already became blurry, the smallest bit of air filled your lungs and prolonged your suffering a little longer, until the next tiny gasp for air.

You didn’t know how long you'd been lying there before you managed to breath somewhat normally, ignoring the excruciating pain that each breath brought you.

In between blinking you saw Arthur's hat lying some feet away and wondered if that had been the real joke; to protect his hat while flying off a train.

Your first action was to crawl to the hat and put it on, no matter how pathetic it looked. Arthur had pushed you so far, you were surrounded by trees and shrubbery. Even if another patrol rode next to the tracks, he wouldn't see you.

With all the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself into a standing position on a tree and fought your way through the woods.

John was surely dead, or Dutch and the rest had done their job and collected him. It made no sense to spend your energy walking back, but you did so anyways. Your hands always reached for the nearest trunk to hold on to, your left leg didn’t react well to the weight you tried to put on it, so you just dragged it.

To your surprise, when you closed in on the man lying on the tracks, he was moving - and still there.

"John?", you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath, anxiously looking around. Nobody was close, even the train was so far ahead by now, that the gun shots were muffled.

When you got no response, you nudged John with your boots which made him blink lazily. There was blood seeping through his shirt and jacket. Had you ever seen so much blood? It was his left shoulder, too.

For a few seconds you just stood there, wondering. Would he even survive? How should you get him to your cabin?

In an act of desperation, you whistled, hoping your horse would be close by. And it was. You had to hold back tears of joy when it came galloping along.

"John", you squatted next to him, even though the movement hurt you greatly, "Come on, we gotta get out of here. I can't lift you on my horse alone."

Thank God, your horse was well trained and knew how to lower itself for people to get on from the ground. You still had to pull and push the half-conscious man, but you had a significantly easier time. Your body ached from all the straining, and you were quiet sure that whatever damage you had taken from the fall was significantly worsened by the exercise, but it wasn’t like you had a real choice.

You rode, as fast as the constitution of your horse would allow, straight to your cabin. The sun was setting when you arrived. John had passed out a couple of times during the ride, and it was only when you had given him some alcohol to drink and had cleaned and bandaged his wound, that he passed out - but snoring and quiet peacefully.

You had no time to inspect your own body and assess the damage the fall had done, because as soon as you were done with John and had thrown him onto your bed, you heard a horse approach.

Jack and Tilly.

According to Tilly, Arthur was still alive, but had gone to Annesburg with Sadie to get Abigail who had been taken by Pinkertons. This scared you shitless, but at this point you were too exhausted to show it. Instead, you offered Jack something to eat and then had the two of them settle down inside the house. You waited at the garden gate, listening for riders.

It was dark and almost midnight when you saw a dim light in the distance. It came from the opposite direction of where you'd expected Arthur to come from, so you pulled your gun. But soon, you were able to make out the rider. The dim light of a lantern illuminated Sadie and behind her on the horse, Abigail.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

I apologize for the many typos, but I figured it was better the chapter would see the light of day instead of rotting in my drafts any longer. Took me way too long to begin with heh.

taglist: @photo1030

taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon @nervousmumbling @pheesupremacy @destroyer-of-za-warudo @ratbrainbabycowboyprincess

[gabessquishytum]

Thinking about warprize cat!dream having king cow!Hob's bigheaded baby.

Cats do tend to hide when it's their time is it not? So I imagined Dream slinking (waddling) through the corridors when he feels the first twinge, and suddenly he feels like he has to press close to the wall. Everything is just so vast and open, TOO vast and open, and it makes him extremely uncomfortable. Cow architecture is made to fit many people at once because they're extremely sociable, high ceilings, big rooms, big windows, big everything. Dream feels slightly nauseous, even if it didn't bother him before.

So he hurries through the castle, searching for something, not quite knowing himself for what exactly, when he gets closer to the servants areas and happens upon the first (huge, built-in) linen closet.

In the blink of an eye, Dream is inside and curled up. It's narrow, dark, soft, and smells good, and the best thing is that nobody's around.

This changes of course when, a few hours later, the contractions get worse and he can't keep quiet anymore. Also the whole castle is searching for him because he just kinda vanished.

The first poor servant who tries to open the closet gets their face full of claws. The light hurts Dream's eyes (and he's hurting enough already, thank you) and also he needs to be safe.

Through the haze and his own pained sounds Dream can hear more people arrive and then leave again, and then there's a soft, soothing voice, reassuring him that nobody's gonna disturb him, that that is gonna be okay.

It's Hob. Hob sits himself in front of the closet and keeps watch, and talks the whole time to keep Dream grounded (and has a hard time not opening the doors himself with all the sounds coming out).

He's rewarded when, after a particularly nasty hour of screaming, he's tugged into the closet by a weak paw, the doors shutting behind him.

His eyes have a hard time adjusting to the dark and the air is thick with the smell of amniotic fluid and sweat and blood, and then something squirming and slimy and warm is pressed into his arms. Hob's entire existence screeches to a halt the first time their child drinks from him.

He's kinda lost to the world, cradling them in one arm, Dream in the other, half asleep and drinking from his other teat.

That's probably why, when someone tentatively tries to open the closet again, he decidedly shoves it closed again with his foot.

(The linens are kinda ruined, tho. But that's a price Hob is absolutely willing to pay.)

(🦒 anon was kind enough to let me know that this one came from them!)

I absolutely adore this idea. And God do I feel bad for Dream. However many months of carrying Hob’s huge baby have truly done a number on him already, and he's so ready to not be pregnant!!!! He'd dearly love to be back in the cat kingdom now. They tend to set up special nooks and crannies like catperson sized cardboard boxes for their pregnant individuals to retreat to when the time comes. Cat midwifes are also very "hands off" - nobody interferes unless there's a serious problem. To be honest, Dream wouldn't mind a helping hand just to haul the baby out by it's adorable little horns. But he knows that it's best to let nature take its course.

The labour is worth it in the end, because the baby is perfect. Dream even finds himself thinking that another one wouldn't be so bad. The sight of their little one suckling enthusiastically from Hob is truly one that Dream will never forget (and he is very grateful that his husband is a portable source of milk, because he really needs it right now).

Hob finally emerges from the closet hours later with the baby latched on firmly to his teat, and a very exhausted Dream wrapped around him like a deflated serpent. At this point he's thinking that they'll just remodel the closet into a birthing suite... because the way Dream keeps looking at their newborn so adoringly, he gets the feeling that it won't be the last time it's needed!

#🦒 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw pregnancy #cw mpreg #cw hybrids #cw birth #catboys #cow hob

[theotherbuckley]

Purple's fic master list

Cow Eyes Buddie | 2.2K | G

Buck gets the call on a Saturday. He’s sat at the kitchen table, delving into some strange corner of the internet where he’s apparently discovered that seahorses hold each others' tails when they swim and that cows have best friends and that Eddie’s big brown gorgeous eyes remind him of cow eyes and maybe if they were cows then they’d still be best friends— And then he gets the call. His phone starts ringing just as he’s learning about polar bears giving each other nose boops. He reaches out and grabs the phone off the counter, still so lost in his deep dive that he doesn’t even check the number that’s calling. “Hello?” “Is this Evan Buckley?” A professional-sounding woman answers. It’s then that Buck promptly forgets whatever facts he just learnt and instead feels a familiar ache creeping its way into his chest. “That’s, uh— that’s me,” he manages to get out. “You’re listed as Eddie Diaz’ emergency contact, is that right?”

(Or the 'Eddie's in hospital and Buck tries not to break down' fic except its actually just a cute silly little fic)

Tripped and Fell Buddie | E | 5.8K | PWP

“Buck?” Comes Eddie’s voice from the hall.  Oh fuck. Buck really should have paid attention to the clock. Before Buck can think about how to get himself out of this one, Eddie appears in the doorway. Buck sees his eyes darken and the way he clenches his jaw.  “Buck.” Eddie’s voice is so neutral and controlled. Oh, Buck has royally fucked up.  “I— um.” Buck swallows, his mouth awfully dry as he tries to come up with some explanation for his insubordination. He could say it was an accident. He, uh, tripped? He can see Eddie already tenting in his trousers, so he can’t be in too much trouble, right? “Did I say to stop?” Eddie questions.

(Or the boys get a new dildo, and Buck can't wait to use it, literally. Eddie comes home and deals with his misbehaviour.)

running from myself (and the memories of you) Buddie | 12K | T

He wants to tell Eddie everything, he wants to tell him that he’s struggling, that he can’t sleep without being plagued with nightmare after nightmare. He wants to tell him that the worst ones are when Eddie’s lying on the road reaching out towards him and he’s just stuck watching, when he can taste Eddie’s blood on his tongue, feel it splattered across his face. He wants to tell him that when he wakes up the blood is still there, so he throws up in the toilet until the taste of copper is forced out of his mouth and he washes his face 10 times until he’s sure there’s not a drop of blood left. He just wants to tell him a random fact that he found out at 3 am when he went down the rabbit hole starting with the world's tallest skyscrapers and ending with the knowledge that most elevator close door buttons don’t actually work. But now he looks at Eddie and he just can’t help but think that he’s being a burden, that Eddie got shot and shouldn’t have to deal with him too. So instead, he runs.

(Or Buck has years of unresolved trauma and can't sleep, so he tries to literally outrun his demons instead. Luckily Eddie is there to pick up the pieces when he finally breaks.)

I'll Take Care of You Buddie | 5.1K | T

Eddie squints up at him, looking him up and down. “Are you okay? Is your leg okay?” Eddie always did see right through him. Dejected, Buck slumps against the wall, letting a small sob leave his mouth before he palms at his eyes. He shakes his head. “‘S not good,” he practically whimpers.

(Or Buck has chronic pain after the bombing, Eddie takes care of him, and it's actually super sweet and sappy because these boys are hopelessly in love)

Pancakes, kisses, and a little bit of TLC Evan/Tommy | 4.5K | T

“Evan?” Tommy asks, his voice deep and gravelly. If it were any other day, Buck would find that incredibly attractive. Unfortunately, he isn’t able to enjoy it. Now that he’s aware of the pain in his leg, it only seems to get worse. His leg throbs; it feels like his bones are trying to bully their way out of his flesh. He clenches his eyes shut as he wills the wildfire that burns through his limb to calm down.  “‘M fine,” he gets out through a clenched jaw. Tommy squints at him, tilting his head to the side. “Evan,” he repeats in a way that Buck knows means he doesn’t believe him for a second.

(or Buck wakes up with a chronic pain flare-up the morning after, and Tommy takes care of him)

Be My Valentine? Or Something? Buddie | 5.8K | G

What to write? Should he be cliche? Ask him to be his Valentine? Or should it be more personal, more intimate? Agh, this was harder than he thought. His sister would tell him to ‘speak from the heart’, whatever that means, so he picks up the pen and writes: Eddie, Your smile makes my heart beat a little faster, and your eyes remind me of big cow eyes, but in like a good way. Love, EB P.S your hair is very floofy, pleaseee don’t cut it <3 There, he thinks, Eddie will know it was him without embarrassing anyone. Perfect. (Spoiler alert: Eddie does not know it was from him)

(Or a High School Valentine's Day AU featuring our favourite boys being dorks and falling in love)

Because You're Exhausting 10K | M | Please read tags and warnings in the notes

Because every day after he woke up still in pain, and he couldn’t even tell his own family (because what if I can’t be a firefighter anymore? what if they don’t let me?). And then he’s hugging Eddie and they’re welcoming him home and maybe, just maybe, for a second he believes that it won’t be so bad. Because then he was choking on his own blood staring into Bobby’s eyes thinking this is it, isn’t it? And then he woke up because damn, he always wakes up and somehow that’s always worse. And he wants to laugh at himself because how did he think, even for a moment, that anything would ever be ok? Because then he was on blood thinners and they wouldn’t let him home, and he just wanted to go home (what if I can’t be a firefighter anymore?) Because then the lawsuit happened and he just lost everything all over again. Because “You’re exhausting.”

(Or Buck's always been sad but it's post lawsuit, and Buck just can't handle it anymore)

you don't need to ask, i'll come running Buddie | 1.6K | G

Buck never thought he’d be afraid of thunder and lightning, he thought being scared was for kids and dogs startled by the loud noise. He didn’t think he could possibly be scared of a little rain. And he’s not. He’s not. Buck is not scared of thunder or lightning— okay maybe he can admit he’s a little bit scared of lightning. But Buck should definitely not be scared when he is sitting at home in the safety of his bed whilst the rain hammers down outside. He should not jump every time the sky crackles and lights up his loft. He shouldn’t be scared, but, quite frankly, he is.

(Or post-lightning strike Buck is at home during a storm, Chris thinks Buck needs a hug and Eddie thinks maybe a kiss or two, too.)

#purple's masterlist #purple writes #911 fanfic #911 abc #911 fandom #911 fic #fic recs

[skullaton]

cold hands, warm hearts

Wally Darling / Gender Neutral Reader oneshot

Rating: G Genre: Fluff, friends to lovers Summary:

It's a chilly autumn evening and the neighbours are hosting their own fall festival! You decide to partake, enjoying the time with your friends. It just so happens that one of your friends is also your biggest crush.

Ao3 link: Here Welcome Home belongs to Clown a/n: It's autumn in the southern hemisphere, so I wanted to write a cute, fluffy one shot for the season! Enjoy!

Read Below ↓

Your boots crunch into the dry, crispy auburn leaves as you make your way through the small town of Home. It was this year's autumnal festival and you couldn’t wait to see what hijinks your friends planned!

The road was covered in an array of leaves, muting the already colour rich town in a blanket of yellows, reds, and browns. You marched up a hill, seeing the outline of the festival’s banners from a distance. You huffed, exerting yourself as you trekked, seeing your breath poof up in a cloud of smoke. The cold nipped at your bare fingertips, but you didn’t mind.

You can finally hear the commotion of your friends scrambling around and having fun. You tilt your head to read the banner - clearly in Howdy’s handwriting - ‘Home’s Fall Festival’. There were some elegantly painted designs, as well as some crudely decorated ones. It was definitely a whole town effort to make it.

“Don’t keep starin’! Come on in!”

You break out of your thoughts to look at the towering caterpillar who stood behind a food stall, beckoning you over with one of his long limbs. You happily skip over, grinning, “Hey, Howdy! Nice handwriting!”

“Oh, that thing?” He glanced up at the sign before waving dismissively, “Shucks, I write so often, it’s really nothin’.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “If you say so, Mr. Pillar.”

He leaned forward on his elbows, looking down at you with big eyes, “Say, you reckon you want some food? We got hot popcorn, hot chocolate, hot dogs, hot peppers, you name it!”

Being around him was so amusing. He always made such amazing pitches. How does he keep having endless stock? And hot peppers ? Who’s ordering that?

You could only assume Barnaby.

“Maybe later!” You waved him off as you started to hop away.

He simply waved back, “Alright, I’ll be here if you change your mind!”

You went to see what your other friends were up to.

A crackling bonfire lit up the centre of the festival, its fiery warmth emanating throughout the tiny faire.

You could see Sally atop of a makeshift stage, playing out a dramatic scene from a play. Her monologues were emotive, filled with passion and drive. In this scene she was holding a plastic… skull?

Wait, was this Hamlet?

You decide not to question.

Julie sat next to Frank in the audience, arms linked as they watched in awe of the brilliant star’s performance.

Looking on, you can see Eddie and Poppy sitting at the arts and crafts tent. Eddie was gently trying to instruct how to make the perfect leaf wreath. But… Poppy would often glue her fingers together and cuss a little ‘Oh, feathers me!’

Eddie, as sweet as honey, would insist she was doing amazing.

Finally, you see Barnaby next to a wide oak barrel. A crudely painted sign stuck next to it, saying ‘Bobbin’ fer Applez.’

Then you see him. The perfect deep navy blue hair, the lazy smile and half lidded eyes of the guy you’ve totally been crushing on since you moved here.

Wally Darling.

He was casually picking up the crimson apples from the chilly water, all while flatly remarking, “See, I’m bobbing.”

Barnaby released a booming laugh, practically barking, “I’m gonna bob you on the head in a second!”

Wally just tilted his head, offering a confused smile.

The giant canine cracked his neck, positioning his hands on either side of the barrel’s opening. “Watch the professional at work!”

Then he dunked his head down into the frigid liquid, splashing it like a tidal wave onto the unsuspecting Wally. When he finally emerged, two whole apples were in his toothed maw.

Smug, he looked over the shorter man. Then his expression immediately dropped.

Wally stood, blank faced, the front of his puffer jacket absolutely drenched.

Barnaby popped the apples out, “Oh, shoot, Walls! Didn’t mean for this to be a Wet n Wild ride! I’ll be back!” He hurried his way off to Howdy’s stall, probably in hopes for something to help.

You took the opportunity to duck closer to Wally. “Looks like you’re having a splashing good time.”

You internally cringed at yourself. Damn that Barnaby!

“Ha ha. Ain’t it so?” Wally held his kind smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You decided to unbutton your jean jacket.

“Tradesies!”

He gave a flat “Huh?”

You slid off the fabric, offering it to the shorter man. The chill bit at your skin, causing a ripple of goosebumps to run up and down your body.

He blinked slowly. “You’ll get cold.”

You shivered, offering a sweet smile, “So will you!”

He reluctantly unzipped his jacket, tugging it off to replace it with yours.

It practically engulfed him. His fingers barely peeked out from the sleeves. You wish you could take a picture of him. He looked absolutely adorable.

You held onto his puffer in the crook of your arm, feeling the wetness seep into your bones.

Another chill ran up your spine, causing you to exhale another puff of smoke.

Then in a split second, a giant wool mass would plop over you, encasing you in a tent of darkness. Wiggling out of your wool chamber, you peeked out to see Barnaby grinning above you.

“Didn’t expect ya to switch with Wallers! You can’t catch a cold now, ya hear?”

You fixed the oversized blanket so it was slung over your shoulders. You stuck a tongue out to the giant canine. “I’ll be fine! ”

“Just wait! Your tongue will be frozen like that!”

“Will not!”

“Will too!”

“Will not!”

Wally popped in, copying Barnaby, “Will too!”

“Hey, you’re not supposed to side with him!”

He gave his signature cat-like grin in response.

***

It wasn’t long until night cloaked the town in darkness. Stars twinkled and danced overhead, with the moon showing half of its beautiful glowing face.

Everyone was gathered around the bonfire, enjoying the crackling warmth on this brisk night. Julie and Sally were playing with rainbow sparklers, twirling out a magical light display. Frank and Eddie sat cuddled next to each other, staring dreamily into the snapping wooden flames. Howdy was passing out hot apple cider, while Poppy was instructing Barnaby how to make the perfect roasted marshmallow.

That only left you and Wally, sitting next to each other on a wooden bench.

You sipped on the hot cider, allowing the toasty beverage to heat you up.

You both let the snaps and crackles of the logs fill in the silence, simply enjoying the sweet moment with friends.

That is, until you could hear a soft mumble leave the puppet’s felt lips.

“I wish I could paint you right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You glanced over to Wally, watching as the flames danced shadows across his face. It casted an orange hue, accentuating his soft, plush features.

A pink blush tinted your cheeks. You definitely wanted to blame it on the bonfire for licking at your exposed skin.

But you knew it was because this silly little artist was staring at you with this most love drunk expression. His adoration filled gaze made your stomach twist in happy knots.

You found yourself inching closer to him, your spare hand just barely brushing against his fabric one.

“I wouldn’t mind that.”

A blissful sigh escaped the man. He reciprocated the gesture, scooting closer. You could feel his knee bump against yours playfully.

It wasn’t long before you both tentatively laced your chilly fingers together, basking in the heat of eachother’s flesh.

“Maybe we should schedule something?”

“That sounds wonderful, Wally.”

A quietness lulled between you as you enjoyed the moment. Despite the silence, you could feel your limbs tingle with exhilaration as your tummy burst with millions of fluttering butterflies.

You may have cold hands, but at least your heart is full and warm.

#wally darling #wally darling / reader #wally darling x you #wally darling / you #wally darling x reader #welcome home #welcome home fanfic #writing #fluff #nom nom nom so cute

[mayhem-neverending]

The Big Bad Wolf

Part XVII

Word Count: 2,632

Warnings: cannon violence, cursing

Obito and Hina slept peacefully while you shivered against the bitter chill. The night was dark; clouds covering the light from the waxing moon and the otherwise bountiful sky of stars. The clattering of your teeth and your muscles taut against your frame kept you from falling to sleep, but also tired you further. Your lids would fall every so often, only to be lifted again by a gush of northerly wind. 

You steeled yourself against it, wishing for fire, but more importantly, debating whether the tiny use of chakra to circulate heat through your system would be worth the risk. You reached your gloved hands and pulled out a small wrist watch you had forgotten about. It was almost half-past five. You inhaled the icy air through your numb nose, a steadying breath. You reminded yourself to be patient; less than an hour was left before it was reasonable to pull them from their slumber.

You thought of Hikaru while you waited. He was probably warm and cozy, tucked into a bed with your mom, considering it was now the weekend. You hoped beyond hope that he was alright for Kakashi, and you hoped Kakashi hadn’t been overwhelmed. A two-year-old is difficult, such a headstrong one especially. You imagined Hikaru had probably given him a run for his money more than once, and the delightful thought cut through your haze of crankiness. 

You held onto it for a few moments while the cold did its best to drag you back down. That tugging brought you into a flurry of thoughts about Hina’s child. You thought about the two little ones playing side by side, creating mischief, just as the two of you had done. It occurred to you then that you hadn’t asked Hina what its name would be. An ugly feeling curled in your gut, accompanied by the pained expression your cousin could not hide when it flashed over the blankness. 

This should be a time of celebration for her. She should be receiving baby clothes, toys, all the essentials while eating cake and joyously laughing with her family and friends. She should be whispering to her husband in the corner, giggling and sharing looks of love that you could have never fathomed for yourself. Looks that reminded you of how wondrous and magical and full of grace the world could be when you saw them at their wedding, hiding their conversations behind half full champagne flutes in the candlelight. 

A tear froze early in its tracks along your cheek. It wasn’t fair. You could be grateful all you wanted for her getting the chance to experience love of fairy tales, but it wouldn’t cancel out the sorrow. She deserved to live and love and raise her baby with a father and a family that chose her so wholly. Her child deserved to know their father, and would have been made not just better, but brilliant by the warmth of their love. 

You grit your teeth and angrily wiped at that frozen tear while others made their escape. In the midst of your angry thoughts, a calm voice emerged and reminded you: The only thing you can do is bring her home and be there by her side with as much love as you can spare. 

Shuffling entered your train of thought and you managed to dry your face before the tent unzipped. It was still almost pitch black, so you couldn’t tell very well who it was until they called your name. 

“Hina? What are you doing up?”

“I’m ready to keep going,” she croaked. 

“Are you sure? We have a few more minutes before I planned to wake you,” you replied, attempting to make out her features.

“No, let’s go. I don’t want to be out here any longer than I have to,” her sentence was punctuated by the tent zipper moving even further up. 

“Okay, then, let’s get this show on the road,”

…

Your group passed through the town you had stopped in early enough that not much commotion was in the streets. You were grateful to make it through without the call of the vendors as you passed by their empty stalls. Hina was heavy on her feet, too, no matter how much she tried not to show it. It wasn’t just her feet concerning you, though. It was a dangerous game to be walking so much so close to her due date, especially with the stress she had been through. 

You didn’t mention anything to her, though. Instead, you kept a watchful eye on her while she waddled along the main road. It had been decided between you and Obito that you would travel down that road all the way back. There was no chance she was making it through the heavy snowfall that you were reapproaching, so the two of you kept on guard, passing people every so often as the day began to wear on. 

At some point you also took a bag from Obito. He kept insisting that he was fine, but you could see his discomfort in the gentle downturn of his lips. So, the three of you traveled closer and closer to the border. The closer you got, the more you wished you were already home. The quiet from your companions left your mind unoccupied, but you struggled to break the silence unless it was for a short stop to rest. 

You finally passed the border sometime in the afternoon, and you couldn’t have been more overjoyed to put Akujia behind you. The three of you stopped for a dinner break, maybe an hour or two after. Obito had spotted a rabbit off the side of the trail, and before you two could blink, he skillfully captured it just out of your line of sight. He came back into view with it, proclaiming that he was finally going to be eating some real food for dinner. 

It left you with a silly grin, even as Hina gagged at the process of skinning it and putting it on a stick while you built the fire. She looked between your expression and his. He had puffed himself out at the chest and kept glancing over at you out of the corner of his eye while he worked. She tilted her head to the side with curiosity, but her lips stayed sealed. 

The three of you ate in peace, not minding the greasiness of the animal and truly relishing in having something hot in your bellies after being in the cold for so long. You sat in a semicircle, with Hina on one side and Obito on the other. She hardly glanced at him, though she hardly looked at you, either. She was in better spirits, but she seemed to be in a lot of discomfort. 

“I’m ready to have this thing out of me,” she groaned, leaning back and placing a hand on her massive belly.

You huffed a laugh. “Now don’t go saying things like that. We have another whole day to go before that thing is allowed to come out,” 

She gave you a half smile. “Still, he’s awful heavy,”

She paused for a moment. “Who’s going to deliver him?”

You blinked. You had completely forgotten about that bit. She looked at you expectantly, and you frantically wracked your brain. “Well… anyone at the hospital should do just fine, unless you had someone in mind?”

“Oh, I thought you’d do it,”

“Me?”

“You were trained in the medical field,” she stated matter-of-factly. 

“Sure, but I’ve never delivered a baby,” you raised a brow.

“I want you to be the one to do it. I trust you more than anyone,” she asserted resolutely.

You looked at Obito as if he could offer help. “I think you’d be a good fit for that job, actually,”

Your jaw dropped at his statement. “What?”

He nodded thoughtfully and glanced at Hina, who shot him a small, grateful smile. He returned the gesture, if a little unsurely. 

“If that's..” you faltered. “If that’s what you want, of course I’ll do it,”

“Good.” She stood slowly and wiped her hands on her long coat. You two followed suit, and you were back on the road before you had truly rested. 

The next stop didn’t come until after dark, when Hina almost couldn’t keep going. Her feet had started to drag and she looked positively miserable. You set up the tent and she slipped in much like the night before, passing out before properly getting comfortable. Obito took the first watch again, so, being exhausted yourself, you said a quick ‘goodnight’ and went to sleep.

You were awoken sometime later by commotion outside of the tent. At first, it sounded like several pairs of boots in the snow, then it amplified into crashes, grunts and shouts. You reacted after the first shout when your adrenaline kicked in and plunged out of the opening of the tent, a kunai in hand.

There were five or six men in black all attacking Obito, who was deflecting their attacks and attempting to push them back from the vicinity of the tent. Kakashi’s command to not kill unless necessary came to mind as you joined the fray. 

A man to your left spotted you first, and you met him head on. He had a thick dagger in hand, and it glinted in the moonlight as he swiped at you. He was slow, though, and you were able to dodge his attack easily, taking a calculated dive to slash at his femoral artery. You made your mark, sliding beneath his legs in his overly wide stance. 

He howled in pain and fell forward to the ground. You had no chance to look at him, because another attacker was on you without a moment’s notice. This one was thinner, likely someone who could match your speed better. His blond hair flowed eerily behind in the moonlight when he lunged at you. He was using a katana, and narrowly missed your right arm. 

He laughed cruelly as he swung again, his accomplices' voices mingling with his own as you could make out a crude taunt thrown at Obito. You could tell he was holding back, only pushing them away instead of taking them out. This would be child’s play to him if he were giving it his all. 

“Gonna do something, little girl? I’ll kill you and that Zen’in bastard, no matter what you think is going to happen. I’ll slice it right out of that bitch’s belly,” 

You snarled at him and made your move, catching his blade by feigning a lean to the left and moving right, effectively catching your blade on his exposed neck. But it wasn’t quite deep enough and you moved back, just out of his range. He swung wildly at you, one hand on his bleeding neck.

“Hey, Obito!” you called mid jump.

“Yeah!?” His kunai clanged loudly with an opposing one.

You backed up so you were closer, both of you catty-corner and facing toward your attackers. “Kill ‘em,”

“Are you sure? Kakashi said-”

“I’m making a judgment call on-”

One of them cackled. “No one’s dying but you three,”

That’s when Obito let his blade arc wide. You plunged your own into the gut of your attacker. A nasty gurgling gasp escaped him before he fell. You spun around to see the attackers’ bodies fall to the ground with resounding thumps, one after one. 

When the last one was down, Obito turned to you, breathing heavily with blood stained hands. Despite his state, you could see his eyes shining under the moonlight. 

“Fuck,” he breathed.

“We need to leave, now,” you said hurriedly. 

The tent unzipped and Hina poked her head out, tears streaming down her pale face. Shakily, she asked, “Are you okay?”

Your eyes met and you inhaled sharply. She looked around at the dead men and back at you, fear marring her beautiful face.

“Dammit! We’re across the border, so all the bags are going in a scroll, I don’t give a fuck. Obito, can you carry her? We’ve gotta get out of here,”

Obito was staring at the bright blood on his hands, and you could see a tremor run through them. He didn’t hear you, it seemed, so you instead turned to Hina. “Get your coat back on and come stand out here,”

She disappeared back into the tent and you followed behind her, hauling the baggage out and opening your backpack. You rifled through until you found a spare sealing scroll. With haste, you piled the bags on top of it and signed above it. They disappeared and you shoved the scroll back in your backpack. You slung it over your shoulder and walked over to Obito where he was standing stock still next to the mass of bodies. 

“Are you okay?” you asked in a low, urgent tone.

He glanced from his hands to you and back. Scratchily, he choked out, “I don’t- I don’t know,”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have the time. More could be on the way,” 

In a swift movement, you used your water style jutsu to wash the blood from his hands. He blinked in surprise and looked at you, his senses returning to him. “But Kakashi said-”

“Let’s go, please,” you nearly pleaded now. 

It only took a half second for him to nod in understanding, and he walked over to a shivering Hina. Whether it be from the cold or the dead, you weren’t sure, but you weren’t going to stick around and find out. You had to move, and fast.

He swept her up in his arms. ��What about your tent?”

You glanced at it and back at him. “Not important,”

You nodded at each other and jumped up into the thick trees. You could see Hina clinging for dear life as the two of you flew between the overgrown branches in the dark, but you didn’t dare look further behind you than that. 

She would continue to cling to him for the hours you fled from the scene and back to the Hidden Leaf. The sun came up after a long time, but you did not stop. Breakfast came and went, and so did lunch, but not once did you stop. Only safe in the forest surrounding your home did you even consider slowing down. But even then, you and Obito silently agreed not to stop. 

Hina slept in his arms while the two of you kept pace. Obito didn’t even act like he was tired of carrying her as his home came into view and his speed renewed. All either of you could feel was relief, and a distinct need to make it. He worked through it, arms and shoulders tight as the two of you stepped up to the barrier and finally crossed through. 

You opened the unlocked door to his home so that they could come in and shut it behind him. Obito grunted as he placed a still sleeping Hina on the sunken couch, and you went to the counter in the familiar kitchen where your phone was. You turned it on, your exhausted body slumping against the cabinets and onto your bottom while you waited for the lock screen to load. Obito came up next to you and followed suit, leaning heavily against you.

“We made it,” he uttered under his breath.

“Thank Kami. We made it,” You made eye contact with him, and pulled him into a loose hug with the last dregs of your strength. 

Still in his lap, you unlocked your phone. You leaned against his broad chest and clicked the call button. It only rang once before a familiar voice answered, relief already leaking into his tone.

“Hello?”

“We’re home,”

Part XVIII

Tag List: @mostlyunsure, @humongousdreamlandbear, @ichaichahatake, @mandy-yeager, @detectivestucks

#naruto #x reader #obito uchiha #obito x reader #obito uchiha x reader #au #obito lives au #x y/n

[ginger-futch]

Return AU, Chapter 1, part 1 (warning for blood):

The lights were on.

Plaster littered the floor in dusty chunks, ceiling panels fallen from their places to expose wiring and pipes, the very front doors having to be picked open. It was abandoned, clearly so, for a whole decade, and yet the lights were still on.

She put a hand on her holster, and scanned every square inch of unlocked space in the front area.

Past the turnstiles, she found nothing but a locked shutter, a big blue light in the shape of a hand being the only indication of a locking mechanism.

The little store was empty, boxes emptied and shelves tipped over. A lone dismantled Boogie Bot sat on the counter in a splatter of reddish brown goo. The train circling the rail overhead was still running; at the back of her mind, she admired how the company's product was still functional years down the line, but at the moment it was just uncanny.

But, nobody was there, so she let her shoulders fall with just a little hesitation. Ransacked by edgelords as it was, it didn't look inhabited at all.

Sam went to check the door opposite of it, only to find it locked behind a colorful keypad.

CMYK? No.

Huggy colors? No.

... Train colors?

A chime sounded, and the doors slid open. She smiled to herself, a pinch smug. She wondered how many guests put the pieces together and just wandered into the employee area unsupervised. Did they have to repaint the train every time they changed the code?

For the most part, it looked like a regular security room; monitors lined the one wall, and chairs and desks filled much of the rest of the space. The recess in the wall with the ropes and pipes in it, and the TV with the VCR on the cart, were all interesting, but first, she made sure to check the desks.

This search yielded very little. A lot of old, dried out stationary, as well as hand-written reports of minor incidents and a drawer full of crumpled up employee complaint forms. The latter were at least a little interesting; at least in its last few months, the company was basically hemorrhaging employees. Complaints about having little time to sleep between shifts, not being paid overtime despite working well beyond full time hours, intimidation from higher ups, etc. contrasted heavily with the aggressively friendly image they portrayed.

She set her duffel bag down, and took out a simple plastic folder. Nothing special, just enough to keep things organized until she'd pick them up later. This room wasn't too humid or exposed to the elements, so she felt comfortable leading the documents there for now to be collected later while she was on her way out. Low priority, though.

As soon as she finished her task, Sam took the blue tape off the one desk, checked to see if it was wound (it was, good), and slid it into the VCR.

Dreamy music filled the room, and some animal part of her brain immediately raised its hackles. A memory, foggy and intense, overtook her, and her eyes immediately swept around the room, like every shadow had a predator waiting to leap out at her. She breathed in deeply from her nose.

In, out.

In, out.

In.... out.

And in a second, it faded into a dull sense of unease.

Before she knew it, the video unloaded a short tutorial on the GrabPack. She chuckled hesitantly at the part where the yellow stickman coworker got his head taken off, and remembered all at once how many employees she had seen with one of these things strapped to their backs. How was any of this approved by OSHA?

Though, given some of the complaints in the desk, she suspected the inspectors got paid off.

Looking back at her duffel bag, and taking a good look at the ceiling, she decided against setting up her tent for now. There weren't enough holes to worry about rain, the temperature was on the warmer side this time of year, and her cargo pants and utility coat were loaded with enough emergency supplies to last her a couple days before she needed to return to the van for more. For now, she had what she needed to go further in.

Using the GrabPack felt almost second nature to her, like picking up a bike again after a long time of disuse. Which was damn weird because last time she was anywhere near this place, she was a kid, and these things were dangerous in the wrong hands.

Thoughts of child safety violations quickly left her mind when she entered the grand hall. It was huge, just as she remembered it, and at the very center a towering Huggy Wuggy statue. In the bright moonlight, she could see the fur faintly moving.

Breathing.

Memories of giant toys come to life flooded her mind, and she had to take a step out and do yet more breathing exercises to come down. It was probably just a draft from the windows.

She forcibly perked up, and jogged right back into the room. Yeah... yeah! Just a draft. Just... don't think too hard on it.

Her eyes only barely grazed the plaque before the giant toy - it wasn't anything she didn't already know how popular this giant Sour Patch Kid was, given they were still selling bootleg Wuggies at the flea market - as she investigated the rest of the room. She tried her picks on the regular doors first, to little success. At least, not without heavier machinery; Sam left her power drill at home, so she'd have to save investigating those portions of the facility for a later date. Damn.

Finally, she tried the door with the one handprint, only for it to go black and give a concerning sound at the contact, a spark traveling down the wire to the next room over, labelled "POWER."

Jingle.

She turned on her heel, and saw... nothing. No other human being in the room. She almost sighed in relief, until she spotted a glint of gold in Huggy's raised hand.

A key that wasn't there before.

Fuck. He was alive. Or haunted, either or.

Hesitantly, she aimed her GrabPack for the key and snatched it out of his hand, watching as he didn't even flinch at the contact by the dangerous tool.

She almost proceeded to the Power room, but stopped herself.

How long has he been standing in that one spot, alone?

As terrifying as it was to stand in the same room as a nearly twenty foot living statue... he wasn't doing anything yet, and it felt kinda rude not to offer up something in return for his help.

Indulging her inner superstitious child, she took a bag of jerky out from one of her pockets - the nice homemade kind from the dried snacks stand at the same market as the bootleg toys - a napkin, and a bottle of water. Noting his lack of fingers, she laid out the napkin like a makeshift plate on one of the letter blocks, poured out an ample portion of jerky onto it, and left the bottle of water opened off to the side for him to take.

Stepping out a fair distance, she gave him a deep bow, and said sincerely, "Thank you for the key."

She felt silly talking to a statue that was only maybe alive, but hey, if she was wrong, no harm done.

Satisfied with her work, she continued off to fix the door.

...

There was more of the brownish red stains in this room, this time around the remains of a Bron toy. Narrowing her eyes, she took out her blacklight, and it lit up like a Christmas tree. There was a fair chance it was some kind of biological material, but blood wasn't the only thing that lit up under UV light; it could just as easily have been some kind of dried detergent or something containing lemon juice, for all she knew. She snapped a photo with her disposable camera, and put a pin on that thought. Whatever it was, it probably did not belong in a plastic kids' toy. She figured she'd pick it up on her second sweep of the facility and see if one of her classmates in Forensics could do a swab test.

She moved on to investigating the rest of the room; it almost resembled a locker room, except they held circuit breakers instead of shoes. Off to the side, a well lit poster hanged. Sam snapped a photo of that too, chuckling at the one rule.

A fuzzy memory tickled the edge of her brain. She was small again, angry and defiant with adults who acted like they hated her because they probably did. She was a bit of a turd as a kid, so she didn't totally blame them.

She was hiding for some reason. Looking for a way out, she thought. But the only doors going forward were locked, and so, she waited to get caught. In her stubbornness, she refused to come out and go peacefully, but instead give the workers a good sweat looking for her.

A man passed by the door she hid behind, and seeing the opportunity, she jumped out with a shout. The bastard nearly leapt out of his skin, dropping the clipboard in his hand as he gasped and nearly fell. His assistant, some mousey young nerd, squeaked and tripped over her own feet.

"God-damn it, kid!" he yelled, hand on his chest, "You nearly gave me a freaking heart attack!"

She was too busy laughing at his beet red face to even notice getting hauled off by security.

Sam in the present chuckled at the warm memory. Was that Leith Pierre? She didn't know, it wasn't like she was an expert on the small army of faceless old men who bossed her around as a squirt.

The end of the room held more stains, and a strange message scratched onto the wall:

ISNT HE WONDERFUL?

She doubted that a bored, edgy film student could have made it this far. What in the hell was going on in here?

She snapped some more pictures, and went to work fixing the wiring. It took a good second to rip the door off the one conduit, and with great hesitance, she fired the blue hand at it. The wire lit up, and carefully, she maneuvered it to touch the three power nodes, the lights turning back on fully with the final connection. Retracting the hand, she sighed when she felt no current hit herself.

She stepped out, feeling a great sense of relief... until she saw the empty podium in the main hall.

#poppy playtime #original character #return au #huggy wuggy #my art

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

do you think leonardo or comte is older? i can’t remember it being specified but i’m not sure. i mean we have leonardo’s age but how old is comte??? i haven’t played comte’s route so idk if cybird mentioned it or made one up but his real historical birthday/place was pretty much unknown i think??? thoughts?

I always thought Comte was the older of the two? But to be honest I was never sure if that was just my bias talking or it was actually the case. So naturally, because I am So Normal, I did a little digging through all the stories I've read up to this point to see if there were any concrete indicators. The most promising lead I was able to find was from the "Tell Me Your Story" collection event.

Meta under the cut, since I was left unsupervised and it got long:

The contents that are most pertinent to what I have to say are as follows:

In this story, Comte speaks a little bit about his childhood because MC found him playing the violin. He talks about how he originally trained as a young boy on an instrument called "a rebec." Mind you, Comte says that he still has the first one he ever bought--he remembers because he acquired it the day he was told he would stop aging forever. In due course he takes it out to show her--and later plays for her, at her request.

Now, looking at all the facts. The violin was said to be introduced between 1540 and 1560, roughly speaking (I'm not a historian, this is all based on rudimentary research). This doesn't tell us too much though, as Comte does say the instrument he trained on and first purchased was much older. Many sources show the rebec dating back as early as the 10th century (meaning anywhere from 900-1000) in Spanish courts, a supposed mashup of the Arabic rebab and the Eastern European lira. The clearest written records (the few that exist) begin from the early 12th century and on, though it was at the height of its popularity towards the 15th/16th century.

Aside from the fact that that's fuckin crazy, that would place Comte as being born anywhere from 900-1100 (1200-1500 at the very latest). Now I know what you may be thinking. How the hell does that narrow anything down, Minnie?

Given the cultural implications surrounding the rebec's emergence, the context actually does allow certain tentative conclusions to be drawn. I've seen indications that musical talent with a rebec was considered a big deal as an indicator of wealth/higher status in the earlier years of that time frame. Taking Comte's childhood into account--that he was raised to effuse aristocratic breeding and poise--I think that makes it highly unlikely he was learning when it was most associated with street performers (during the latter portion of my posited time frame). Everything about Comte's family pretty much screams old money (aka wealth they were born into, not curated during the rise of the mercantile class trying to be posers), so I really can't see them raising their son to play commoner music.

Another very telling bit lies in the phrasing of how he found the instrument: "he discovered the old rebec among other goods from a foreign trader." Remember that in the latter end of the time frame, it was so commonplace it could probably be found among local vendors/craftsmen--there would be no need for them to be imported from foreigners. I imagine his family only had access to the instruments in accordance with their social standing; naturally the rich would have their connections, but not just anybody would have the money or means to get their hands on one.

If my beginner's dive isn't too far off the mark, that would make Comte anywhere between approximately 400-1000 years old. I get this hunch that he's probably somewhere in the middle, I just don't know where exactly. I wish I had a better estimation since that's a pretty huge range, but considering the lifespan of the rebec it's hard to tell.

The only great anachronism in all this is the existence of Comte's pocket watch which was gifted to him by his tutor (I believe that's what she was, I know it was one of the human people in his house when he was young). The first pocket watch is said to have been created in Germany in 1510 (and shortly after distributed in Italy), but honestly it feels a bit out of place compared to all of the other evidence available to us. If that's the case, then Comte could have been born in the 1490s (since he received it when he was like 12, somewhere around there). Honestly I do feel the game suggests that he's older than that, so there's some dissonance there. But I leave that up to personal interpretation, since I'm not 100% sure about it either.

Lowkey, I feel like they might have gone so hard with the timepiece imagery for Comte that they forgot the historical practicalities attached to them, so that's half the reason I don't know what to do with this information. I get that vibe of like something something rich people cop out, unless purebloods have weirdly long childhoods--

Leonardo I don't have as many receipts because I'm just a poor Comte stan trying to live (his collection stories are pain), but if we go by the indication that his in-game life loosely follows the historical figure and simply continues on with his faked death, that means he was likely born somewhere around 1452. I can't remember super clearly, but for whatever reason my only memory of age indicators for Leonardo was around 400 or so (which tracks with that interpretation). That would actually make him potentially younger than Comte, younger than I initially anticipated. Or, if Comte was born on the latter end of my estimations, they are at the very least close in age.

Also please don't hesitate to let me know if I'm missing any receipts on Leonardo, I have only one brain cell and she is trying so hard, my friends

As to the place of Comte's birth I haven't the slightest clue about that. It's pretty obvious he's of European ancestry, but as to where he was born/raised exactly, it's difficult to tell. Given all the talk of the rebec there's a decent likelihood he originates from the Mediterranean area/Southern Europe, as it is an Arabic instrument by origin that was adapted into something new by Spain. (This could mean he was born anywhere between France, Spain, Italy, or even the countries a little further up or closer to the Middle East.)

I considered Northern Europe/England, but honestly the evidence doesn't really seem to lean in that direction. Comte mentioned that he once lived in England and made friends there, but the way he talks about makes it sound like he was a visitor/traveler, not a native. And frankly, Comte isn't insufferable enough to be English lmao, he has a conscience. There is actually some tentative evidence for Irish descent, as the vampy mind persuasion/compulsion is termed "geas" in the game, which is a word that stems from Irish gaelic/folklore. The only reason I don't think there's a real connection is that there's no further evidence tying Comte to Ireland; and I don't think the etymology necessarily guarantees ancestry (though there is something to be said about the Irish gothic and vampiric origins).

Admittedly it feels like the game makes his nationality vague on purpose, and I think this has a two-part intention. The first is that historically he was shrouded in a great deal of mystery, so it only makes sense they would be reluctant to name a singular place. The second is that--and I don't remember where the screenshot is, I saw it a while ago--the game describes him as belonging to no one place (that he belonged to all and none). Keeping his character construction in mind, I feel like this aligns with his general theme of contradiction. He's a greater vampire who prefers to keep company among humans, he's a powerful being with a fragile/sensitive heart, he has strong convictions but hesitates constantly, he's able to blend in almost everywhere he goes but never truly feels like he belongs. It would only make sense, narratively speaking, to keep with that motif/trend.

Also quick aside, because I can't help the music nerd in me. Rebecs are bitchin?????? Holy shit slay. Fun fact: they appear to have been primarily used for festivities, played for dancing. That gives a whole new impression to the fact that he bought one the moment he found out he would never age any further. I guess I just think about how that's a pretty joyous purpose for the music (beyond the pedigree aspect). That he clung to this specific artifact as a way to remind himself of his connection to humanity, that it was about people gathering and enjoying each other's company (and yet at the same time, all the political games that come with such leisure)...what a reflection of who he is today. I think it's fascinating how much people are at the heart of his personal motivations and feelings, considering how easy it is for purebloods to become lone wolves (power and secrecy would lend itself to that.) Instead, Comte chooses to hide in plain sight and actively works to stay engaged in the times and among the population. Then again, if I were hundreds of years old I would probably also beg for a distraction from the encroaching madness so like ajkhslgfkjhfslakjh it's very sweet but also mood...

In short:

Thank you for the ask, lovely!! 💛💛💛💛 I hope this answers your question? I love any excuse to talk about my one and only 👀💍

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp leonardo #ikevamp meta #honestly i went down a much deeper rabbit hole than I anticipated #but the game is so vague and my mans so sexy that i just had to see the timeline for myself #in short: i don't need sleep i need a n s w e r s #although man if im reading this all correctly that's insane #that would make him potentially twice as old as leonardo b r U H H H H H #explains comte's sense of like 'im old enough to be too mature for this' (chops the back of Leo's head the second MC isn't looking anyway) #i still die laughing whenever i read comtes second bday story and it deadass says 'but before leo could make a wisecrack' #their verbal jousts to establish class clown dominance are hilarious #i have half a mind to give them wiffle ball bats and watch them smack the shit out of each other #with only that feral instinct that wiffle ball bats evoke in pent up middle schoolers #comte be like 'take the professional deep breath' in every other situation #but then on sight just **decks leonardo with a folding chair** #literally the duality of man #fangdad propaganda #all right all it is 1am it is time for me to sleep #but i hope you enjoyed this installment of minnie's rambles

[seat-safety-switch]

Camping is a much-beloved activity, even with those who live in a house. In case you’re unfamiliar, camping mostly consists of driving to a place in the wilderness and then sleeping there. Ideally, you also set fire to something, but the core value is that of being closer to nature. Experiencing its bounty. Remembering why you have indoor plumbing.

In an attempt to make camping more livable, humanity has produced many specialized vehicles. RVs. Tent trailers. Bolers. Little tiny tents that go behind your bicycle. A van, down by the river. None of them are as appealing as just a bare-ass car, with no modifications, and a back seat that folds down enough that you can sleep halfway in the trunk without completely demolishing your lumbar region.

If you read the newspapers lately, you might have heard about my recent legal troubles. That being so, I don’t think it’s in your right to judge me, because you still read a newspaper in 2023. Where do you even buy those things? Anyway, I had to lie low for a little bit, and the important thing to know about Canadian telecommunications is that your cell phone never works as soon as you are within five minutes of the city limits. Sure, you can pay them seventeen bucks a minute for “roaming,” but nobody is that big of a sucker, even the government. I reasoned that there was no way my parole officer was rich enough to keep my ankle bracelet on the entire time, and so I set out for the grounds-of-camping in order to test the theory.

The first night yielded an excellent sleep: calm, cool air, no light pollution, and the sounds of animals all around lulled me into a deep dream-like state in which the solution to all my problems emerged and then was immediately forgotten upon waking up. The second night was even better, because the incessant lost-signal beeping of my ankle bracelet finally ceased as its batteries expired. Now, without the scarlet letter of its plaintive tone following me around, I could visit my fellow camping enthusiasts and socialize.

Friends: I made it about fifteen minutes. None of these folks had cool old cars, and they seemed to look at my oil-stained visage with a look between terror and pity. The best I could do was one retired couple who were towing their 1997 Saturn SL1 behind their RV, who at least pretended to listen to me when I was telling them about the importance of welding up their diff pin. Ultimately, they had “somewhere to go” and escaped so quickly that the Saturn broke off of their trailer hitch and rolled into the nearby fishing pond, which I decided made the vehicle count as maritime salvage.

Camping was exactly as relaxing as I thought it would be, and I ended up with a new composite-bodied toy to tow behind my Volare. Which is great, because I’m going to need something to drive to the bail hearings after this thing throws a rod on the highway home.

[whentherewerebicycles]

mmkay i'm almost done with ina may's guide to childbirth, which i thought i wasn't gonna read bc too crunchy for me... but it turns out i am a little bit susceptible to crunchy content lol. i want to do some THINKING ALOUD about BIRTH under the cut.

after doing lots of reading (not just this book lol) i think i want to try for an unmedicated birth with minimal interventions. "try" being the key word because i also want to keep things very flexible and be able to respond to what i'm feeling in the moment. it seems like one of the surest ways to be disappointed or lightly traumatized by your birth experience is to go in with a rigid or overly idealized plan and then feel blindsided when things go sideways and you have to suddenly deviate from the version of birth you'd been really invested in. i am totally willing to get an epidural if i find contractions unbearable or to have an emergency c-section if it becomes medically necessary or to be induced if i am way overdue. but i also feel like... idk. i am not someone who takes a lot of pride in my Ability to Weather Pain or anything and i don't want to try unmedicated birth as way of Proving Something to myself or others. but i feel like, if i look into my heart, i kind of want to see what that experience is like and i want to see if i can use these different kinds of tools to reframe my understanding of what's happening to me in a way that feels empowering instead of "oh my god the worst thing imaginable is being inflicted upon me."

i have some complicated feelings i want to untangle around this, but i think the core of it is that my pregnancy loss and surgery last summer really fucked with my head, and a big reason was because the process was so intensely medicalized, felt so out of my control, and was handled with a painful lack of sensitivity by several of the medical providers i interacted with. that experience would've been shitty enough on its own, but it also happened to come at the end of a highly medicalized conception process where i spent months having my body obsessively monitored and scanned and tested, and where i spent a ton of time stuck in a pretty dark place in my head feeling like my body was fucked up in some way and incapable of doing this thing i wanted it to do so badly. idk man it really messed with my head. and then when i got pregnant again, the first trimester was just this terrible haze of bloodwork and transvaginal ultrasounds and intense surges of dread/anxiety every time i had to go in for a new test or scan. i know that some of that was necessary! the IUI process was necessary, the surgery was necessary, the monitoring to make sure i didn't have another ectopic was necessary. but now i am 34 weeks into a healthy, low-risk pregnancy and i don't think there is any reason to believe that birth must be a highly medicalized experience for me. i feel this tentative but real desire to give my body a chance to at least try this thing that it may only get to do once. i also feel keenly interested in the emotional and intellectual work of preparing my mind/body for birth. i want to understand in detail what's going to happen to my body and i want to approach the experience itself from a place of curiosity rather than fear. i want to practice ways of reframing birth as a process that animals' bodies naturally know how to do rather than a pathological condition that needs to be intensely monitored and managed. i want to experiment with different tools for calming my body/mind. i also know that i want to be able to move around for the entire labor process! for some reason this is the thing i feel most absolutely sure about... like i'm MUCH iffier on the whole experiencing intense pain thing lol but i'm absolutely sure that i want to be able to change position, walk around, move, etc., for as long as possible.

i also feel like my SIL's experience was a little bit illuminating for me. she was SO terrified of giving birth, like crying and having panic attacks about it for weeks leading up to the event, and ended up having just about every medical intervention you can have short of an emergency c-section. all of those things were meant to ease her anxiety/make labor simpler and faster, but instead they just resulted in a really long, scary, kinda traumatic birth experience that really freaked me out. so like, idk, i may have to have the exact same cascade of interventions she did! i can't predict how it's going to go or how i'm going to feel. but i think that maybe just doing the work of preparing for an unmedicated birth will stand me in good stead even if i choose or am required to go a different direction. like i think if i can really do the work of understanding what's going to happen and respecting the intensity of that experience without fearing it, i will probably feel better about whatever happens even if i do decide to get an epidural or discover i have to have a c-section. idk if i've articulated that well but it's like... part of what was so traumatic about the pregnancy loss was just like, feeling like i had no options, no time to think about it, and no possible positive outcome, and also feeling very afraid and grief-stricken and overwhelmed by how fast everything happened. and in that case i really did not have that many options - like it was always going to end sadly and it was probably always going to end in surgery. but now i am facing a different situation where there are a whole range of positive outcomes before me and also a number of meaningful choices that i get to make for myself. and i want to make them. i want to choose to try one thing, and then if things change i want to choose to try something else, and i want to feel like i understand all the choices available to me and am making a decision for myself instead of wholly handing it over over to the doctors. idk. lots more to think about but! i think one good thing is that i was feeling quite scared of birth before doing all this reading, partly because my SIL's labor was kinda scary/intense to hear about from the outside, and now i am feeling quite excited about having this human experience because i have a better understanding of what the process actually entails and what i can do to manage my emotions around it. i think it will be uhh not Fun lol, but i think it will be meaningful and i am deeply curious about what it will be like to go through it. so! so.

(also fundamentally i just get to have my own ideas about what i want to try!!! i get to try something even if other people are like wow i would never make that choice. the things i am curious about do not have to be things anyone else is interested in or curious about!!)

#pregnancy tag

[lemurious]

they dream of legions

A short piece inspired by Crassus's Parthian campaign, the wars that are still fought in the desert two thousand years later, and the idea of armies haunting each other across history.

Everything outside the parentheses fits both generals and both armies.

----

He has never expected the desert to be so cold.

The ground is covered in frost in the morning, and spiders the size of dinner plates rush into their tents for warmth. Their bite isn’t lethal, but it hurts like hell, so the soldiers don’t sleep well. They complain of ghosts in the morning, of another army just like theirs, lost behind the dunes.

The sand and gets into the folds of their armor, their weapons are blunted by the sharp crystals, they eat sand with their dried rations and drink sand in their beer and have to shake it out of their hair every night despite the close-fitting helmets.

What, exactly, are they fighting for?

The pride of the empire, he tells his soldiers.

The hunger of the empire, devouring land after land.

It calls itself a republic still. He curses it and bleeds it dry and takes and takes and takes from it, riches and fame and power, and yet he loves it, he always has, he wouldn't blink before offering his life for it.

The republic has now demanded its sacrifice. It will open him up and read the future in his entrails, and his failure may not even make it to the histories that will be written about this war.

(His soldiers say, they dream of legions, dusty red cloaks and breastplates glimmering in the sunrise.)

(His soldiers say, they dream of legions, a line of heavy machines emerging from the sandstorm.)

They sleep during the day, it is too hot, but not for their enemies, who are vexing them, ceaselessly, picking them off one by one in hunting parties. How do you fight a war when an entire country has turned itself against you?

What will they consider a victory? And how long will it last?

They’ll settle for another vassal state. And gold, he thinks. In any form. In the end, the spoils of war will let the citizens back home breathe just a little easier, he tells himself.

The desert is unforgiving, and he knows that he will be lucky if any soldiers of his will make it back. As for himself, he doesn't expect to. (They meet their enemy in the field, and what was supposed to be an easy victory turns out to be a feint, a trick, so similar to those he had read about before, but somehow, it has escaped him this time.)  

(They meet their enemy in the city, in a white haze of the dust, their best troops still coughing, half-blind, rushing into a wrong district, a trick of the enemy or his own mistake.)

He hopes it won’t cost too many lives, but it is shaping to be the deadliest battle since the last big war of the republic. A general is not supposed to make this kind of mistake.

Little awaits him at home, except for the political intrigues, the games of power, and wars and more wars stretching towards the horizon. They will keep him away from the government. He is safer over the sea. He is tired.

Before he falls, he tries to remember the name of this benighted place that will soon become his tomb.

(He thinks: Carrhae.)

(He thinks: Fallujah.)

#lemur writes #my fic #lemur romanus #marcus licinius crassus #carrhae #allusion to iraq war #war #roman republic #fallujah

[fandomfluffandfuck]

It's been a long time since i submitted anything but I'm so happy that you're unflagged !!

Anyways i was (always tbh) thinking of baby Steve having something for daddy Bucky's fingers. He always likes to nip the tip of Bucky's calloused fingers every time gets the chance to, always holding his wrist every time those cigarette smelling palms reach up to cradle his cheek. Can you imagine Steve wrapping his lips around his finger while holding his eye contact, begging Bucky to choke him with them or better fuck him with those fingers.

- pleading anon

Hey! Nice to see you again, and it's nice to be unflagged, yeah, lol.

This idea immediately had me vividly picturing Steve and Bucky during wwii.

Maybe it's the cigarettes mentioned in the prompt, but... for whatever reason, yeah, during World War II stucky vibes for sure.

Imagine Steve and Bucky at a wartime camp for once, sleeping in less makeshift tents than the smaller, much less insulated ones they carry on their backs and set up in dark huddles around a fire--if they're willing to risk making a fire--while on the front. These tents have wooden frames with canvas thrown over them, enough room for a couple of cots. If you're lucky, you can stand up in them, but not all of them are that tall. Most of the soldiers aren't afforded such space.

Steve is... lucky?

Maybe lucky isn't exactly the right word, he is in an active warzone acting as a pon in a game of chess that feels too big to see beyond the few squares surrounding him. But, he does have a large tent. Large enough to stand up in. Except, he isn't standing right now.

Right now, Steve is on his knees--kneeling in his official captain's tent that he shares with Bucky. His right-hand man.

Their bedrolls, cots, required weapons, and a few other personal items clutter the space. Thankfully, there's still enough room for Steve on the floor. And he's taking it up soundlessly, kneeling, still graced in red, white, and blue as he stares up at Bucky. His big blue eyes are pleading. Glittering with tears. Barely restrained. Muscles coiled tight, on the edge of movement.

Still, he looks so small despite his uniform, its protective padding fills Steve out even more than whatever they pumped him full of did. He is a monolith. Stone. Usually. Not right now, he isn't. He's--

Something. 😮‍💨

Something real soft and sweet. Staring up like that, eyes begging because his lips are busy, shaped hot and slick around three of Bucky's fingers. Urgently sucking, licking, and swallowing like it's all he wants to do forever. Like it's the only taste he can stand to experience.

"Sweetheart," Bucky coos quietly, talking under the constant level of noise happening within camp. Bustling. Shouted orders. Hushed chatter. Horns and whistles to signify when to wake, when to eat, when to get the fuck to your post, when to attack, when to sleep. Marching and dragging feet. Gunshots. Crackling fires. He may be speaking under the drone, but he knows Steve hears him. He hears everything now. Often, it's too much for him.

He needs this.

Steve doesn't come off of his fingers when Bucky addresses him. Instead, he takes them deeper. He swallows, long and slow. Savoring it.

"Dollface," Bucky hums, "what'd'ya want? Can't just sit here all night." He knows what Steve wants, he just wants to watch him struggle to show him. Also, they could stay here all night, so long as there are no emergencies. But, again, Bucky wants to see what the deadline does to Steve.

Steve delivers exactly what Bucky wants without even thinking about it. Perfection. He shifts, balancing his weight on his left, then his right knee; his hands flexing into fists on top of his knees; he tilts his head higher, taking more of Bucky's fingers into his mouth, deeper; he swallows, letting a little groan come out of him.

When Steve does it again--that little tilting-his-head-up movement to get more of Bucky's fingers, he gags this time. The tips of Bucky's fingers are finally deep enough to trigger his reflex. Steve groans like he's been punched this time, the sound rattling around in his big, impressive chest.

"S'that it?" Bucky hums, barely keeping himself from smiling.

Steve's eyes are even more wet now. Tears barely kept from spilling over. He nods the tiniest amount and lifts his shaking hands up to Bucky's arm, fingers ghosting over his wrist, aching to grab but unsure if he's allowed.

"Go'head, baby," Bucky's feeling particularly nice. He's also thinking with his dick which has happily filled his uniform pants. Steve's mouth... it's a dream.

Steve's hands instantly clasp onto him once he has permission. Electricity shoots through them both with more skin to skin contact. Steve whimpers, shaking, and gets what he wants--he holds Bucky's arm in place and dives forward. Taking those fingers to the last knuckle. He sputters. He gags. He chokes.

The more he chokes, the more his big chest heaves and the redder his face turns. Bucky can feel the impossibly erotic way Steve's throat spasms around his fingers. He's deep in there.

God.

Bucky shifts where he's propped up on their cots, pushed together to make one big bed. He's so hard.

Steve is wet and getting wetter, saliva becoming drool as it comes up from deep in his tight, pretty throat and leaks out around Bucky's fingers. He's getting messy. Drool dripping down his chin and tears down his cheeks.

When Bucky can't take it anymore, he shoves his boot between Steve's legs and puts his own strength behind his hand. First, he pulls his hand back. Steve sobs, letting it happen despite his super strength. At the same time, his hips stutter against Bucky's shin, grinding into it. Aching. Then, Bucky adds his pinkie, cramming a fourth finger between Steve's swollen, wet lips. Finally, Bucky pushes down with Steve's desperate grabbing.

Steve moans with everything he has because he is already cumming before he can even force his trembling hips forward again, humping Bucky's leg like an animal, it's all over because he's getting his throat fucked. His mouth stretched wide. His gag reflex pushed and pushed. Choking until he can't stop the tears.

Bucky knows he's cumming by the way he quakes and how his eyes roll back and with the deepening of his blush. Otherwise, Steve stays hard. That fucking serum.

Goddamn.

"G-gimmie my hand back," Bucky rumbles, unsteady as he already starts one-handed fumbling with his belt, "now you're good and stretched out, doll, and I can, f-fuck, fuck your throat."

It takes a moment to process, but when it does get through his head, Steve is pulling off immediately--a thick string of saliva connecting them--and ripping at his pants. Literally ripping. Bucky hears the seams of his pants start to give. He uses his boot to push Steve back, shoving at one of his big, huge fucking shoulders. He doesn't want to explain how more of his clothes got fucking ruined to anyone. His hand is fucking wet and slippery, though. It's so difficult to get to his cock. He's so keyed up. Shaking. Unthinking.

The moment it's out, though, it's in Steve's mouth. He's crawled forward from where he fell back thanks to Bucky's boot, faster than a madman, and is already choking on it.

Christ. Fuckers gonna kill him one'a these days. He swears it.

In conclusion: hand 👏🏻 kink 👏🏻

(This didn't have daddy kink in it, so I apologize for that, but hopefully, the caretaking undertones speak for themselves 😏 and there was enough choking to make up for it)

#asks #fandomfluffandfuck #pleading anon #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #wwii stucky #stevebucky

[gravessyard]

Headcanons - genshin men with the knowledge that you're a vampire: Childe (+Zhongli mention)

Notes from the crypt: ive got a cold! Yay! Its kicking my ass but it also gave me Childe brainrot, so this piece is much longer than the other 2 ive done >:) enjoy!

Tags: GN!Vampire!reader, dom!childe, smut, lots of blood, some gore but not heavily detailed

• Oblivious bastard could make eye contact with all of the signs that are in his face and he'd still brush it off as something else.

• He only sees you when the sun is setting/already nighttime? You must be so busy during the day!

• You dont take up his offer for lunch or drinks but wouldnt hesitate to drink whatever Zhongli puts in front of you? It must be difficult being a picky eater.

• He runs into you gutting a boar with your bare hands and drinking its blood while Zhongli stands to the side with plenty of towels in his arms? Weird way to train but okay!

• It wasnt until MONTHS after that last encounter that he even got an inkling that something was off about you, and he found himself sitting across the former geo archon in Third Round Knockout. It was a little offputting not seeing you by his side, but the consultant reassures him that you're simply resting and will return when the sun isnt beating down on Liyue.

• A few hours of back and forth did little to clear the fog in Childe's mind, every time he tried to ask about your "condition", Zhongli would either redirect the conversation or give some open, vague answer that Childe couldn't pick apart, as sharp as he was. The last thing he heard before the two parted ways was a simple "perhaps its better if you learned from them directly".

• Thats exactly what he planned to do, until he was sent away from the city for an emergency mission. According to documents, some of his men were being slaughtered like lambs near the chasm, and he's to deal with the culprits personally and report the damages back. He's pissed, frustration coursing through him while he rounds up his backup and makes the trip out to the chasm, you still on the forefront of his mind. He had all the pieces, all he had to do was fit them together, yet just when it was all about to click, the sounds of screams and roaring broke him from his big brain moment.

• Geovishaps, more than he's ever seen in one location, were running rampant in the camps, destroying tents and crates of supplies while also tossing around fatuus like they were ragdolls. Take one down and two more seemed to appear from the mountains while Childe did his best to keep them away enough for the troops he brought to drag survivors away, it was disastrous. The smell of blood was definitely in the air, the sun starting to dip in the horizon and he knew if he and his men didnt move quick enough, they'll all be taken out when the sun goes down.

• A second of hesitation was all it took for a geovishap to slam him against a tree, monstrous roar ringing in his ears and the sounds of rapid steps approaching him, he thought of transforming into his foul legacy form as a desperate last resort, but was stunned when the roaring creature was suddenly silenced, completely beheaded by the figure that suddenly appeared in front of him. His head is spinning, but he cant mistake your clothes. His heart flutters, a weak hand reaching out towards you and your name coming out in a whisper before you're kneeling before him, assessing his injuries and taking his hand in yours. "Dont move, ill get you all to safety."

• "I know...... what you are", Childe still forces out before he erupts into wet coughs. You furrow your brows, concern etched all over your features before you encourage him to continue, no doubt he finally pieced together this puzzle he's been struggling with. "You're........ anemic", was all he could manage before he lost consciousness, going limp and completely missing the look on your face. Part of you wants to break out into a laugh, the other part is confused on how he even came to that conclusion, but the biggest part of you knew that any teasing would have to wait until you get him and his team out of the vicinity of the rampaging geovishaps, so after barking an order to a frightened fatuus, you turned towards the current disaster and make quick work of taking down the geo creatures.

• Childe wakes up in a bed that he doesnt recognize, it doesnt have anything fatui related nor does it seem to be a hospital room. He notes the little trinkets he sees, memorabilia and ancient books before the door opens and you're walking in with a glass of water in one hand and a bowl of fruit in the other. He sits up to the best of his ability, which wasnt much since he's hissing and groaning in pain. "Stop moving, you'll only hurt yourself more", you softly scold him, placing the water and fruit on the bedside table before pressing a gentle hand to his bandaged chest and easing him back into a laying position. Childe catches your hand before you could pull away, keeping it close to his chest and its then he realizes just how cold your skin is compared to his.

• "Anemic? Really Tartaglia?", you snicker, breaking the tension in the room and he flushes in embarrassment, face scrunching into a cute pout. "What? Thats all I could think of! Fine, why dont you tell me what you are then", he huffs, idly playing with your fingers while you chuckle and lean in close to his ear, amused in the way he shudders. "Im a monster of the night, my dear harbinger. A vampire", your voice trails off in a whisper while you lick along his neck, right where his jugular is and it took everything in him to supress his moan into a whimper. Hearing it come from you gave him all the answers he needed, all of the evidence he refused to believe was now mocking him, the way you avoided sunlight, your "picky" eating habits and not to mention the insane amount of strength you seemed to possess by being able to literally swipe a geovishap's head clean off its body.

• Archons help him now, he was down bad. It was the hottest thing he's ever learned about you, and his third eye is now opened with the fantasies of you drenched in blood and toying with him. You refused to touch him while he was still resting, despite all his whining and begging, his ribs still needed to heal. It was agonizing not being able to touch you, to feel you beneath him with the sickly stench of blood permeating both of your skins, but what was worse was that you refused to feed from him, not because you didnt want his blood but because he needed it more than you did and you had already fed.

• Jealousy reared its ugly head when he learned that you'll feed from someone once in a blue moon, when hunting doesnt suffice, and he's already trying to pry names out of you. Much like the elusive archon however, you give him vague answers in hopes that he wont try and hunt down your current blood donor, since it very much was Zhongli. It was strictly a business proposal, you'll feed from him, and in return you take care of his finances and duties while he's recuperating. Of course, it was only a matter of time before Childe is up and about, trailing your every move until he spots you guiding a dizzy Zhongli back to his place one night. He was slumped on your shoulder, murmuring praises in your ear that you just snort and giggle at while easily holding him up, blood smeared on your lips and cheeks that makes Childe's blood boil. He waits until you settle Zhongli down to rest, and as soon as you leave his home, Childe pounces.

• He prefers to have you to himself in the comfort of your home, but the alleyway outside of Zhongli's house will have to do while he's slamming you against the wall, body pressed so close to yours you can feel the way his heart pounds, can hear his blood rushing through his veins and see the clear jealousy in his eyes that are locked on your blood stained lips. "Whats wrong, Tartaglia? Vampire got your tongue?", you smirk, curious on how many buttons you can push. He growls, hand moving up to squish your cheeks in his fingers, the hold on your face almost painful. "From now on, you feed from me", his voice was deep, the dark look in his eyes sending a shiver up your spine when his lifeless blue orbs meets yours, and at that very moment your business transaction with Zhongli was terminated.

• It was messy and uncoordinated but in the heat of the moment it was bliss to Childe, cock messily thrusting into you while he's holding one of your legs up. Your bottoms were tossed aside somewhere, still intact after a few minutes of begging him not to tear them off because you'd still like to walk home with some form of decency, but Childe knows you wont be doing much walking after he's done with you anyway. You moan against his skin, fangs sunken in the juncture of his neck and shoulder and he groans, panting heavily while he whispers filth into your ear. "I hope he's listening, ngh", he shudders out a moan when you clench around him, clawed fingers leaving red along his back while he picks up his pace, the echoes of slapping skin reverberating in the night air. "Fuck..! You hear that? Hear how you're taking my cock so nicely? I bet Zhongli cant do that", he's snarling, orgasm beginning to bubble over and he's hoisting your other leg up. You gasp in shock, pulling away from his neck with a wet pop to grab onto his hair and shoulder for balance while he's ramming into you wildly now, forcing an orgasm out of you that had your eyes rolling back and your tongue hanging out for him to suck onto. He moans into your mouth, the taste of blood snapping the coil in his gut that has him pushing his cock impossibly deep to fill you up with his seed.

• He was insatiable, as soon as he carried you back to your house he throws you onto the bed for many more rounds. It looked like a crime scene in the morning, with blood all over the sheets and somehow on the wall, the stench of blood was sickly in the air but he's smiling like a dork while watching you sleep, dried blood on your jaw that somehow compliments the love marks he left on you.

• Definitely got a long lecture from Zhongli about what he heard last night, but he has no complaints about reassigning his business transaction to Childe, after a very lengthy interview about what he expects from Childe moving forward with his relationship with you. Seriously, it was scary.

#tombtales #genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #childe #childe x reader #genshin tartaglia #genshin childe #tartaglia headcanons #childe headcanons

[foggyfanfic]

Love and Fury

Chapter Preview: Hopefully, that would be enough to get Bruno’s attention. Hopefully, Bruno didn’t mean what he’d said. Hopefully, he was willing to do something as conspicuous as leaving his mother’s conversation in order to fulfill his promise to Pepa.

That was a lot of “hopefully”.

Pre-movie AU, cw: dream sex and masturbation in the beginning

Ch 1 Prev Next Master List

Chapter 11 Recasting

Sunday morning found Bruno lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and wondering what was wrong with him.

Sometimes, Bruno had prophetic dreams. Never anything huge, never anything that resulted in a tablet, just little snatches of scenes. Glimpses of the inevitable, the pieces of his day that were already set in stone. Sometimes these dreams heralded the perfect birthday gift, sometimes they heralded a tear in the knees of his favorite trousers, but usually they told him he would hear a bird caw while he just so happened to be staring at the clock, or he’d hold a spoon at dinner.

Last night, Bruno did not have a prophetic dream.

Nope.

Last night, Bruno had a dream that by all means should have been a nightmare, should have been disgusting, and terrible.

It started out normal enough. He was at a party somewhere that was simultaneously Casita’s courtyard and his favorite spot by the river. Pepa was being carried bridal style around the party by Felix while Cicero watched through gauzy white curtains. Reina emerged from the river wearing a villainous black gown and a sparkling crown. When her eyes landed on Pepa she grinned haughtily.

Bruno had swept forward to intercede, “Don’t even try it.”

“There are a lot of things I’d like to try, guapo,” her eyes had raked him up and down and her grin had turned flirty.

“You can’t try anything, not unless you behave yourself,” the scene changed around them so they were now in the cheese stall, only the stall was in Bruno’s vision cave instead of the market.

Whereas before she’d been standing right in front of him, now she was suddenly twenty feet away. She closed the distance, hips swaying with every step, “And how exactly would you like me to behave, Big Bad Bruno?”

“You need to be nice,” Bruno had said, catching her by her suddenly bare shoulders before she could reach him. She had giggled and reached out to run her hands down his chest, apparently not caring that her royal gown had just turned into a barely there silk slip. 

“What’s in it for me?” she whispered, although her mouth remained stuck in a sultry pout.

“Come with me,” he’d pulled her out of the cheese stand by her wrists, walking backwards and magically not tripping despite the fact that his eyes had never left her face. When he pushed backward out of his vision cave he found himself walking down the stairs at the entrance of his room, Reina now carried in his arms. When they got to the last step the sand curtain parted to reveal the secret cavern under the stairs and he took her into the tent he thought of as his real bedroom.

Bruno laid her down on his bed and she wasted no time pulling his face to hers, kissing him deeply with a satisfied hum. After a few minutes he pulled back and pinned her down by the shoulders.

“Do you promise to be nice?”

“If you make it worth my while,” she breathed, untying the belt holding the lace robe she was now wearing. Slowly, she opened it, revealing herself to him.

Bruno watched his own hands caress her stomach and his fingers gently squeeze her breast. She gave him soft words of encouragement and from there the dream lost its thread. It became a slideshow of unfortunately enticing images. One second he was exploring her naked body with shy touches and the next he was sucking ardently at the underside of her breasts and the instant after that he was rutting into her as she offered him gentle praise. The images repeated themselves in no particular order and the scenery changed in the erratic way dreams had.

But every glimpse of a moment had the same focus, him and Reina in his bed.

When he woke he was hard as a rock and his mind kept unhelpfully replaying the image of her opening her robe for him. The details had been fuzzy, but the very idea of it was just… 

He gulped. 

He needed to get ready for church, but he couldn’t exactly hide his current state in his Sunday best. The obvious solution was to… take care of it, but he couldn’t do that! Not if he’d be thinking about Reina while he did it. Not again! 

It seemed extra bad to do this when she was upset with him. At least the last time he had done it she’d given him every reason to believe she wouldn’t mind if she knew. This time… this time she would probably mind.

Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her opening her robe, a sultry gleam in her eye.

Ay dios, something must be terribly, horribly, incredibly wrong with him. But what else was he supposed to do? Go to church with a raging hard on? He slapped his hands over his face and groaned.

Ok. Ok! He’d make this quick.

Bruno pushed the shorts he wore to bed down his hips until he got his hands on his dick. He didn’t bother with lubricant, he sort of felt like he didn’t deserve it, not when he was masturbating to the idea of his arch nemesis undressing for him.

Where had this even come from?! Sure, she was beautiful, charming, and mysterious, but, but, he didn’t even like her. He didn’t. He definitely didn’t want to see her naked, pin her to his bed, play with her breasts until the nipples hardened and bury himself in her. Sure, maybe she would purr compliments and praise into his ear, tell him how handsome he was, how desirable he was, how good he felt inside her, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear those things. A-at least, not coming from her.

Joder, yes he did. Just the thought of her fingers running through his hair while he sucked on her neck and pumped himself into her, desperate and for once in his life unrestrained, had him whimpering quietly in his bed. And the idea of listening to her praise him, tell him how wonderful he made her feel, had him spurting off all over his hand.

He closed his eyes and breathed raggedly. What was wrong with him? The villagers were right, he was creepy. How was he ever going to face her again? Maybe he should just give this whole thing up.

No. he couldn’t do that. Pepa had asked him to keep her and Cicero separated. He would stick it out, for her sake. 

He’d just have to do a better job of not liking Reina, no matter what.

Mind made up, Bruno cleaned himself and got dressed for church. He stayed silent through breakfast, which his family was used to, and avoided his own gaze while he brushed his teeth in front of the bathroom mirror. As they walked through the town, one of his sisters on either side of him, Bruno kept his eyes on the ground, just in case they passed Reina.

If he had been paying more attention he would have noticed his sisters both waving cheerfully at Leandra and Rosalie as they passed the pair sitting in the back of the church.

Leandra eyed Bruno as he shuffled into his seat in the front row. He appeared deep in thought. She had spent the rest of Friday afternoon complaining to Leche about the whole situation. She had reimagined the argument with Bruno so that he had an epiphany half way through and suddenly, magically, understood that Cicero was the one who had hurt Pepa, not her. Then he’d be suitably apologetic about allowing his assumptions to override the time they’d spent getting to know one another, agree to take her out to dinner to make up for it, and vow to work with her to bring Cicero down.

Now that she saw him, she found herself worrying that he was going to make good on his accidental threat to leave her in the hands of a rapist.

She couldn’t risk it, she needed to find a better way to keep herself safe from Cicero. Or, fix the situation once and for all.

“He’s very kind,” Rosalie interrupted her thoughts.

“Hm, what?”

“Bruno, he’s a very kind man,” Rosalie was grinning at her, holding little baby Julio in her arms, “when I was staying with them he caught on to the fact that men make me uncomfortable and he went out of his way, in his own home mind you, to give me all the space I needed. You could do a lot worse.”

Leandra quickly checked over her shoulder where her father was chatting with Señora Ruiz, “Ay, say it louder why don’t you.”

“I would, but we’re in a church,” Rosalie teased.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I wouldn’t date Bruno,” she whispered, “but the situation’s kind of… complicated.”

“How so?”

Thankfully, Leandra was saved from answering when Padré called for everybody’s attention. She allowed herself the petty pleasure of thinking to herself it was all he was good for, even if she knew that wasn’t true.

Rosalie paid polite attention to the sermon, although her brow twitched whenever Padré remarked on the virtues of kindness and the evils of apathy. On one occasion, he accidentally made eye contact with Rosalie, and immediately stumbled over his words as his eyes flicked down to the babe in her arms and back up. Rosalie did him the favor of turning her attention from him to Julio. 

Leandra wondered if anyone else heard Rosalie mutter, “Hypocrite.”

Maybe the real reason Padré wanted to build a bigger church was to make it easier to avoid looking at people sitting in the back row. 

Idly, Leandra mused over what would happen if Padré found out that Cicero was the wolf in sheep’s clothing that walked among his flock. Would he cast Cicero out? Condemn him the same way he’d condemned Rosalie? Or lecture and pontificate about forgiveness.

Padré instructed them to open the bible and Leandra took a beat longer than the rest of the congregation to do so. She was the only one that saw the look Padré gave Rosalie.

Oh yeah. That guy definitely knew he’d messed up, bad.

The only question was, did he have the courage to do anything about it. If he did, stopping Cicero would become a whole lot easier. With both him and Señora Madrigal backing them up, Leandra, and Cicero’s victims wouldn’t need to jump through hoops to get the rest of the village to believe them. Nobody wanted to be the guy who ignored the word of the only holy man in town for a bottle of wine.

Of course, that would mean asking Rosalie, Pepa, and Señora Madrigal to trust said holy man, which wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. Not after that stupid sermon.

It would also mean telling Rosalie about everything Cicero had done in the past year.

How would Rosalie feel if she found out he’d tried the same thing he did to her on at least one other woman, probably three, and maybe more. What would happen to little Julio if it got out that Cicero was the father? Would people try to pressure Rosalie to let Cicero into her son’s life?

It was for the best that Rosalie never came into contact with him ever again. Not that that was actually possible in such a small village, but in the past year, she had only ever spoken to him once that Leandra knew of. 

She didn’t know exactly what went down, she had been talking to Félippe and had looked up to see Cicero had cornered Rosalie. This was back when she was just beginning to show. They had rushed over and Cicero’s glare had turned into an easy going smile, he gave them a friendly nod before walking away.

There had been other times Leandra had caught him staring at Rosalie, or Julio, but he never made a move.

Leandra wished she could erect a force field around her friend, she wondered if she went to Casita and asked the candle to catapult Cicero into the sun, would anything happen. Rosalie had been through enough, the last thing she needed in her life was more Cicero.

Still, Rosalie needed to know what was happening. Honestly, Leandra probably should have told her from the very beginning. 

When the service ended and people began milling about, talking amongst themselves, Leandra quietly told Rosalie that she needed to tell her something very serious. 

“Uh-oh, now you’ve got me all nervous,” Rosalie joked in her quiet way, “are you breaking up with me? Was it something I said? I swear, I can change.”

Leandra smiled, wryly, “No, no, nothing like that. It’s just… it’s kind of a doozy. It’s something I should have told you about sooner but I didn’t want to, to upset you, I guess. I-It’s pretty upsetting.”

“Oh,” Rosalie hummed and bounced Julio in her arms as he began to babble and coo in response to the mumble of multiple conversations, “so, we should probably have this upsetting conversation in private?”

“Si,” Leandra nodded, and the two women stood as one, it went without saying that they would have this conversation near Julio’s crib in case he needed a nap. Leandra told her father she was going to spend some time with Rosalie and he wished them a fun afternoon.

“Is this conversation about why you and Bruno are ‘complicated’?”

She rolled her eyes, as they passed through the open doors of the church, into the sunlight. It was a beautiful day and people lingered in the town square to chat and enjoy the gentle breeze. Leandra caught a glimpse of Padré speaking to the town doctor, they made eye contact and she neglected to greet him. Instead, she walked a little closer to Rosalie.

“Well, yeah, si, that is a part of it. But it’s a small part,” Leandra grinned mischievously at her friend, “although, the whole Bruno thing is the best part. Turns out that under that ruana and bad posture the man has the body of a-.”

Leandra cut off when Rosalie froze, face going pale. She clutched her baby closer to her chest and squared her shoulders. Leandra gulped, knowing without turning her head what she was about to see, and sure enough, when she followed Rosalie’s gaze she found Cicero coming straight for them.

Leandra looked frantically around, her eyes landing on the Madrigal family. The triplets were standing politely still while Señora Madrigal laughed with a few members of the choir. Bruno was still staring at the ground, apparently pondering the meaning of life or something.

“Señorita Lopez,” Cicero greeted, making it as obvious as he could that he was ignoring Rosalie entirely.

Leandra stepped ever so slightly in front of Rosalie and in her loudest, most enthused sounding voice, cried, “Cicero! It’s been a while since we spoke! How did you like the service?”

Hopefully, that would be enough to get Bruno’s attention. Hopefully, Bruno didn’t mean what he’d said. Hopefully, he was willing to do something as conspicuous as leaving his mother’s conversation in order to fulfill his promise to Pepa.

That was a lot of “hopefully”. She really, really, needed to find a more permanent solution to the whole Cicero problem.

“Oh, it was wonderful, Father really is on a roll, isn’t he?” Cicero’s eyes flickered to Rosalie, “I particularly liked the one about drunks being an affront to god.”

“Really?” Rosalie responded, voice cold, “I really liked the one about lechers burning in hell.”

Leandra glanced over at Bruno, he was watching them with wide eyes. She looked pointedly at Cicero, then smirked.

“Oh? I would think a woman of your nature would find that part rather worrying,” Cicero sneered.

Come on Bruno, come on.

“God knows what happened that night,” Rosalie held her head high, “somehow I doubt my son will meet his father in heaven.”

Cicero briefly scowled, but wiped it off his face quickly and turned back to Leandra with a smile, “Honestly señorita, it is perhaps unwise to associate with somebody who has Rosalie’s… history.”

Leandra squared her shoulders, determined to defend her friend regardless of the risks to her own safety,“I-.”

And then she was cut off by the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, “Hola Cicero.”

Cicero practically jumped out of his skin at Bruno’s sudden appearance, “Br- Señor Madrigal! Hola. Hi.”

Bruno stepped in between the women and Cicero, his voice low and dripping with irony, “You know, it’s funny, I haven’t seen you hanging out with Pepa lately. Did something happen between you two?”

Cicero gulped, clearly thinking Bruno was referencing Pepa’s being drugged, “Look, Señor Madrigal, I know things look bad, but it’s not what you think.”

Bruno made a doubtful sound, “Right, yeah, I’m sure this whole thing is a big misunderstanding.”

Cicero nodded, he opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by the crash of thunder. Everybody whipped around to see Pepa standing not ten feet away, a storm cloud building over her head. Her eyes were trained on Cicero, suddenly a bolt of lightning scorched the Earth a mere foot to his side. He yelped and stumbled away from it.

“Cicero,” she hissed, she tried to say more but seemed to be choking on her anger, the wind whipping around her, finally she growled, “Stay away from them.”

There was a pause as he looked between the two Madrigals, then Leandra, and finally, Rosalie. Something passed across his face, but she didn’t know what it was. Maybe his eyes were widening out of fear, or maybe he’d just realized something, maybe that was the look of a crazed man; maybe his jaw tensed due to the stress, maybe he was frustrated, maybe he was determined. Before Leandra could figure it out he had turned and walked away.

The storm faded as he retreated. Once it was gone, the only sound in the town square were Julio’s cries. For a few seconds, nobody moved.

Señora Madrigal walked over, calm and poised as always. The entire village was watching them, and looking to her for context, she looked first at Rosalie and Leandra, “Are you girls ok?”

There was a mumble through the assembled crowd.

“Si Señora,” they said in unison, then Rosalie excused herself to calm her son down.

Señora Madrigal turned next to her own son, “Bruno, it was very brave of you to stand up for these young women, I am very proud of you.”

Bruno blinked, stuttering over a question his mother silenced with a hand.

“Would you please make sure they get home safely?”

“Uh, si Mamá,” he agreed.

Señora Madrigal turned towards her daughter but found that Pepa had already run off, which explained how the storm had died off so quickly. With a bracing breath, Alma turned to Cicero’s father, Señor Gutierrez. She looked him up and down as if appraising him, then pursed her lips, “Perhaps you should have a conversation with your son about the proper way to court a young lady. I think it is time the young man settled down, before he runs out of skirts to chase, don’t you?”

With that she turned and walked away, beckoning Julietta to follow her. The rumor mill began churning out story after story as everybody tried to cobble together what had happened before Pepa Madrigal had called all of their attention with a thunderbolt.

It was no secret that Cicero enjoyed the company of women perhaps a bit too liberally, but surely the son of such an upstanding pillar of their community wouldn’t go too far, would he? Then again, in the past year he’d dated four girls and each of them avoided him like the plague once it was over.

And did you see the way Pepa reacted to him? She’s had a couple of bad break ups, but have you ever seen her that angry before? What did Cicero do that would warrant that sort of reaction?

Bruno watched his mother walk away, very confused. He turned to ask Reina what just happened but found her gone. After a panicked second he saw her standing in the shade, having a hushed conversation with Rosalie while she allowed Julio to play with one of her fingers to calm him down. Bruno walked over as quietly as he could, trying not to pull attention their way.

“-isn’t what I planned, but what was I supposed to do? Just let him get away with everything?!” Leandra hissed, not noticing Bruno coming up behind her.

“Si, exactly. You’re going to get yourself hurt,” Rosalie answered.

“No. No! It isn’t right, Rosalie, you’ve suffered so much while Cicero just… goes on playing his little games,” she shook her head, “I can’t stand it, it chokes me, whenever I see him I- you didn’t deserve- nobody deserves-. It isn’t fair!”

“Life isn’t fair,” Rosalie snapped, “believe me.”

“It can be though, if we fight for it. If we play this right, he-.”

“What then? What’s your plan? What are you going to do?” then Rosalie noticed Bruno standing nervously behind Leandra, she put on a polite smile, “Hola Señor Madrigal, thank you for intervening back there. Cicero was being quite unpleasant.”

“O-oh, I-, n-no problem,” he looked at Leandra, who was avoiding his gaze. Seriously, what was happening? 

When he’d abruptly left his mother’s side he’d been expecting a lecture for being rude, but Reina had thrown him that smug little smirk and well… he’d made a promise to Pepa.

Instead, his mama was proud of him and everybody seemed to be angry at Cicero. Everybody seemed to know something that Bruno didn’t.

“We should get going,” Leandra said, “Julio is cranky after all this excitement.”

“This conversation isn’t over,” Rosalie told her quietly.

Leandra sighed, “I know.”

The two women started walking and for a second, Bruno just stood there watching them go. If he hadn’t promised his mom he’d walk them home, he would go back to Casita and ask Pepa what was happening. He shook his head and sighed, then hurried to catch up with them.

Nobody said a word the entire walk to Rosalie’s house.

#Bruno Madrigal #bruno madrigal x oc #bruno madrigal x female oc #bruno madrigal smut #Love and Fury