#maybe ive just been staring at wood grain for too long

[red-doll-face]

I loved ur fic abt having to warm up with Arthur. He was so cute in it hehe. Imagine if he picked you flowers and brought them to you and was all shy and embarrassed about it ahhhhhhh🤭🤭🤭

hiiii !!! thank you so much for this wonderful ask!! ive had this in my inbox for forever so, soo sorry. 😳😳but i wrote something for this and a little self indulgent detail bc im on my period and was craving something super fluffy for my boy... i for sure included what you wanted but i added more situational stuff. I hope you like it!!!💖💖💓💓😭😭🥹🥹 @emerald-ranch thanks for giving me such a good idea for this piece queen, love you sm 💓💓 tags: fmc, periods vaguely mentioned, arthur is sooo sweet so fluffy, not quite an established relationship yet but theres something there 👀

(high honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

Arthur shares his space with you when you aren't feeling well.

It was only a matter of time before you could stop hiding this little problem of yours. Before, you had hidden away; Abigail had let you stay in her big tent but when she got into a severe spat with John and she stopped sleeping there, you had lost your solution to this problem. You had told Ms. Grimshaw. You asked her if it would be alright if you stayed away from chores today. She raised her brow, the line of her mouth turned skeptical. She laughed at you, like she would a child faking a cough.

“What are you, the only woman in the world? You ain’t special. Now, get back to work! I don’t want to hear anymore of this belly achin’,” She seethes and you look down after you give her a weak nod. You look around nervously. You know that today will be bad. You just feel it. The squeeze in your lower belly and the nauseous unease in your stomach tells you so. You walk to the cutting board, bidding Pearson a good morning. 

“You look… pale,” Pearson asks suspiciously but you brush him off with a tight smile. You go back to chopping vegetables. The morning develops into a sweltering noon. The overwhelming smells of the camp and the morning chatter only put you in a precarious state. The last person you’d like to see you like this comes by, tells Pearson he’s going out. “That’s good, I was this close to ripping the leather off the boots around here,” Pearson jokes and Arthur scoffs before passing you, where you continue working sluggishly behind the chuck wagon. 

“You alright?” you slowly lift your head to look up at him. You don't even have it in you to shyly avoid eye contact with his sharp blue eyes and his look of real concern. You trail up the length of his body, up his gun belt and to his brown hunters jacket. 

“I’m sorry?” you ask, clinging to the edge of the wooden table. You turn your back to the produce you had been chopping, resting briefly against the support of the surface. You face him fully, even if it’s not the best idea if you want to keep hiding how much the pain is crawling down your thighs. It sears into your muscle, dripping like hot wax down your body.

“Asked if you was feelin’ alright,” he wants the truth out of you but you bite your lip. Ms. Grimshaw said she didn’t want to hear it, you aren't sure how much you’d like to discuss this with him. Disgusted or dismissive, either or both would only serve to make things worse. Arthur dismissing you like Ms. Grimshaw would have you about ready to cry, overcome by the disrupting emotions that always come over you at times like these. He looks you over, assessing your wellness maybe. It certainly isn’t in the wobble of your knee under your skirt or the pallid color of your face, a cold sweat breaking over your forehead.

“No — I mean yes! … I’m feeling ok,” you mutter, but you aren’t convincing anyone, especially not Arthur. He tilts his head and stares down at you. He’s absorbing details (the half chopped carrot you’ve been taking way too long to finish up with, your nails digging into the grain of the wood) and you do your best to smile and dismiss his badly hidden worry. You can still see the way he hesitates to walk away, shuffles his boots in the dirt, shakes his head just slightly. He’s right not to believe you. 

Weakness in your body begins to form, building up inside of you the longer you’ve decided to ignore this pain. It’s been burrowing holes through you all morning, for hours, you’ve stood upright, trying to keep yourself from slipping. But just as Arthur is about to wish you a good day and head to his horse to ride off, you clutch at your abdomen, bent over. As if you’ve been flayed open. Your pained moan makes him put a hand over your shoulder. 

“Jesus, girl, what’s wrong with you?” you can’t muster a response, too busy trying not to fall backwards. “You need to lay down?” 

“Please, I can’t…”

“Like hell, you can’t. C’mon,” he tries to guide you but your legs hardly move like his, and he doesn’t linger a second longer. He has one of your arms around him to help, holding you up. The other camp members watch curiously but you pay them no mind. Another wave of clenching ache, like a lance through your midsection, has you doubling over again. You shuffle along with Arthur who lets you sit on his bed. He urges you to lay down. 

“I don’t know what’s goin’ on wit’you but reckon some rest might help,” you clutch at your stomach, curling in on yourself. Arthur glances around, hands stiffly at his sides, unsure what to use them for. You can’t pretend not to enjoy the comfort his mattress offers, to lay down on something soft. Embarrassment has no place in your mind as you let yourself follow his direction. Surrounded by his things and his scent, you collapse ungraciously on your side. Every moment of agony makes you whine, close to tears. 

“You eat somethin’ bad? Pearson’s stew finally get the better of ya?” You shake your head, you gasp and let your eyes glaze over, unable to really converse with him. Your fingers tangle in his sheets. He cusses, calling for help. Abigail and Tilly rush over when he says your name. Abigail nods at Tilly. 

You can make out some pieces of their conversation, it’s all muffled as your pain drowns everything out around you. Bits and pieces of the people surrounding you filter in and out. You're sweating under your skirt and you have half a mind to feel bad for putting your shoes up on Arthur’s bed. His own kindness isn’t lost on you. 

You catch words here and there. Abigail mentions your monthly. She looks at you, as if thinking better of it. Perhaps you should be ashamed but all you can do is pant and wail. Tilly returns with a cool cloth for your forehead and something pleasantly warm to place gingerly on your stomach. The brief pleasure it brings you makes you relax a little. You fall asleep to the sun's glow through the thin canvas over Arthur’s bed and the smell of the earth, the lulled tobacco scent that soaks into his sheets. The smell of his hair on the pillow, the summer sweat. 

When you wake, sleep is a stone tied to your ankle, pulling you down until you wiggle free. You feel awful as you turn to see Arthur slumped in a chair at your bedside. His hat is pulled down low and he snores quietly. How he sleeps like that, you don’t know. It brings a small smile to your face, watching him doze off in the light of the candle lit at the table next to his bed. 

But the only reason he’s there is because he had given you his bed. Even when he could be using it. You can’t see much past the canvas flaps that had been lowered to keep the chill of the breeze out but you sense the evening blue. The lack of voices tells you that it must be far past dinner already. Maybe even an hour after midnight, you can’t hear much but crickets and the snap of firewood burning at the fire nearby.

Looking around more, you focus on Arthur’s tent. How strange, you had never noticed all of the little things he places around himself. Photos of people, a small flower. An honorable little picture of an older woman, his mother, you think. Your mother had always told you to look for men who loved their mothers. That detail twinges at the strings attached to your heart. 

You sit up carefully, a blanket that's been tugged over you falls away. He wakes as you make the smallest noise. Startling, he looks up a little, straightening his neck out. He clears his throat as he rolls his shoulders out, his jacket hung on the wooden chair he sits on. He puts his hat on his head, placing it back on top instead of tugged over his eyes. 

“Feelin’ better?” his voice is a little gruff with sleep and you don’t trust your own not to falter so you nod. You feel all of your memories come back, the pathetic whining and whimpering, like a kicked puppy. You sigh. Arthur nods as well. 

“I’m sorry, I took your bed,” 

“Ain’t takin’ if I put you on it. If I didn’t want ya on it, wouldn’t’ve put you on the damn thing,” he pulls a cigarette from his side table and strikes a match. He holds it delicately between his lips before he lights it, you watch as the flame flickers, to the tune of the wavering candle. He watches you from the corner of his eye. 

You try not to read into how he worded that. Want. You smile softly. “Thank you for… helping me,” your voice is nothing much but a whisper. “And thanks for letting me lay down here. I didn’t want to cause so much fuss,” the rags that Tilly prepared for you sit next to a bunch of flowers. Red and pink, little bunches of petals gathered around the stems, wreaths of blooms at the end of the stalks. You’d like to say something about them but you bring your attention back down to your hands in your lap. 

“Didn’t put me out or nothin’, I was out most of the day anyway,” He puffs on his cigarette, wavy mists of smoke coloring the air between you. “What was goin’ on with ya, looked like you was ‘bout ready to put your breakfast all over my shoes,” he chuckles, a playful glint in his eye.

You cover your face, rubbing and heaving a big breath. “I thought I remember someone telling you,” 

“They did… Abigail did. If it’s all that business, how come you don’t get like this all the time?” He seems genuinely interested in the habits of your menstrual cycle. You’ve never had a man take an interest in such a taboo topic. But you suppose most of the girls are open about their privacies, most feel comfortable sleeping in their underwear in the evening. You continue despite the warmth that rushes to your cheeks.

“Well— usually, Abigail hides me in what was her tent. But now John is in there and she can’t keep me from Ms. Grimshaw anymore. I’m sure she had something to say about my sleeping here today,” he shakes his head. 

He adjusts his legs to relax them further, leaning back and kicking them out. “She’s tough on you but I told her to leave well enough alone. You wasn’t gonna go back to choppin’ carrots like that,” you feel like you’ve thanked him enough. Where all of this comes from, you haven’t decided. The men here don’t pay you much attention and Arthur is always rather soft on the girls, all of you get greetings from him. But perhaps he does linger with you a while, asking if you’re okay. If you need anything; his low voice feels like his calloused fingers when it touches your ear. And you do give him sweet smiles. Everyone seems to think Arthur Morgan isn’t much more than a bitter old soul. But you watch and you see fluttering moments of his kindness. Like bursts of sunlight through a canopy of trees. 

He reaches behind himself to the flowers on the table at the back of his chair. He sniffs before handing them to you. “Brought these for you, saw ‘em while I was out huntin’, thought they might cheer you up a bit,” You take them from him, briefly touching his own hand. Shock gathers at the corners of your lips before they push back into a smile. The stalks are fresh and stiff, the scent of them naturally brightening. 

“Arthur, I… thank you, really,” he hums. Arthur plays with his cigarette, fumbling at it. You play with the thin velvet of the flower petals. “What are they?”

“Yarrow. Grow just about anywhere,” he means to humble them, to bring them down. But you hold them tighter. 

“They’re beautiful,” you catch his stare but you can’t drag your eyes away from him. Arthur doesn’t look away as he flicks the butt of his cigarette away, grinding it beneath his heel. Every second feels like ten and the minute could be an hour, ensnared by him. 

When he’s walking around camp, he squares his shoulders, marches with purpose. Now, he slumps forward. Tired or weighed down. He takes an uneven breath. “I- I think I should leave you to your own bed, shouldn’t I… But thank you again, I really do mean it,” you start to lift the blanket off of yourself. He opens his mouth. Like he wants to say something. You pause a moment. 

“What’chu talkin’ bout, you’re sick,” he says as if he thinks you’re being ridiculous. He motions to you with his hand vaguely.

“Arthur, I’m not- I’m not sick. It happens all the time. I think I’ve caused enough trouble today,” 

“N’ you can promise that you won’t go startin’ up again? Cryin’ and rollin’ around?” 

“I’ll be fine,” Avoiding his eyes as you say that isn’t what you should have done if you wanted him to believe you. 

“You’re lyin’,” You bring your shoulders up before dropping them. Twiddling your thumbs, the flowers in your hands become your focal point.

You give an idea some thought. Sharing a bed with Arthur Morgan isn’t the worst idea you’ve had in your life. The rumors that would circulate make you think twice. Neither of you would hear the end of it. The camp in which the Van Der Linde gang resides isn’t a place without a gossip mill. But… you trust Arthur. If any of the men, you trusted him. With your life, you knew you could.

Putting Arthur out of his own bed isn’t something that appeals to you at all. 

“It doesn’t seem right, taking your bed. I’ve been in it all day, I could move over if you like,” it’s your clumsy attempt at humor poking fun at your own imaginings. But he doesn’t smile. 

“You mean that?” As if you pressed the very air from his lungs, he dips his head low, hardly breathes. He stares down at the dirt, before he sits all the way up. He turns to you, something you’ve never seen pulls at his features. Makes his brow scrunch and his cheek pull in like he’s chewing on it. 

“Do you want me to? To mean it?” Your head is full of hot air, dizzy at the thought. You set the flowers down on the crate behind you. Your hips lift and scoot to make what little room you can for Arthur’s frame. You had always known he was quite big, wide shouldered. Nothing makes you realize that more than the way you turn on your side to fit him. You’re in a dream, you must be. 

One you don’t want to wake from. You soak up his warmth, listen to the sounds he makes. Arthur arranges himself so awkwardly it could make you laugh if you didn’t fear breaking this trance he’s in. You bunch your hands up close to your chest, tucked into his shoulder. The wind playing with the flaps of canvas around you distracts you enough to let him settle.

The black hat he wears everywhere sits on the table, he rubs one of his hands over his cheek, down his jaw. “You’re alright with this?” 

“I trust you.” There isn’t much room in his bed, you don’t even know how he sleeps in it comfortably with him being as long as he is. But maybe he doesn’t. He comes back to it most nights though. He came back to it tonight, even if he knew you were sick and that he’d want to make you stay in it. You squeeze into Arthur’s side. 

He scoffs like he has something funny to say about your words. In the dim candle light, his chest rises steadily. This close to his neck, you can feel his pulse pick up, like yours as you come to your senses. You are sharing a bed with Arthur. There's a tightness in your belly, fingernails dig into your palm. 

“Thank you again, for letting me stay,” you whisper but you forget that you’re facing his ear. He hasn’t once turned to look at you. The smallest tremor goes through him. The tiniest details of him become more apparent to you. A nicked scar on the bridge of his nose, sweat beading on the tanned skin of his throat. His brow pinches and his eyes stare at the bottom of his make-shift roof. 

“S’ no problem, now… jus’ sleep, will ya?” you nod, trying to keep what fraction of space you can between you but you give up, pressing your cheek to his shoulder. 

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you murmur, humming as you sink comfortably next to him.

“Night,” his stiff response makes you stifle a giggle. Relaxing into his bed, you sigh. Even if you’ve been sleeping for most of the day, you still find it again quickly. 

In the morning, the bed is still warm but you’re alone in it. In the haziness of sleep, you can hear scratching and some shuffling, the jingle of Arthur’s spurs as he pulls the flap open and slips out. You open your eyes more when you’re sure he’s gone, the quiet command he gives his horse to go.

On the table, is a note, white smooth paper, smudged with black powdery pencil lead. You pick it up gently before reading it, the gray morning light lets you read. You touch gently at where he started and crossed out his words twice before starting again.

‘Hope you feel better today. You can hide in here if you need to.’ 

You smile as you go back to your small space amongst the girls with your two prizes. A bouquet of yarrow and a pretty note signed by Arthur Morgan. 

just what the doctor ordered for meeee so sorry if this isnt really your thing but thanks for reading !!💓💓💖💖🥹🥹

[arloconroy]

Story of the bar.

The sudden thud of my boots against the hardwood floor seems to alert my presence to the occupants of the entire bar, I gulp as I feel the piercing gaze of a million, well not a million but even a few eyes can feel like thousands when you're not even sure if you should be there. I manage to stop myself from shaking as I continue to walk into the bar, the sudden click and clang of the wooden door's metallic latch shutting behind me makes me almost jump out of my skin.

I keep taking steps, counting them as I go, watching my feet and examining the pattern to the wood grain, trying to make my steps match up to distinct lines that run along each floor board. I take a deep breath as I sit on the upholstered bar stool, as I pull the chair a couple inches away from the counter I pay close attention to the rough feeling of the embroidered pattern in the fabric, subtly tracing it with my fingers before swiftly sitting down, my hand gripping the counter as I try to balance myself and sit comfortably. I tap my fingers against the counter, one two three, I think to myself, one two three, the rhythm sending a calming feeling through me.

I quickly flick my eyes up, remembering to smile in the awkward way I do. "A whiskey on the rocks, please" The sentence repeats itself in my head, maybe five times as I try to get the attention of the bartender. I never do this well, thankfully I know this bartender, he's nice. He asks for my order and I manage to ask for a whiskey. He smiles and I smile back, like you do. I fiddle with my wallet, getting my debit card between my fingers The raised ridges on the card grazing against my skin as I flip it over and over again, that grazing sensation pleasing my brain in a way I've never been able to explain.

When my drink appears, I hand over the card and pay. He starts to talk to me "I've not seen you for a while, how have you been?" He asks, I take a moment to think, my eyes seeming glazed over as I stare at the slightly ripped label of a bottle of alcohol behind him. I quickly answer "I've been good, just been traveling"

"Nice, where?"

"oh, well I started by visiting Ireland for a couple weeks, which was fun a bit wet though. then I got the plane to Germany, which took so long, didn't sleep though but I did manage to catch up on some reading. See theres this new book I love and I've been meaning to finish reading the series but I keep getting distracted and not listening to it. Its an audio book by the way.." I realize, a little too late, that ive been talking for too long and probably a little too fast. The previous smile on my face fades as I start talking again, making sure to be extra quiet since I tend to start shouting like a damn banshee when I get excited "Sorry, I got a little distracted there. I've gone around a few places in Europe, visited japan too. My Japanese skills finally came in useful" I finished, talking decently slowly as I force myself to think carefully before I speak. The bartender gets back to his work and I sigh, taking a long swig of my whiskey.

I look around, my eyes a few details. Like the pealing paint in places and how the patterns in some of the wood furnishings/detailing all look like faces. Then I realize I actually have a reason to be here. Theres a certain human that invited me here. My incessant brain is already thinking of everything that will happen, already trying to think of how I should talk to them and what I should say, maybe even what they'll say, I resist the temptation to image my conversations with them out loud. I always imagine things, its why I write stories. I love to image how conversations with people would go and how my life could plan out. Like who I might meet or date or be friends with and the amount of arguments ive had with people without having them with people is insane.

I unlock my phone and check the time. I turn my phone off before unlocking it again and checking the time again, this time reading the numbers closely. converting that 19:00 to 7:00, a task that I've always liked. My foot starts to tap on the bottom bar of the stool, as I turn my phone off and unlock it a series of times. Each time trying to calm the anxious voices in my head that force me to check the messages that I clearly read and remember reading "Meet at the bar at 7:30" still I scroll through the display of messages until I see that specific one.

My nerves are slightly calmed at the almost hug like comfort the existence of this message gives me. However I see that the numbers now say 19:30 and I start to panic again, even the oddly calming routine of converting 19:30 to 7:30 doesn't seem to ease the growing panic deep in my head, in a part I've never been able to comfort.

Time tics on for a couple more minutes, the continuous tapping of my foot starting to cramp the muscles of my right leg. I force my foot to stay still and begin that same rhythmic tapping of my fingers against my leg as I stare at the un-opening door, waiting for that certain curly haired person to appear.

[antarcticajoy]

this looks like a cross between a woman and one of those angels with 700 eyes

[queridopascal]

Happy 500! Ive had this idea for a while, but it might be too long and complicated. If it is too much feel free to disregard, no hard feelings! I just had this idea where Frankie has been really happy lately and kind of hiding things and sneaking around. So of course the guys think he started using again so they start following him and stuff to kind of catch him in the act, but hes just has a baker girlfriend they don't know about yet and hes been hiding sweet treats she makes him so he doesn't have to share with the guys. If you do write it thanks in advance ❤❤

Hi anon! I looooove this, thank you for sending it in 💞

Frankie’s secret (Frankie Morales x F!Reader)

Warnings: reference to addiction and use of drugs, curse words, fluff

annie's 500 followers celebration ✨ (NOW CLOSED)

"Something's up with him." Pope sighs as he puts down his beer.

Frankie had just entered the bar with a huge smile on his face and was now headed towards the counter.

"He's been acting weird lately..." Benny huffs and shakes his head, Pope and Will nod silently.

"You guys think...?" the youngest Miller asks as he glances at Frankie, and then looks at the others.

"I hope not. I really do." Pope lowers his head and stares at the table's wood grains, lost in thought: Frankie is like a brother to him, and to think that he could have relapsed and fallen down that wagon again makes his blood freeze.

"Hi guys," Frankie joins them and takes a seat at the table "what's with the long faces?"

No answer.

"Fish," Pope takes a deep breath and turns to him "I want you to look at me and tell me what's going on."

Frankie's eyes widen and he lets out a nervous laugh, his gaze darts between Will and Benny before settling back on Pope's face.

"What do you mean? Nothing's going on." he says, indignant, crossing his arms and letting his body language speak.

"Fish," Pope glares at him, his nostrils flaring "just... tell me you're not doing that shit again."

"Christ," he unfolds his arms and opens them "why would I? I'm clean and I'm done with that shit! What's wrong with you, uh?" he starts to gets up from the table and looks at the two brothers for back up, but they stare back at him in complete silence.

"Fish, please." Pope tries to reason with him, but he won’t listen.

"We’re worried, Fish." Benny rests both elbows on the table and looks at him "You’ve been acting strangely, avoiding us at times, you’re not answering your calls, you’re always sneaking around suspiciously and... we’re concerned."

"There’s nothing to be worried about," Frankie puts his right hand above his heart "I swear."

***

It’s Saturday morning when Benny stops at a water fountain to freshen up a bit after his routine morning run. As he catches his breath, a familiar figure walking on the other side of the road captures his attention: Frankie is holding two large paper bags that look like they're filled with food, a joyful expression painted on his face.

Benny doesn���t remember ever seeing him that happy, and he chuckles at that scene before squinting his eyes and noticing that the logo printed on the bags is the one of a famous bakery located at the end of the street.

Driven by curiosity, Benny jogs towards the bakery, a perfect excuse to investigate while buying something for breakfast.

As soon as he enters the small shop, the delicious smell of freshly baked bread and pastries makes his mouth water, and a gorgeous girl greets him from behind the counter.

“How can I help you, sir?” you asks him in a lovely voice as you adjust your apron.

“I’d like to get one of those croissants, please.” Benny points at the pastry behind you and you nod, turning your back to him and putting the croissant into a paper bag before handing it to him.

“Anything else?”

“Well,” Benny gets closer to the counter “Francisco Morales, do you know him?”

“Uhm, yeah,” you nod “he’s my boyfirend. Why?”

“Your what?! ” Benny’s eyebrows rise with surprise at your words.

“My boyfriend, we've been dating for a little over a month now.”

“Oh, that explains a lot of things.” he shakes his head with a smile.

“Wait, are you one of his Delta Force...?”

“Yeah, I’m Benny.” he says, extending his hand to you, and you introduce yourself.

“He’s talked a lot about you, Pope and Will. I'm finally able to put a face to name.” you glance at him as you serve another customer.

“Well," Benny sucks his teeth “no offence, but he’s never mentioned you, I didn’t have any idea he had a girlfriend... ”

“I know. Frankie’s been through a lot, I think he really wants to be sure before sharing something with the people around him." you sigh and Benny nods.

"Well, it was nice to meet you. I'll see you at the party then." he waves at you and leaves the bakery as he takes a bite of his croissant.

***

It's evening when Benny, Pope and Will practically invite themselves at Frankie's house to watch some football.

"You got anything to eat?" Pope asks him as he gets up from the couch and stretches his back.

"Yeah, help yourself. Mi casa es tu casa." Frankie exhales as he watches the game, attentive eyes glued to the screen.

Pope walks into the kitchen and opens the first two cabinets, finding them filled with biscuits and pastries of all sorts. He huffs and opens another cabinet in search of something savory, but its content is the same as the other ones: pastries.

"Fish, what the fuck is this?" he shouts from the kitchen.

Frankie and the other guys rush to him, and Benny's mouth falls open at the amount of baked products stored in the kitchen cabinets, and he smiles to himself.

"That's a lot of pastries." Will steps forward and grabs a plastic container filled with small squares of millefeuille.

"I can explain." Frankie puts his hands up apologetically and takes a deep breath.

Pope and Will look at him, their expressions a mix of curiosity and anxiety, while Benny tries to keep his composure.

"I have a girlfriend and..." Frankie sighs "she's a baker."

"Wow, okay, so this is..." Pope looks around, pointing at all the food.

"Yeah, this is all her work."

"And I guess that's the reason why you've been acting weird lately, uh?" Benny steps closer to him and he nods.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Pope punches his arm playfully "When are we meeting her?"

"Next week, at my birthday party."

***

"You think they like me?" you ask as you help Frankie clean everything up after the party.

"They love you, babe." he walks over to you and places his hands on your hips "Especially Benny I would say. Please, don't run away with him." he adds, pouting a little.

"You don't have to worry, he's not my type." you shake your head and wrap your arms around his neck, caressing his nape with your thumbs.

"Yeah?" he cocks an eyebrow at you.

"Yeah," you nod firmly "he's not you, he's not my Frankie."

Frankie beams at you and rests his forehead against yours, gazing into your eyes for a moment as you get lost in the warmth of his brown ones.

"I... maybe it's too soon for you, but," he sighs, closing his eyes "I think I love you."

"Frankie..."

"I'm sure." he nods, putting his hands on your shoulders "But you don't have to say it back if you're not ready, it's alr-"

"Will you shut up!" you exclaim, putting your index finger on his mouth to silence him.

Frankie gulps and keeps quiet, staring back at you with those adorable puppy eyes.

"I love you, too."

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[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops AN:  We are here again my undoubted friends. You know how these things go, the personal updates are that I finished SMT IV and started SMT IV: Apocalypse which is good 'cause Atlas RPGs are always fun. I've noticed we've gone a bit of time without an action set piece, so I threw one in here for good measure. Also for those that left comments on my NSFW fanfic, it turns out I turned on manually approve comments, so... whoops. As always follow @spookylovesboba on Tumblr and enjoy the chapter.

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Mao Mao dug through the closet, looking for the white suit that he was certain he put somewhere. It shouldn’t have been that hard to find. It was pure white, dammit! He tossed capes and sashes to the ground, digging through the endless pile of junk. He tossed Badgerclops’ tools out the way, pushed aside some of Adorabat’s toys, and wondered where the bathrobe that belonged to none of them even came from.

“Badgerclops! Are you sure my suit was in here,” he yelled to the other room.

“Yeah, I’m sure I saw it in there.”

“Well, it's not here.”

“I don’t know why you’re stressin’ about it. The plays’ not ‘till tonight I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“I’m not stressing about it. I want to iron it first.”

“I don’t know how long you think it takes to iron things, but it definitely doesn’t take 7 hours.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

Ding-Dong!

“Mao Mao, someone's at the door.”

“And you’re in the living room. Answer it.”

Mao screamed his frustrations into the bathrobe before throwing it aside. He didn’t understand how Badgerclops could be so lax about this. She’d already been dropped off, and the silence her absence left made Mao Mao feel anxious. Adorabat’s play was in seven hours, and a lot could go wrong in seven hours. The house could burn down, the Sky Pirates could attack or-

“Hey, Mao Mao you’re gonna wanna come here.”

“I’m busy. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty tall, wearing gold… says he’s your dad.”

-his dad could make a surprise visit again. What could he want? He wanted the finger back, obviously, but what else? His next thought was that he wanted to apologize. Mao Mao quickly dismissed that thought, but he slowly brought it back around. Everything he thought he knew about his father had been turned around. Maybe he actually did want to apologize. Mao Mao rose to his feet, huffed, and slammed the closet shut. If papa wanted to apologize then the only question to ask was how would he fuck it up this time?

It was then that a thought struck Mao Mao like a bolt from the blue. Why should I forgive him even if he doesn’t fuck it up? His first instinct was to come up with an argument against it but found nothing of any worth, yet he still pushed the idea aside.

He stepped in the living room, finding his papa standing just outside the door frame, lest he breaks it again. The first thing Mao Mao noticed was his armor. Normally kept pristine and shining had scratches and dents marring its facade. It wasn’t even waxed. Had hadn’t returned home, had he?

Mao Mao fought back the urge to ask what he was doing here. Mao Mao pushed past Badgerclops, stepping onto his porch, and closing the door behind him.

“Son,” Shin Mao said.

Mao Mao ignored the question. He reached into his sash flicking the broken finger towards his father. “This is what you came for, right?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“Of course it was,” Mao Mao spat.

“That’s not-,” papa took a deep breath to get control of his voice,” that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? ‘Cause everything you say and does tell me that you don’t!”

“I came here to apologize!”

“Oh my god! We literally had this exact conversation a week ago. I bring up all your problems and you deny and deny and deny!”

“Well, I’m trying to own up to it now!”

“And it still doesn’t mean shit!”

The door was thrown open. “And that is enough of you two,” Badgerclops yelled.

Neither of them heard Badgerclops. They kept arguing.

“I get it,” papa screamed,” I get that I’ve made mistakes! What do you want me to do to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he yelled back.

Their voices rising higher and higher, so high that it wasn’t even words anymore. Just pointless screaming. Again, a thought wiggled its way into his head. Why should I forgive him? It stood above papa’s voice and even his own. It was just an infuriating mess of noise inside and out. At first, he gave in to his rage and grasped for the hilt of Geraldine before thinking better of it. He ignored the shouting, got onto the aerocycle, and left.

* * *

Despite taking his leave Mao Mao felt no calmer. His knuckles ached,

He could hardly drive straight, so he landed at a small clearing in the forest. Everything irritated him. The bird’s singing, the cool breeze, the fragrance of the pine forest. He sat on a large boulder to gather himself. His father would leave sooner or later. Then he would go back home and- Dammit! Adorabat still had her play and he still hadn’t ironed his clothes or even find them. Mao Mao sighed. Whatever. Badgerclops was right, there was still time to waste.

The maddening chain of thoughts kept going. His mind turned from one problem to another, from one mistake to another. The terrible thoughts shared no connecting theme. Sometimes it was how he embarrassed himself as an adult, other times it was the mistakes he made as a child. It made his throat feel rather dry rather quickly. Maybe it was the devil’s luck that he had nothing to drink. However, he did have Geraldine.

Mao Mao took his sword and swung at the nearest tree. The tree crashed down to the floor with a single slice. Mao Mao examined the stump with displeasure. Despite only taking one slash the cut wasn’t very clean. The wood was jagged and frayed at the edges. Not sure what he expected considering he let proper maintenance fall to the wayside.  When was the last time he took his care of his sword? It was nearly two months; around the time Jǐngtì first showed up if he remembered right. That was when his life really turned into an entire pile of shit, wasn’t it?

Mao Mao took to running his sword along the edge of the boulder he once sat on. To his surprise, the rock worked rather well as a sharpening stone. It had a nice grain that matched his sword well. Maybe he should remember this spot, or better yet take a piece of the rock for himself.

Mao Mao held his sword backhanded and swung it through the tip of the boulder, taking a nice chunk of it. That was when the ground began to shake. Mao Mao struggled to gain footing as the dirt cracked and exploded out as the boulder grew larger and larger and larger, towering over him in a wispy mass of shadow.

That was no boulder! It was a monster.

The monster was utterly massive, even by monster standards. Its loose shape only contained in the bony protrusions that he thought were rocks. Mao Mao barely shook off his shock in time to dodge a swipe from its wings. He stared at the terrible gash in the ground where he once stood. How many hits could he take before dying? If he hadn’t just gotten out of the hospital he might actually be able to tank a hit. Like this, a glancing hit might kill him.

A beast with strength like that could only be dodged. And dodge he did. He ducked under swipes and leaped over attacks, holding a half-sharp Geraldine in his only hand. He stepped out the way of another attack and retaliated with a quick slash. It chipped the stone-like edges of its wings.

There was no point in striking its exterior. He’d have to go for the shadowy flesh.  He rolled over one of the slashes, using the momentum to toss himself towards the monster. He left a nasty gash across the beast, but something was wrong. It felt like he was cutting through a thick cloud of smoke. He landed and immediately jumped away from another attack. He clung to a tree watching the gash get filled in by more shadowy mass. Did he do any real damage? How many more hits would it take?

Mao Mao leaped back into action. He slashed and slashed, taking entire chunks of the monster, but it was always right as rain in seconds. He, on the other hand, couldn’t keep this up forever. He was a cat, not a monkey, and he couldn’t keep running around like one forever. His entire body felt weak and it was hard to find balance. The sheer pressure of knowing that a single hit would bring him just shy of death was taxing.

Mao Mao remembered a piece of advice he hated. He who runs away lives to run another day. He was ready to leave when he heard a thunderous crash that seemed to shake the world. He hesitated to look over his shoulder, regretting that hesitation immediately. He should’ve just said fuck it and run away.

Amongst the kicked up dirt and dust, amongst the black shadows fading in the wind, was the glorious glint of gold. Papa had found him. Badgerclops was there, too. He watched them argue from the trees. He considered still listening to the hated advice but ignored better judgment, like always.

He sprang from the tree with a stumbling stop, falling to his knees to catch his breath.

Papa, to his credit, rushed to help him to his feet, but Mao Mao forcefully pushed him off. “I don’t need your help,” he spat at his father.

“What were you doing,” Papa asked. “You’re in no shape to be fighting monsters.”

“And you’re in no shape to be acting like a parent.”

“I think we should get him to a hospital,” Papa Badgerclops.

“Hey, fuck you. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Calm down, son.”

“No. I won’t calm down! Every time you’re around you always make me feel… small . You ignored my existence and when you don’t you ignore my feelings and blow them off like they don’t matter. I don’t love you. I don’t care what happens to you, and I don’t want to see you, Shin , ever again.”

“You need to take a minute. You’re obviously delirious. You probably have a concussion.”

“Who cares! Who cares what you think! I’m done caring about what you think,” Mao Mao poured his entire heart into those words, screaming his throat hoarse and raw. “I think you’re a self-serving asshole too obsessed with your ego to realize your mistakes! I think you're so selfish that you honestly think you can suddenly realize your mistake and suddenly expect forgiveness!”

“I think-,” Mao Mao licked his numb lips, stumbling forward as his vision grew blurry, “ -I’m having a stroke.”

Everything went dark as the ground came rushing towards him.

* * *

Mao Mao woke up in a regrettably familiar setting. It was cold, reeked of sterile antiseptic, and home to the closest thing the valley had to a doctor.

“Hey, why am I at Camille’s Tower this time,” he said to no one.

Badgerclops rushed to his side. “You had a stroke, dude.”

“Right… wasn’t that a side-effect of Camille’s medication.”

“If you didn’t watch your blood pressure.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds familiar… hey, it might be the stroke messin’ with my memory, but wasn’t I doin’ somethin’ before I got here.”

“You were getting ready to attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao nodded along. “Was that before- no, that’s not important. He’s not important.”

Mao Mao stumbled over his words trying to push off the fatigue. “What I mean to ask is if you can tell me the time.”

Badgerclops placed a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up. “Oh no. I know that wide-eyed look. It means you either got the zoomies or about to do something stupid. Same difference really.”  

“I’m fine.”

“You literally had a stroke.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not find.”

“Actually, it does mean you aren’t fine,” Camille corrected from the back.

“I don’t remember asking for the peanut-gallerie's opinion.”

“But the peanut gallery has a point. You can stay here and get better, while I can go attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao searched the room. There was a window on the far side, but he probably wouldn’t be able to reach it, and he certainly didn’t have an idea what to do once he jumped through it. He sighed, realizing how little options he had left. He gestured for Badgerclops to lean in as he whispered into his ear.

“I know I don’t talk about my childhood for obvious reasons, but did you know that I actually was in a school play. I tried out for the leading role, but ended up playing a bush and -don’t laugh- and I actually handed an invitation to my father to make sure he knew it was happening. You can guess what happened on opening night.

“He wasn’t there,” Badgerclops said.

“Don’t say it out loud. Point is: Going to this play is a very important thing to me. I don’t want to be like Papa… Shin, I mean.”

Badgerclops stood up. He drummed his fingers against the patient’s bed while he thought. “We’ll go to the play.”

Mao Mao swung out of bed to have Badgerclops put his hand on his shoulder. “But, you’re coming back here when we’re done, alright?”

Mao Mao nodded along. He would’ve nodded to anything you said at this point. He was just happy to go.

* * *

Were theatres required to markup ticket prices on showing days? Mao Mao and Badgerclops took their seats as the curtain was drawn. Mao Mao kept his eyes on the stage the entire time, but couldn't remember anything about it. He remembered yawning, leaning against Badgerclops, the ruby pure heart was mentioned somewhere. It was a huddled mess, a confusing blur of time that got lost in his endeavor to just stay awake. Suddenly, everyone started clapping and Mao Mao tried clapping too, alas he forgot he only has one. Adorabat found them soon after the play ended.

“Did you see me,” she asked.

“Yeah, I saw you,” he answered.

[shoezuki]

Been thinkin a pieces of Shou things in my real people AU so

The Suzuki Manor is a giant mansion on a hill near but out of the way of the town

Not much is known about the millionaire that lives there. There was rumours he had a kid and a wife, other rumours that he was a completely loner. Claims of ridiculous things like hes a vampire, he turns people into wooden dolls if they trespass, he shakes the earth where he walks, he caused landslides and earthquakes, all things.

Touichirou in reality dazzles the other Rich People and business owners and government bodies w his 'charm' and money. But otherwise no one Outside the house knows of him

Then the manor burns down

It's a massive spectacle. Everyone can see the fire from anywhere in town. Massive plumes of smoke and flame reach to the sky

Its peculiar, that no fire trucks or ambulances are able to make it in time. All at once their trucks are down, the brakes cut. Trees that have been burnt perfectly through at the base have fallen over roads. Cellphone towers have broken down and no word is able to get around

Townspeople rush to the building and attempt to help put it out or look for anyone inside but the fire, seconds after beginning, has already engulfed the entire mansion. Its too hot for anyone to even get too close

Everyone is helpless to watch it burn.

Ritsu and his family stand on the front grounds w the town. Theres whispers that, maybe that suzuki guy and everyone there isnt home. Ppl are saying they saw dozens of sleek, black cars going to and from the mansion constantly. Maybe no one is there

A figure walks out of the smoke, out the front door. Everyone watches

Shou moves in a way that is unnatural. His joints seem stiff, awkward, each step is jerky and abrupt. He doesnt blink. His eyes are glossy like glass marbles.

He collapses in front of the house like a ragdoll

No one rushes to him. Its too hot to get any closer. Except ritsu

He could never say why he did. Or how he even managed to stand the heat.

Ritsu grabs shou and drags him as best as he can away from the fire. His skin feels like hard, polished wood grain and his joints creak. His eyes stare upward, open at nothing

He only says one sentence to ritsu and his voice makes ritsu jump

"Did i get him?"

Shou doesnt say anything else as hes carried to the hospital. He doesnt say a word to paramedics or fire fighters or police officers

Ritsu gets burns he didnt even notice treated. He gets asked questions: do you know him? Is he Touichirou's son? Did he say something?

Ritsu answers no to everything. Hes sent home when hes found to be no help and noncompliant

Hes grounded fot 2 weeks :(

Paramedics cant find a pulse or even a heartbeat or breath. When they turn their backs shou is gone

They search for him for months. They find records of him: suzuki shou, suzuki touichirous only son. Homeschooled.

Neither shou or touichirou's body are found.

Months pass and eventually he is forgotten about

Ritsu has shou stuck in his head. He tastes ash on his tongue whenever he thinks of him

Ritsu swears that when he glances out his bedroom window, he can see shocks of red hair past the creak, in the forest.

Birds start tapping at his window sometimes. Squirrels seem to have set up shop on his unused balcony.

I dont have the circumstances figured yet, but at some point ritsu rushes right at his fears of the creak and goes past it into the forest

The forest in his backyard is only 5 km away from the burned down manor so its where search parties constantly looked through

Ritsu wanders into the forest. He finds a wooden figure just shorter than him, sitting beside a tree trunk. Completely immobile. Hes been there a long time. Grass and moss are building in him

He cant say why he does it but he cleans shou up. Dusts off the dirt and grime. Soot and ash. Pulls at the plants and weeds

Shou scares the shit out of him, grabs his wrist and yanks him into him. He screams

Shou just laughs and says "did the birds finally get your attention? Jesus, ive been sending them for months asshat.'

Ritsu regularly visits shou in the forest, who refuses to leave. Every visit his joints move better, the wooden grain in his visage gives up to fleshy scars that ritsu doesnt ask about

The nights ritsu goes home, he wakes up to red roses all around him in his bed for the first time ever

[sun-summoning]

SasuSaku 5 or 23? Or both if you so please ;)

5 one night stand and falling pregnant au + canon!verse 

i.

sakura misses sasuke now more than ever. she’s used to waiting for him, for longing, but she thinks that he was cruel to have shared that one night with her when he returned to the village so briefly. 

he’s gone now, so sakura teaches herself how to be alone all over again.

ii.

everyone worries about her. everyone always worries about her. you’re working too hard, you’re working too often, maybe consider taking a break. but she’s fine. there are people to heal, children to save, innovations to make, people to train, antidotes to concoct–

she remembers sasuke leaving again and then planning. writing funding proposals, creating new techniques, reworking the medical ninja training process, healing everyone, healing everyone, but never really healing herself. sakura is hard-working by nature but eventually it occurs to her that maybe she’s been working a little too hard because somehow she’s twenty and she doesn’t really know where the time went.

she’s also sick. sakura doesn’t get sick. she thinks it’s just the nature of a healer, but she hasn’t gotten sick in years and so the constant nausea confuses her. 

sakura doesn’t consider pregnancy until she throws up one more time and in the middle of shizune holding her hair back and wiping the sweat from her forehead, the other woman asks if that might be the case.

“what?” sakura replies, utterly dumbfounded.

shizune seems to take sakura’s confusion as a sign that pregnancy isn’t an option here, and while she muses on how this flu of hers has gone on a little too long, sakura begins to understand.

iii.

sakura goes on a leave. she pulls her name from the mission roster and quits her role at the hospital. she tells her parents she’s going to take an apprenticeship with a poisons master in wind country and tells naruto and ino she just needs a change of scenery. kakashi takes her bullshit with a grain of salt but lets her go and when she stops to see tsunade and shizune, they quiz her on prenatal care knowledge she’s had since she was thirteen.

sakura is pregnant with sasuke’s child and she doesn’t really know what to do about it, but she does know that konoha is not the place for her right now. not when she doesn’t know what to do.

her parents will pry and people will gossip and naruto will tell sasuke in an instant.

she’s very fortunate that people all over the world feel indebted to her. as such, it’s not that hard for sakura to find places to stay along her road to understanding. it’s a week here and a few days there and eventually she sees a wealthy older couple whose granddaughter sakura healed many years ago and after reminiscing and a brief discussion of her “condition,” they offer sakura a small cabin of theirs in the south, which sakura agrees too a little too eagerly. 

in her mind she has a few options:

option one, she tells sasuke immediately. maybe he marries her. maybe they raise this child together.

option two, she does this alone. she goes back with her tail between her legs and admits to her parents that this happened and then she carries this baby to term and has it and continues on as always sans the major lifestyle changes that usually come along with motherhood. naruto would tell sasuke, kakashi would tell sasuke, but sakura knows how sasuke thinks. he would take the fact that she didn’t tell him herself as a message in itself: we don’t want you in our lives. and if sakura knows the man he’s become, he would respect that.

option three, she disappears. she does this alone but she as sakura haruno dies in this cabin and it becomes a new woman and a new baby forever. this option is so melodramatic though, she thinks. in times of peace, this feels like a silly thought. 

she knows what she needs to do, but she can’t bring herself to contact sasuke. she’s being selfish, she thinks, keeping this from him, but how can she not be?

sakura curls into her new bed and rubs her belly. 

nobody wants to be rejected.

iv.

one day she’s washing her clothes in the stream nearby when across the water, she feels someone approaching. she has no weapon on her, but she’s a weapon herself and she isn’t afraid. sakura shifts so she might stand and when she looks up, she sees sasuke.

her hands clench around the garments in her grip. “sasuke-kun,” she whispers. 

sasuke crosses the stream, carefully manoeuvring over the slippery rocks. “sakura,” he greets when he stands before her.

“what are you doing here?” 

“kakashi asked me to check on you.”

sakura raises an eyebrow. “since when do you listen to the hokage’s orders?” 

but sasuke winces when he remembers that as well because once upon a time, he ignored the hokage’s orders and so sakura got kidnapped.

“you know when,” he mutters. 

sasuke reaches for the items in her arms, probably intending to hold them for her in some silly act of chivalry, but sakura pulls them closer. they dampen her clothes but his presence makes her painfully aware of her growing body.

“let me help you,” he insists.

“i’m fine,” she replies. she smiles at him, hoping that it will cease his pushing, and eventually it does. sakura begins walking back to the cabin and sasuke follows. “but really – what are you doing here?”

“kakashi asked me to check on you,” he repeats.

“why?”

sasuke shrugs. “he was worried. said you left in a hurry and it was suspicious.” he cocks his head and stares down at her. “is there something you’re hiding, sakura?”

sakura laughs and ignores the question.

they reach the cabin and sakura goes inside. sasuke lingers by the door though, looking wary and unsure. 

“stay with me,” sakura requests.

“for a bit,” he decides.

v.

he stays with her for a little over a week and it feels so perfect and domestic that sakura hates it. 

she’s fairly good at keeping her secret. she wears baggier clothes, hides behind furniture, turns her body in particular ways. it isn’t until one night when sasuke finally kisses her, his trembling fingers sliding over her hips, that he feels like something is different.

he takes a step back to look at her and sakura makes no effort to hide any longer.

“you’re…”

“i’m pregnant.”

vi.

he won’t leave her side. can’t, won’t, never ever will. if sasuke is upset about her omission, he certainly doesn’t show it. he touches her and rubs her belly and sometimes she thinks he’s smiling down at her, at them. 

sasuke is on a mission though and this quiet bliss in the woods cannot last. 

“come with me,” he asks.

and sakura would follow him anywhere, so she does. 

they marry in a quiet ceremony and sasuke drags her to one uchiha stronghold in particular soon after. when they spend the night there, sasuke pulls out a ring and slips it on her finger.

vii.

sasuke looks so startled the first time he feels the baby kick. his eyes are wide with his wonder and his lips are slightly parted. he leans in a little bit closer, presses his hand against her a bit firmer, as if begging their baby to show him how strong she is one more time. 

viii.

she assumes sasuke must have told kakashi in his latest report because soon a fragment of katsuyu appears to sakura with an angry letter from her mother. sakura grimaces because she’d left a scroll and a vial of blood and told her mother that this was only ever to be used for emergencies. 

she asks him why and he asks her the same question.

“what do you mean?”

“why did you leave konoha?” sasuke questions. “no. that’s not what i care about. why didn’t you come to me? why didn’t you tell me right away?”

“sasuke-kun–”

“you were five-months pregnant when i found out myself. you didn’t even really tell me.”

“i don’t know!” sakura shouts. she rubs her baby bump because it’s silly but she thinks it gives her strength. “i was–i was scared! you just…” she bites her lip. “you left, sasuke-kun. i felt silly because i thought maybe you wanted to be with me and then–then…then you just left again. and it hurt. and i was scared so i ran away so i wouldn’t have to tell anyone what happened.” sakura takes a deep breath and has to sit down because her feet are hurting and the stress isn’t helping all the other aches in her body. “i was worried you would think that it was a mistake. that…you wouldn’t want us.”

sasuke sits beside her. his hand falls into her lap and he twines his fingers through hers. 

“i was afraid,” he whispers. “that night–that morning. when i woke up and i saw you…” he laughs but he sounds terribly sad. “i realized how important you are to me and,” he shrugs, “it frightened me.”

“it’s okay to be scared.”

sasuke squeezes her hand and although it hurts, sakura does nothing to pull away. “i can’t lose you,” he admits. “not you.”

he’s shaking, so sakura uses her free hand to turn his head to face her. she looks at him warmly, lovingly, and she leans in to kiss him.

“i love you, sasuke-kun,” she murmurs against his lips. 

he returns the sentiment and she smiles.

ix.

sakura intended to give birth in konoha, but nothing ever seems to work the way she wants it because they’re midway through their journey when her water breaks.

sakura begins to curse and begins to panic a little bit, because she knows where they are and they’re in the middle of nowhere. she runs through the options in her head and honestly, squatting in a field will probably be what she has to do because again, they’re in the middle of fucking nowhere.

she still has time, but in that moment she feels like it’s only enough time to pick the right spot for squatting.

sasuke shakes his head though and takes her hand.

“you’re not squatting in a field, you idiot.”

“fuck you!”

“come on,” he says, helping her along. “i know a medic in this area.”

he’s patient and he’s gentle and he looks like he’s contemplating summoning his susanoo to help support her in this moment. sakura doesn’t ask questions, too busy thinking about what’s to come. 

sasuke guides her forward and sakura knows she’ll follow him anywhere.